Andrea Del Sarto Research Articles

Laura Battiferra: An Open Book

Laura Battiferra: An Open Book Cristina Varisco University of Virginia Bronzino’s portrait of the poetess Laura Battiferri has received atten- tion by the critics for the unusual form of the artist’s portrait, for the depiction of a female model in a profile pose and for being the most abstracted of all Bronzino’s portraits. Charles McCorquodale has sug- gested that “her figure, her prominent nose, her distorted neck and shoulders give her the appearance of a haughty reptile entirely devoid of human qualities.” 1 Although the pose and demeanor of the model initially attract the gaze of the viewer, it is the perpendicular axis of her stiff posture that meets Battiferra’s hand which leads the viewer’s eye to the object that hold us in thrall, the barycenter of the painting: the open book. Borrowing the term barycenter from the physics sphere, the open book in the plane of the canvas is the point in which all the weight of a system, all the intensity of the painting, is concentrated; this perspec- tive constitutes the main focal center in the portrait’s plane. 2 The book therefore becomes the essential point of analysis, and it prompts us to ponder Battiferra’s exchange of poems with her portraitist and other poets of her circle. For these reasons a strong emphasis will be given to both the sitter as a poet and her relationship with other poetic traditions that are brought to light through Bronzino’s portrait. A number of scholars have investigated and confirmed that a closer examination of the pages in the book depicted reveals that the words do not belong to a collection of Battiferra’s own poems, but rather to Petrarch’s. Image and text combine to identify Laura Battiferri degli Ammannati and to allude to her status as a poet, as Victoria Kirkham has noted. 3 The atypical form of the profile and the portrait style serve as an invaluable stepping stone towards a more complete understanding of the painting. Often compared to a similar portrait by Andrea del Sarto depicting the piercing glance of a young woman holding a volume of Petrarch, Battiferra appears by contrast to be both remote from the spectator and distant from the sonnets. 4 Furthermore, as Graham Smith and McCorquodale have pointed out, Battiferra’s particular pose Carte italiane, Vol. 5 (2009) 23

Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and the Renaissance in Florence (review)

Reviewed by: Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and the Renaissance in Florence Erin Campbell David Franklin , editor. Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and the Renaissance in Florence. National Gallery of Canada, with Yale University Press 2005. 372. US $65.00 Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and the Renaissance in Florence is the catalogue for an exhibition held at the National Gallery of Canada in 2005. Planned as part of the celebrations for the 125th birthday of the gallery, the exhibition gathered 123 paintings, sculptures, prints, and drawings by more than forty artists from Renaissance Florence circa 1500–1550. The goal: to challenge assumptions and rewrite the traditional historiography that divides early-sixteenth-century Italian art into two stylistic phases: the High Renaissance and Mannerism. The contributors include an impressive list of renowned international Renaissance scholars and distinguished lenders, including the magnificent treasure houses of Florence itself, such as the Uffizi, the Pitti Palace, and the Bargello. It is a point of national pride that the National Gallery holdings of Renaissance art, including Bronzino's superb Portrait of a Man, are some of the strongest works in the exhibition. The catalogue, which is lavishly illustrated with colour plates, includes three essays on drawing, painting, and sculpture respectively, and detailed catalogue entries on individual works. In his essay on drawing, David Franklin, deputy director and chief curator of the National Gallery, offers a succinct overview of the role of drawing in the creative process and surveys the kinds of drawings in use during the period. Louis Waldman, in his essay on painting, establishes stylistic diversity as the hallmark of the period, and calls for a new historiography based on a fresh examination of the works themselves. Andrew Butterfield discusses the impact of Michelangelo on the sculpture of the time, and calls for a new appreciation of the role of the della Robbia and the Buglioni in sixteenth-century visual culture. The desire to revise the way we think about the art of Florence is richly supported by the catalogue entries. As these analyses cogently show, each object in the exhibition opens onto a world, creating a set of fascinating micro-histories. The title emphasizes the crowd-pleasing names of Michelangelo and Leonardo; yet, this is only one thread to follow. Indeed, there are only two works by Michelangelo and two by Leonardo, although their influence on other artists is followed throughout the text. But this is not the most compelling story, and likely of more interest to specialists than to general readers. Other, more intriguing themes include [End Page 233] the cultural preoccupation with commemoration, documented by the many exceptional portraits such as the Portrait of a Man by Andrea del Sarto, which graces the cover of the catalogue. Another fascinating story is the luxury of private life, since many of the works were created for the home, including the delightful terracotta sculptures by the aptly named Master of the Unruly Children. Related to the theme of art and private life is the developing passion for collecting, represented here not only by the attention paid to Giorgio Vasari, who established the practice of collecting drawings, but also in such works as Baccio Bandinelli's small-scale bronzes, which were made for princely collections. The role of art in the important social practice of gift-exchange and diplomacy is another theme, exemplified by Rosso Fiorentino's painting Moses Defending the Daughters of Jethro, which might have been offered to the French monarch Francis I to encourage him to continue his propaganda campaign against the Medici. Andrea del Sarto's drawings of the punishment meted out to enemies of the state reveals yet another aspect of the relationship between art and politics. The changing status of the artist during the period is also given substance, not only by Vasari, that consummate social climber who rose from a family of potters to become the model artist-courtier, but also in accounts of other artists like the polymath Bachiacca, who was painter, costume designer, and proto-scientific illustrator at the court of Cosimo I de' Medici. The cliché that 'history is in the details' characterizes this volume. The catalogue effectively establishes the diversity of the period; in fact, many...

Master drawings of the Italian Renaissance

A beautifully designed selection of the finest Italian Renaissance drawings from the British Museum, the Louvre and other French public collections, giving remarkable insight into the creative processes of some of the greatest artists in history. This book features masterpieces of Italian Renaissance drawings from the British Museum, the Louvre and other French public collections in Lille, Rennes and Chantilly. Beginning with an examination of drawing as part of the creative process, and showing how it reveals the artist's mind at work, the author explains in detail the materials and techniques used in Renaissance drawings. It also considers how drawings were used, how they changed stylistically through the period and how they varied in different regions of Italy. It concludes with a brief look at connoisseurship and collecting. The main body of the book showcases 112 of the finest drawings by more than 40 Italian Renaissance masters, including Michelangelo, Leonardo, Botticelli, Raphael and Andrea del Sarto, accompanied by a concise sketch of the life and work of each artist. Arranged chronologically, they reveal stylistic and geographical trends as well as personal interactions between the artists themselves, and provide an extraordinary insight in to the artistic world of Renaissance Italy.

La Casa Profesa de los Jesuitas en Madrid y una serie de pinturas adquiridas por Carlos III

This study deals with the reconstruction -both architectonic and pictorial- of the 17th-century Main House ( Casa Profesa ) and church of the Jesuits in Madrid, unfortunately destroyed during the 19th century due to the urban reforms carried out on the calle Mayor . Thanks to a series of paintings acquired by Carlos III following the expulsion of the Jesuits from Spain (1767), it is possible to have an idea of the important works that once adorned this temple. The author locates and studies these paintings, all of them of artistic interest, since they are by major 17 th -century painters such as Luca Giordano, Murillo or Pedro Orrente, as well as 16th-century masters such as Andrea del Sarto or Gerolamo Muziano.

"One More Picture": Robert Browning's Optical Unconscious

"One More Picture":Robert Browning's Optical Unconscious Ivan Kreilkamp One day, quite some time ago, I happened on a photograph of Napoleon's youngest brother, Jerome, taken in 1852. And I realized then, with an amazement I have not been able to lessen since: "I am looking at eyes that looked at the Emperor." Sometimes I would mention this amazement, but since no one seemed to share it, nor even to understand it (life consists of these little touches of solitude), I forgot about it. —Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems and new! . . . And the memory I started at — My starting moves your laughter. . . . Well, I forget the rest. —Robert Browning, "Memorabilia," Men and Women When we think of Robert Browning and visual culture, we probably think first of painting. "Fra Lippo Lippi," "Andrea del Sarto," and several other of his best-known poems, for example, are dramatic monologues in the voice of Renaissance painters. The unnamed early sixteenth-century Florentine, the "unknown painter" of "Pictor Ignotus," bemoans a shift in tastes, manners, and expectations among the painters and patrons of his era: "This world seemed not the world it was before," he laments, describing those who "buy and sell our pictures, take and give, / Count them for garniture and household-stuff."1 So Browning evokes an artist's bewildered reaction to an early capitalist commodification of the image, as the Renaissance painter witnesses his "pictures" turned into "household stuff." Browning wrote this poem in the 1840s, which happened to be a time, like the early sixteenth-century, [End Page 409] of a momentous transformation in the practice of image-making and consuming, one that rendered portraits and other images into "household stuff" much more thoroughly than Browning's unknown painter could have imagined. It would seem an obvious question to wonder how we might begin to consider Browning's work within a broader mid-Victorian visual culture containing not only painting but also photography—swiftly becoming the culture's dominant means of creating images. How might it change our understanding of this poet to situate his work not only in relation to the visual culture he so often wrote about—that of Italian Renaissance painting—but also to a contemporary Victorian culture recently revolutionized by new methods and technologies of image-making? We might begin such an inquiry in an empirical fashion by looking for Browning's personal experiences with photography and as a photographic subject—although this evidence is not plentiful. Several years ago a lost photograph of Browning at age 44 surfaced—taken 2 June 1856 in Paris and described by Herbert Tucker as "not the most convincing likeness of Robert Browning" but "the only convincing likeness of Robert Browning" he had ever seen.2 So Browning was photographed, if infrequently. According to Grace Elizabeth Wilson, Browning also apparently sponsored a professional photographer named William Grove: Grove's association with Browning came while the former was still a young man. The poet saw some amateur photographs taken by his young acquaintance and gave him the encouragement necessary for entrance into such a young field as photography at that time. It was due to Browning's advice that the spare time hobby became a means of livelihood to William Grove. Browning not only suggested the establishment of the business, but also took a real personal interest in it. He often came to the studio on Brompton Road to sit and chat for an hour. It is hard to overestimate how much this must have meant to the young proprietor.3 At least late in his life, then, Browning "took a real personal interest" in photography and was drawn to the space of a photographic studio—perhaps, we could surmise, as a rival space of creation and image-making. Having now come close to exhausting the direct biographical links between Browning and photography, however, we must turn to a reading of his work in order to consider more deeply whether and how photography mattered to Browning, and how his poetry may have [End Page...

Increasing Suspicion about Browning's Grammarian

Increasing Suspicion about Browning's Grammarian Arnd Bohm (bio) Is it merely coincidence that three essays from the relatively small cluster of discussions dealing with "A Grammarian's Funeral" use questions in their titles?1 Or is there something about the poem that is subtly disturbing, tantalizingly dubious? Ever since Richard D. Altick proposed that the poem might be a mock encomium, in the tradition of Erasmus' Praise of Folly, there has been a nagging sense that here too a straightforward reading misses Browning's characteristic irony. Most recently, A. D. Nuttall has taken, or rather mis-taken, those complexities as a confusing failure by the poet: When Browning is in command of his antithesis the poem is strong; when he cannot decide what kind of knower we are to wonder at it is weak. An immediate consequence is that the reader is less moved than he or she would otherwise have been. I think that Browning knew that something was wrong. (p. 97) While the judgment about the garbling of the tone and the message is valid, the blame should be placed on the fictional narrator, not on Browning. The mistake is easy to fall into if one begins with the assumption that the poem is an expression of Browning's unequivocal admiration for the heroic grammarian. At the root of Nuttall's misreading is an allegiance to the view that Browning spoke in his own voice to praise the grammarian-scholar. Many critics have held similar opinions. In turn, such views have sought validation through identifying the historical model for the ideal grammarian. Various prototypes have been suggested: Thomas Linacre; Jacobus Milichius; Isaac Casaubon; Greek scholars such as Theodorus Gaza, Argyropoulos, Demetrius Chalcondyles, and Janus Lascarius; Philip Charles Buttmann; Didymus Chalcenteros; and even Socrates.2 Yet no one, to the best of my knowledge, has attempted to align Browning's grammarian with one of the most remarkable literary depictions of a grammarian, namely that of Brunetto Latini in Canto XV of Dante's Inferno. There is no need to review the evidence for Browning's undisputed familiarity with Dante's works. Browning had used the tactic of appropriating a character from Dante in the expansion of Sordello from the Purgatorio.3 "A Grammarian's Funeral" is dated to the mid 1850s and "was probably written after Browning's return to Florence" (DeVane, p. 270). It is [End Page 165] quite plausible that a sojourn in Dante's home city had returned him to the forefront of Browning's concerns at the time. The connection to Canto XV of the Inferno has important consequences for understanding Browning's intentions. As will become apparent, the grammarian is properly situated in Men and Women beside figures such as Fra Lippo Lippi and Andrea del Sarto, caught between the demands of the mind and the needs of the body. The allusion to Brunetto Latini entails consideration of the themes of love and gender that predominate throughout Men and Women but have been neglected in "A Grammarian's Funeral." What Roma King has said about those figures generally will apply to the grammarian as well: Browning treats love as many things and from many points of view. Most of his lovers, however, are frustrated and unhappy, their vision of an ideal love a tantalizing dream which only intensifies the pain of their unfulfilled longings.4 At the end, the tormented grammarian emerges as a tragic figure who deserves more pity than admiration. In order to follow Browning's argument, it is first necessary to present the case of Brunetto Latini in some detail. Like Browning's grammarian, Brunetto is no longer alive when readers encounter him in Dante's text. And, like the grammarian, he is on the move despite being dead. The Pilgrim-Poet and Virgil are passing through an especially desolate region when they encounter the sodomites running across the plain. One of them is familiar to the Pilgrim: Così adocchiato da cotal famiglia, fui conosciuto da un, che mi prese per lo lembo e gridò: 'Qual maraviglia!' E io, quando 'l suo braccio a me distese, ficcaï li occhi per lo cotto aspetto, sì che 'l viso abbrusciato non difese...

:Painting in Renaissance Florence 1500-1550

This outstanding book overturns longstanding assumptions about the way art evolved in Renaissance Florence. David Franklin challenges the reliability and usefulness of the terms 'High Renaissance' and 'Mannerism', which have been used commonly to describe and define the extraordinary paintings of the Florentine Renaissance. Franklin offers instead a new perspective on the progress and development of art in Florence, structuring his discussion around the lives and works of twelve influential Italian painters of the era. The book provides a detailed account of the critical period from about 1500, when Leonardo returned to Florence, to the publication in 1550 of Vasari's first edition of the Lives of the Artists. With penetrating analyses of careers, influences and specific paintings, Franklin isolates two main strands in Renaissance Florentine painting. He brings to light the passionate rivalry between a deeply localised attitude toward art exemplified by Michelangelo and Leonardo and climaxing in the work of Pontormo, and a style influenced by the Roman art of Raphael that Vasari tried with some success to import into Florence. For the former group, life drawing and expressive human form were at the heart of their enterprise, while for the latter it was superficial narrative arranged for decorative effect. Franklin's unprecedented examination of Vasari's work as a painter in relation to his vastly better known writings fully illuminates these dual strands in Florentine art and offers us a clearer understanding of sixteenth-century painting in Florence than ever before. The volume focuses on twelve painters: Perugino, Leonardo da Vinci, Piero di Cosimo, Michelangelo, Fra Bartolomeo, Ridolfo Ghirlandaio, Andrea del Sarto, Franciabigio, Rosso Fiorentino, Jacopo da Pontormo, Francesco Salviati and Giorgio Vasari.

Andrea del Sarto rehabilitated: a psychoanalytic emendation.

Ernest Jones's "The Influence of Andrea del Sarto's Wife on His Art" (1913) is an early example of psychoanalysis applied to the study of a prominent painter. Greatly influenced by Freud's Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood, Jones gave excessive credence to Vasari's highly prejudicial account of the life of del Sarto, on which the study relied heavily. Jones attempted to account psychologically for the circumstance that del Sarto, though highly skilled and "faultless," was not the equal of the three preeminent masters of the Italian High Renaissance: Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Raphael. Jones's uncritical acceptance of the Vasari biography encouraged him to view Sarto's assumed deficiency as the result of excessive attachment to his wife, a pathological uxoriousness. A contemporary psychoanalytic perspective, with its emphasis on the emotive response of the analyst, requires us to pay attention to the evocative nature of the work of the artist, an approach Jones neglected. In an examination of several paintings, the artist's sensitivity to the position of the spectator is explored, as is the interest in involving the viewer spatially and emotionally. An appreciation for the viewer's position is consistent with a capacity for using projected internal objects for creative purposes. The presence of this capacity suggests a revised view of del Sarto's contribution to art and of his relationship with his wife.

Robert Browning's "Dramatic Lyrics": Contribution to a Genre

article attempts an investigation into Robert Browning's collection with the purpose of linking the poet's endeavor to his concept of poetic genre, particularly in relation to the ideas of the lyrical and the dramatic. As it appeared in the Cambridge Edition of 1895, is a much revised volume, which came out as a culmination of a series of additions and deletions, done to the earlier editions and could thus represent the final settlement of the poems under the heading of Lyrics. In addressing the question of why Browning chose to include this particular group of poems under the title the article highlights a few poetic techniques the poet is seen to be employing in the poems. Such techniques give the collection its distinctive character within Browning's poetic output, and reveal the poetic significance in relation to his conception of genre. article presents the mode of combining the dramatic with the lyrical and how this distinctive combination indicates Browning's conception of literary genres. ********** In this article, I attempt an examination of Robert Browning's as they appeared in the Cambridge edition of 1895, (1) with the purpose of highlighting the poet's approach to the lyrical phenomenon in the poems. study aims at demonstrating that the term Dramatic Lyrics, though seemingly paradoxical, was neither a willful subversion of the ideas of literary genre, nor a random choice on the part of the poet. It was, rather, an adequate designation of a poetic endeavour, which involved a variety of techniques and strategies that prove, on closer scrutiny, to be far from haphazard, and foreshadow a development that was to become a mark of literary conceptions of genre a century later. article will be divided into two sections. first section discusses the development of the concepts of the dramatic and the lyrical, and the meanings they have come to acquire from Romantic criticism to Postmodernist critical theory, attempting to link them to Browning's literary output. second section examines with the purpose of highlighting the techniques Browning employed in the final effect of the Dramatic Lyrics as well as assessing Browning's conception of poetic genre. I In 1855, Robert Browning produced an edition of his collected works containing a small section entitled which was already an enlargement on the section included in the Third Number of Bells and Pomegranates of 1842. Commenting on the 1855 collection, Browning wrote to a friend that the section entitled contained a number of poems of all sorts and sizes and styles and subjects ... the beginning of an expressing of the spirit of all the fruits of the years since I last turned the winch of the wine press. (qtd. in Jack 135) In his 1849 collected works, the small section was combined with the section appearing in 1845. Thus the 1849 edition has a section entitled Lyrics and with Lyrics coming first and Dramatic Romances following (DeVane 103). In his 1863 collection, Browning and his editors regrouped the poems while retaining the old headings. What lay behind the poet's decision to arrange the poems under the different headings remains unclear, though the headings themselves hint at the poet's conception of genre. By 1855, Browning had won himself the reputation of a dramatic poet, and had produced his most accomplished dramatic monologues. My Last Duchess appeared in 1842, The Bishop Orders his Tomb in 1845, Fra Lippo Lippi and Andrea del Sarto in 1855. dramatic monologue as an intriguing poetic genre has since then gripped the minds of scholars. Though in Browning's time, it was not yet a genre with distinctive characteristics, it has come to acquire definite boundaries and clear-cut attributes in modern criticism. …

Masks of the Unconscious: Bad Faith and Casuistry in the Dramatic Monologue

Many of the best dramatic monologues are sustained exercises in what W. H. Empson calls double irony, the simultaneous endorsement of contradictory codes.' Because the speakers in such monologues are pulled two ways at once, their incapacity to pursue wholeheartedly any single course of action makes them unsuited for their roles. Far from alienating us, however, the indecision and vulnerability of Browning's Andrea del Sarto or his lover in Two in the Campagna often make us oddly intimate with them. Since the essence of a deception is to mask the truth, a liar has to possess the truth he is hiding before he can lie. In bad faith, by contrast, the truth is hidden from the liar himself: his deception is no longer grounded in a consciously embraced truth. anguish of Browning's Andrea del Sarto or his austere Victorian Prufrock in A Toccata of may merely be a mask of anguish. In order to escape the genuine anguish of acknowledging his guilt for crimes against King Francis and his parents, Andrea may only pretend to be disturbed by Lucrezia's refusal to stay at home with him. And in order to avoid the despair of facing his own mortality, the chilly moralist in A Toccata of may merely pretend to be distressed by Galuppi's failure to commemorate a less frivolous beauty in his music. In each case bad faith takes the form of unconsciously lying to oneself. Though a lie posits the duality of deceiver and deceived, bad faith implies the unity of a single consciousness. Whereas the priest lies to the woman in Browning's Andrea del Sarto lies to himself. In bad faith the deceiver and the dupe are one and the same person. As Jean-Paul Sartre explains, to be in bad faith I know in my capacity as deceiver the truth which is hidden from me in my capacity as the one deceived . . . Better yet I must know the truth very exactly in order to conceal it more carefully.2 Chaucer's Pardoner, Andrea del Sarto, and many of Browning's casuists both know and do not know they are liars. As self-deceivers they are more dangerous than a simple liar like the priest in Browning's monologue, The Confessional, because if

“A New Unfolding of Life”: Romanticism in the Late Novels of George Eliot

Victorian ambivalence toward Romanticism is expressed with alternating vehemence and reticence. Repudiating “the noise / And outcry of the former men” who “left their pain” for Victorian generations (“Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse,” 127–28, 131), in his critical essays Arnold nevertheless reiterates respect for Wordsworth, and in “Dover Beach” he incorporates the free-associationist structure of Coleridge' conversation poems. InHard Times, the rural world beyond Coketown and Blackpool' gospel of the holiness of the heart constitute Dickens' consolations for the hellish industrial wasteland, but at the same time Harthouse — personifying the empty prodigality and flashy decadence that Victorians saw in Byron and Shelley — subverts moral order. Browning, though warning against the self-defeating diffidence and isolation of the Romantic artist in “Andrea del Sarto,” reaffirms Romantic individuality of vision and rebellion against tradition in “Fra Lippo Lippi.” While venerating the Goethe who proclaimed aspiration for infinitude and extension of the limits of possibility, Carlyle sees Lord Byron as the personification of moral and psychic pathology — unreined sorrow and cynicism, world weariness and decadent hedonism, derisive mockery and pessimism, high-strung sensitivity and emotional vulnerability — defects which Carlyle also sees as immanent in Shelley and which are subsumed in the Victorians' image of the negative side of the Romantics:Poor Shelley always is a ghastly object: colorless, pallid, tuneless, without health or warmth or vigour, the sound of him shrieky, frosty, as if a ghost were trying to sing to us; the temperament of him, spasmodic, hysterical, instead of strong or robust — a man infinitely too weak for that solitary scaling of the Alps. (Reminiscences2: 292–93; qtd. in Buckley 22)

Spalliera paintings of renaissance Tuscany: fables of poets for patrician homes

This text defines and characterises cycles of panel paintings that decorated patrician residences in Tuscany. It takes a fresh approach to the paintings, placing them not only in the context of Renaissance art but also in the context of the society for which they were made. It contributes to our understanding of the formal conventions of the pictures as narrative paintings designed to be seen in specific places within bedchambers and studies; their function, integrated with the woodwork and furniture of those spaces; and their role, often commissioned in honour of weddings to reinforce values of patrimony, civic-mindedness and familial duty. Spalliera painting flourished between 1470 and 1520, with artists such as Botticelli, Ghirlandaio, Piero di Cosimo, Pontormo and Andrea del Sarto translating the histories, poems, and tales of Livy, Ovid, Petrarch and Boccaccio, among others, into colourful didactic sequences that demonstrate ancient and exemplary standards of conduct. An analysis of the typologies of the heroes and heroines in these paintings, and the meanings that their stories may have had for the patrons who commissioned them, also sheds light on social mores, expectations and issues of gender in the patrician society of Renaissance Tuscany.

A Treatise by Francesco Bocchi in Praise of Andrea del Sarto

Previous articleNext article No AccessA Treatise by Francesco Bocchi in Praise of Andrea del SartoRobert WilliamsRobert Williams Search for more articles by this author PDFPDF PLUS Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditEmail SectionsMoreDetailsFiguresReferencesCited by Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes Volume 52, Number 11989 Published for the Warburg Institute and the Courtauld Institute Views: 1Total views on this site Citations: 1Citations are reported from Crossref Article DOIhttps://doi.org/10.2307/751541 Views: 1Total views on this site Citations: 1Citations are reported from Crossref Copyright © 1989 by The Warburg Institute. All rights reserved.PDF download Crossref reports the following articles citing this article: Massimiliano Rossi Per l'unità delle arti: La poetica 'Figurativa' di Giovambattista Strozzi il Giovane, I Tatti Studies in the Italian Renaissance 6 (Oct 2015): 169–213.https://doi.org/10.2307/4603696

Vasari, Prints and Prejudice

Vasari, Prints and Prejudice

An Embroidery after Andrea del Sarto's The Baptism of the People

An Embroidery after Andrea del Sarto's The Baptism of the People

An Embroidery after a Fresco by Andrea del Sarto

An Embroidery after a Fresco by Andrea del Sarto

“Andrea del Sarto (Called ‘The Faultless Painter’)” and William Page (Called “The American Titian”)

In 1853 William Page, an American painter living in Rome who was known for his portraits of men and women, discovered what he considered to be a new scientific way of measuring the proportions of the human body. He was inspired by a favorite authority of the Swedenborgians, the Book of Revelation. In an article published in 1879, “The Measure of a Man,” Page remembered:While seeking for truth of form and adjusting the proportions of my manikins, a remarkable statement in the Revelation engaged my attention: “And he measured the wall thereof, an hundred and forty and four cubits, according to the measure of a man, that is, of the angel.”– Revelation, xxi (see 12-17 inclusive).

The Mural Painters of Tuscany. From Cimabue to Andrea del Sarto

From Cimabue to Andrea del Sarto. In the second edition of this classic work (first published by Phaidon Press in 1960) the text has been enlarged to accommodate new knowledge of the history of mural technique, and the number of plates has been doubled.