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Updated: Jun 7, 2020

This is not just my favourite Caravaggio, this is the ultimate Caravaggio. For me, this is the painting that demonstrates the full extent of his groundbreaking aesthetic revolution. His innovations are stylistical and, perhaps more importantly, iconographical.


The realism of the depiction of the Virgin's death is brutal. Mary is shown on her deathbed with her modest dress coming undone, the head lolling to one side, the hair dishevelled. Her throat is swollen, her hand is limping as if the wrist was broken and her feet are bare - we are most certainly looking at a cadaver. There is no ascension into heaven, there are no angels waiting, the faint halo is the only giveaway of her holiness.


Caravaggio breaks with all religious iconographic conventions by showing us the mother of Christ dying like all mothers, surrounded by her grieving children. One of the apostles is rubbing his eyes with his fists like a small child. There is nothing sacred or spiritual about this somber scene, they all look like peasants. The red swath of cloth hanging from the ceiling like a theatre curtain dominates the upper part of the picture and creates a distinct visual continuity with the Virgin's dress. Maybe that's her stairway to heaven.


It will come as no surprise to learn that this extraordinary painting was rejected by the monks who had commissioned it. They thought Caravaggio's treatment of the subject was indecent and asked b-lister Carlo Saraceni to paint a new altarpiece for their church. In this one, Mary - who is supposedly dead - looks very much alive as she sits upright in prayer. Order restored, but Caravaggio's revolution was in already motion and couldn't be stopped.


Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, Death of the Virgin (c.1605)

Carlo Saraceni, Death of the Virgin (1610).

Santa Maria della Scala, Rome

 
 
 

It's Mannerist week chez Fran. With its slightly unnatural proportions, that cheeky Bronzino got me thinking about the creation of illusion in painting, so I went trawling through the photos I took in Vienna 3 years ago and I picked out this gem.


Parmigianino paints himself at the centre of this rounded panel, his exaggeratedly large right hand thrust to the foreground. Everything around him appears distorted, as if the room is collapsing, maybe even spinning. In contrast, his almost angelic face is calm and collected as he gazes back at us. In a game of illusionistic reflections, the viewer and the artist are looking at each other through the same mirror. We see the artist and what he sees while he is also looking at himself in the same mirror (I’m getting a bit dizzy just writing this). It’s an exquisite visual enigma that sums up Parmigianino's unrivalled creative ingenuity and technical virtuosity.


Aged only 21, in 1524 Parmigianino travelled to Rome with a handful of works seeking patronage at the court of the Medici Pope Clement VII. With this small painting, only 24 cm in diameter, he was sending a very clear message to his prospective patron: "Look at me, look at what this hand can do." The focus is thus entirely on his own talent. This is a bold self-celebration of the artist's confidence made even more remarkable by the fact that, at the time, painters were considered little more than craftsmen. With this picture, Parmigianino was making a radical statement about both the changing status of the artist and the limitless possibilities of art.


Francesco Mazzola called Il Parmigianino, Self-portrait in a Convex Mirror (c. 1524), Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna

 
 
 

Just like we love real people, I hereby decree that it is entirely acceptable to have feelings for the subject of a painting. For I have been on many dates with this impertinent young lad who, in turn, has consistently failed to reciprocate my attentions. Ah, unrequited love.


Bronzino is one of the masters of Italian Mannerism, aka Renaissance on steroids, a style that is wedged between the High Renaissance and the Baroque (c. 1520 onwards). Mannerists moved away from the harmonious aesthetics of their predecessors in favour of a stylised and exaggerated treatment of the human form. Men and women alike have sinuous swan-like necks, elongated limbs, and long, tapering fingers. The are often depicted in unrealistic surroundings as they strike unnatural poses in order to convey a maximum of drama.


Just like this chap. Look at the emphasis on his left hand so firmly placed on the hip, defiantly pushing it forward. The presence of the book indicates that he might be a poet, most certainly someone sophisticated and intellectual, while the richness of the black fabric and the elegance of the home setting speak of his elevated social status. Handsome, aloof and slightly arrogant, he's like the bad boyfriend you can't stay away from.


Agnolo Bronzino, Portait of a Young Man (c. 1530)

The Metropolitan Museum, New York

 
 
 

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