Donatello and the Dawn of Renaissance Art (Renaissance Lives) [1 ed.] 9781789141306, 1789141303

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donat e l l o

☞ Books in the renaissance

lives series explore and illustrate the life histories and achievements of significant artists, intellectuals and scientists in the early modern world. They delve into literature, philosophy, the history of art, science and natural history and cover narratives of exploration, statecraft and technology. Series Editor: François Quiviger Already published Blaise Pascal: Miracles and Reason  Mary Ann Caws Caravaggio and the Creation of Modernity  Troy Thomas Donatello and the Dawn of Renaissance Art  A. Victor Coonin Hieronymus Bosch: Visions and Nightmares  Nils Büttner Isaac Newton and Natural Philosophy  Niccolò Guicciardini John Evelyn: A Life of Domesticity  John Dixon Hunt Leonardo da Vinci: Self, Art and Nature  François Quiviger Michelangelo and the Viewer in His Time  Bernadine Barnes Paracelsus: An Alchemical Life  Bruce T. Moran Petrarch: Everywhere a Wanderer  Christopher S. Celenza Pieter Bruegel and the Idea of Human Nature  Elizabeth Alice Honig Raphael and the Antique  Claudia La Malfa Rembrandt’s Holland  Larry Silver Titian’s Touch: Art, Magic and Philosophy  Maria L. Loh

DONATELLO and the Dawn of Renaissance Art a . v ic tor c oonin

R E A K T ION B O OK S

To Anna

Published by Reaktion Books Ltd Unit 32, Waterside 44–48 Wharf Road London n1 7ux, uk www.reaktionbooks.co.uk First published 2019 Copyright © A. Victor Coonin 2019 All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers Printed and bound in China A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library isbn 978 1 78914 130 6

cover: Donatello, David, c. 1434–40, bronze. Photo: akgimages/Rabatti & Domingie.

contents

Introduction: A Note to Readers 7 1 Artistic Formation 9 2 The Business of Art 57 3 Adorning the City of Florence 111 4 The Paduan Journey 169 5 Homecoming 207 chronology 247 References 251 select Bibliography 274 Acknowledgements 277 Photo Acknowledgements 278 Index 280

Introduction: A Note to Readers

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his book is about the life of Donatello, both the man and his art. Though the literature on Dona­ tello is vast, it resides mainly in specialized venues and there are few modern biographical studies. In fact, this is the first original monograph on the sculptor written in the English language in a quarter of a century. The absence of books devoted solely to him is not due to any lack of interest in Donatello. On the contrary, the proliferation of museum exhibitions and their catalogues invoking his name, of which there have been more than a dozen during this same time, only proves that Donatello has considerable draw in both the scholarly community and with the general public. A new evaluation of his life and career as a whole is thus timely and necessary. With this book I hope to have synthesized and clarified the main issues regarding Donatello for readers of all levels, and I have tried to reach my conclusions through careful evalu­ ation of the available evidence. I have kept notes to a minimum by giving preference to essential and recent sources while giving credit where it is due. Since the intended audience of this book is primarily English-speaking, I have emphasized these sources as well. 1 Francesco and Raffaello Petrini, Veduta della Catena (Chain Map), 1887, detail of Florence in the 1470s as seen from the southwest, watercolour after an engraving by Francesco Rosselli.

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In the belief that works of art do not make the person but that the creative person makes works of art, I have chosen to discuss Donatello’s most significant accomplishments rather than attempt a catalogue raisonné. Omissions might be most noticeable in the case of smaller objects, especially the innu­ merable reliefs in various media featuring the Madonna and Child. I have intentionally included only examples that best help the reader to understand Donatello’s achievement. Treating every Donatello attribution would entail a different type of book and I apologize for those favourites that may be missing. Omission does not necessarily imply rejection. Recent years have seen many new attributions to Dona­tello, ranging from the probable to the impossible. Some of these objects are works hitherto unknown. Some are familiar works whose attributions continually come up for re-evaluation. Others are objects newly conserved or simply ready to be considered in a new context. Scholarly consensus generally forms slowly, except in extraordinary circumstances, and the list of objects to evaluate will only grow with each generation. Most importantly, I hope to have made the life and con­ tributions of Donatello more real, more human, and more cogent to our understanding of both the past and present. I see him as an intensely creative individual in all aspects of his life and art. His artistic achievement was profound, and for this to be true not all his works have to be masterpieces, nor do they all have to be groundbreaking. Instead, when we evaluate the whole we see a singular contributor to one of the most extraordinary periods of Western culture, which we call the Renaissance. Donatello was not just a man of his times but one who helped create the nature of the times he lived in.

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Artistic Formation

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he most important sculptor of the early Renais­ sance is also its most eccentric. Despite copious anecdotes about his life and hundreds of docu­ ments concerning his works, Donatello the man remains enigmatic and the course of his art hardly predictable. That may be partially due to design – Donatello conducted himself as he saw fit, thus constantly confounding and frustrating the expectations of friends, patrons and anyone else with whom he had contact. No one ever doubted his talent, which gave him a certain licence to live outside the norm. In this way, there is a modern sensibility to his character that seems centuries ahead of his time and is especially appealing today. eccentricities and innovations Many of the most engaging stories about Donatello concern his artistic integrity and disdain for mundane affairs that might otherwise interfere with it. The Renaissance artists Pomponio Gaurico and Giorgio Vasari each narrate that in his studio Donatello kept a bucket filled with money that hung by a cord from the ceiling.1 If friends or assistants had need they could simply take what they wanted from the bucket. Another

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anecdote, found in a book of witticisms compiled in the 1470s, recounts that when a beggar asked Donatello for alms ‘for the love of God’ the sculptor gave him money with the words, ‘not for the love of God but because you have need’.2 Perhaps due in part to situations like these, despite his prolific work as a sculptor, Donatello was never a wealthy man and reportedly died with little to his name. He was a man of his word and disliked duplicity. Giorgio Vasari (1511–1574), who was both an artist and the great biographer of Italian artists, tells the story of a Genoese merchant who commissioned a bronze portrait bust from Donatello. The sculptor finished it quickly, and when the patron tried to renegotiate the price of the work Donatello threw it from the top of the Medici palace, saying the mer­ chant could not bargain for a bronze the way he bargained for beans. Dona­tello refused to recast the work even for twice the price. Another story recorded in the 1470s demonstrates Donatello’s contempt for presumption, even from the most powerful, including the formidable Giovanni Vitelleschi, a fearsome soldier for the Church who became archbishop of Florence and then cardinal, and bore the honorific title of patriarch of Alexandria: The Patriarch sent out a call for Donatello several times, and after many urgings he sent back this answer: ‘Tell the Patriarch I don’t want to go to him, and that I am just as much the Patriarch in my art as he is in his.’3 This was a risky response for the artist, but he seems to have incurred no adverse consequences.

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Artistic Formation

Donatello was confident, but never put on false airs. According to the fifteenth-century bookseller and biog­ rapher Vespasiano da Bisticci, when Cosimo de’ Medici gave Donatello a new set of red robes on the occasion of a festival, the artist wore them only once or twice and then sent them back because they made him seem ‘out of place’.4 In other words, they made Donatello feel awkward in a pretentious way, and he was anything but pretentious. In a letter written by Matteo degli Organi, an organ maker from Padua then living in Florence, the craftsman condescendingly describes Donatello to officials back home as ‘the kind of man for whom enough is as good as a feast, and he is content with anything’.5 Donatello would have taken that as a compliment. Donatello may have been eccentric but he was genuinely so and brilliant in accomplishment, and therefore his behav­ iour was generally indulged. Donatello felt compassion for the needy, despised laziness and rewarded hard work. On his deathbed relatives gathered, less interested in his health than in the inheritance of a farm Donatello owned near Prato that produced a small income. To thwart their greedy ambitions and teach them a lesson, Donatello declared that he would give the farm to the one person who actually deserved it – the peasant who had worked the land all these years. And this he did. Though surely a mixture of the truthful and the apocry­ phal, the various stories consistently describe a man of high character and conviction, even if he was, at times, impetuous and spiteful. As for his likeness, the only widely accepted portrait of Donatello is a detail from a panel in the Louvre once attrib­ uted to his contemporary Paolo Uccello (1397–1475), but now

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generally thought to have been executed later (illus. 2). In the later sixteenth century the panel was owned by the architect Giuliano da Sangallo and described by Giorgio Vasari, so it was a well-known image.6 In the picture Donatello appears in the centre of five brilliant men of the arts. Inscriptions added to the panel, probably in the sixteenth century, identify the figures from left to right as Giotto, Uccello, Donatello, the architect Antonio Manetti and Filippo Brunelleschi. Though the painting’s attribution and its inscriptions might be ques­ tioned, there is little reason to doubt the identification of Donatello as the central figure and an exemplar of artistic achievement up to that time. While it would be dangerous to read too much into this picture, Donatello’s placement in the middle must be recog­ nized. Donatello alone looks directly towards the viewer, with a stern and confident expression. He appears as the group’s lynchpin, and indeed he is a key figure in the artistic revolu­ tion that flourished in fifteenth-century Florence. Donatello was intimately connected with virtually all of the transformative artists of the early fifteenth century. Early on, he worked for Lorenzo Ghiberti, partnered with Michelozzo, formed intimate friendships with Brunelleschi, Masaccio and Uccello, and worked closely with his sculptor colleagues, including Nanni di Banco and Luca della Robbia. He was the mentor for a talented younger generation of artists that included Antonio Rossellino, Desiderio da Settignano and Bertoldo, the future teacher of Michelangelo. Contemporaries certainly saw Donatello as uniquely significant to the devel­ opment of art. When the architect and theorist Leon Battista Alberti wrote his treatise On Painting in 1435–6, he singled

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out for genius Brunelleschi and ‘our close friend Donatello’, before adding Ghiberti, Luca della Robbia and Masaccio. As Alberti famously stated, Brunelleschi’s dome for Flo­r­ ence Cathedral was so vast an achievement that its shadow covered all the people of Tuscany. Acknowledging that singu­­­ lar work, Donatello actually did more to adorn Florence, both inside and out, than any other artist still to this day. During the Renaissance his sculptures at one time or another graced the cathedral, its bell tower and baptistery, the main market, the civic palace (Palazzo Vecchio), the principal city square (Piazza della Signoria), the important grain market (Orsan­ michele), various individual churches (including San Lorenzo and Santa Croce) and many private palaces, including those of the Medici and Martelli families. No other artist can boast such a prolific output in Florence – not Leonardo da Vinci, Botti­celli, Michel­angelo or Raphael. In addition, Donatello pro­ duced significant works for Venice, Padua and Siena, while many other cities vied for his services, including patrons from Pisa, Naples, Rome, Ferrara and Mantua.7 Pomponio Gaurico, in his book De sculptura (On Sculpture), published in 1504 in Flor­ ence though mostly written in Padua, says that there were more works by Donatello than by all his notable contemporaries combined, and it truly must have seemed that way.8 Donatello was as innovative as he was prolific. During his career he produced the first sculpture considered a fully Renais­­sance work of art. He invented illusionistic sculptural relief using a novel technique of rilievo schiacciato (crushed relief ), which extended the possibilities of sculpture as a three-dimensional medium. He was the first artist to incor­ porate perspective into sculpture, and he interpreted art to

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reveal significant human insights in ways that have rarely been equalled. He revived the equestrian monument. He helped develop the form of the humanist tomb that became a stand­ ard format of funerary commemoration even into the present. Through his art he acknowledged difficult issues of human sexuality, violence, spirituality and, of course, beauty. Dona­ tello worked in various media, some of which challenge the restrictive terminology of sculpture. He used wood, stucco, clay, bronze and marble, often incorporating painting, gilding and other coloration, and he also designed stained glass and archi­ tecture. He always took into account space, light and viewpoint as well as the theatricality of presentation. This summary of achievement may seem exaggerated, yet arguably it is modest when understood in context because we now see Donatello’s accomplishments through the filter of Michelangelo, Bernini, Canova, Rodin, Brancusi and other artistic progeny. The Florentine humanist Alamanno Rinuccini 2 Anonymous, Five Florentine Men, 15th or early 16th century, panel.

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Artistic Formation

wrote in 1473 that Donatello was effectively the only sculptor who mattered: As to sculptors, though I might mention many who would be rated outstanding if they had happened to be born a little before our time, the one Donatello sur­ passed all the rest to such an extent that he is almost the only one to count in that field.9 Even Vasari had to tone down his introduction to his Life of Donatello because it had originally been too hyperbolic.10 Though omitted in the 1568 version, in 1550 Vasari had com­ pared Donatello to a force of nature, as follows: Hence, in order to better fulfil her will and her commit­ ment, [Nature] filled Donato from birth with mar­vellous qualities; and in a person almost like herself, she sent

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him down here amongst mortals, full of kindness, judgement and love.11 Indeed, endowing Donatello with such divine powers proved a little too much even for the great Renaissance biog­ rapher, but the impulse is well understood when one considers how much of what was artistically new in the Renaissance can be traced back to Donatello. Rinuccini and Vasari might be accused of regional bias, since one was a Florentine aristocrat and the other was born in Arezzo but worked mostly in Florence. Similar praise, how­ ever, was accorded Donatello in 1524 in a letter from Pietro Summonte, a humanist from Naples, to Marcantonio Michiel, a Venetian nobleman, both of whom had considerable interest in art: There was in Florence at the time of our fathers Dona­­ tello, a rare man and most simple in every other thing except in sculpture, in which many judge him still never to have been surpassed.12 This was heavy praise considering their contemporaries included Jacopo Sansovino, Francesco Rustici and Michel­­ angelo. Donatello’s legacy grew ever more profound through sub­ sequent generations of artists. Michelangelo’s David does not come into being without Donatello’s St Mark. The sensuous­ ness of Bernini and his ability to carve marble to look like other substances both owe a debt to works such as Donatello’s bronze David and the suggestive carving introduced through

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Artistic Formation

rilievo schiacciato, where Donatello proved that the marble surface could imply something other than stone. Both Raphael and his master, Perugino, made drawings after Donatello’s sculptures that ultimately inspired their paintings.13 Canova’s Neoclas­ sicism is filtered through Donatello’s Classicism and the equestrian monuments that inhabit countless public squares all bear a debt to Roman statuary as revived through Dona­ tello. The list could easily continue. Change does not occur without a catalyst, and Donatello, together with his closest colleagues, created sparks that altered the course of art. When Donatello died he was buried in the crypt of San Lorenzo, the church repository of many of his most dar­ ing works, and near the body of his most important patron, Cosimo de’ Medici. It was an extraordinary gesture for an artist to be accorded such privilege, but nothing in the life of Donatello was ordinary. r ekindling antiquitY Our first extant document for Donatello finds him in January 1401 just outside Florence in the city of Pistoia, and in trou­ ble with the law, being accused of battery. Donatello, then about fifteen years old, hit Anichino di Piero, a German, with a stick. The strike drew blood. It is the first of copious evidence of a man of volatile temperament, easily stirred to outbursts – but just as easily assuaged. He may have inherited his temper from his father, who lived under a death sentence for a time for having killed a polit­ ical rival with a blow to the head.14 Donatello’s father, Niccolò di Betto Bardi, was technically a wool stretcher (tiratore di lana),

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an elevated position in the wool industry.15 Despite speculation, Donatello was probably not closely related to the famous Bardi banking family. He was thus heir to no great fortune or artistic heritage, but he had a respectable family lineage and was part of a growing merchant class of increasing social prominence. His full name was Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi, though he was commonly known by the diminutive Donatello. His approximate birth date is derived from the artist’s statements recorded in multiple tax declarations (catasti), but these are notoriously inconsistent documents and his age is probably of more importance to us than it was to him. In his most complete tax declaration, made in July 1427, Donatello claims to be 41 years old, putting his birth date around 1386, which is generally accepted.16 He was raised in Florence and probably received a traditional education, yet how Donatello came to be an artist is unclear. Donatello’s altercation with Anichino occurred at the tail end of a stay in Pistoia, raising the question of what he was doing there in the first place. The key to this and other epi­ sodes in his early development is his friendship with Filippo Brunelleschi. Brunelleschi achieved his greatest fame as an architect and as the codifier of single-point perspective, but his beginnings as an artist were modest. Brunelleschi was a bit older than Donatello, having been born in 1377. A mem­ ber since 1398 of the silk merchants’ guild (Arte di Por Santa Maria, better known as the Arte della Seta), he matriculated as a goldsmith in July 1404. In between, around 1399–1400, Brunelleschi was engaged on the silver altar of St James in Pistoia Cathedral. He would have been aged about 24 years at the time of Donatello’s misdeed.

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Artistic Formation

In the small city of Pistoia, about 40 km (25 mi.) north­ west of Florence, we thus have our first chapter in one of the great collaborations in the history of art: Donatello and Brunel­leschi. Their initial artistic interaction was probably in the context of goldsmith work. It was not a collaboration in the traditional sense but a melding of minds, each stimulat­ing the other and feeding off respective moments of inspiration. Vasari describes the pair as practically inseparable and says of this moment that ‘the two conceived such great love for each other, by reason of the talents of each, that one appeared unable to live without the other.’17 Vasari characterizes it as an intellectual love story and adds later that their relationship was never equalled in kind: nor could [Brunelleschi] ever find an intellect more to his satisfaction than that of Donato, with whom he was ever holding familiar discourse, and they took pleasure in one another and would confer together over the difficulties of their vocation.18 Brunelleschi’s attributed work in Pistoia is technically gold­ smithery, although it differs little from smaller scale sculpture. The figures on the great altar generally attributed to him include prophets that boldly emerge from their background space, displaying heightened illusionism and dramatic gestures. Experimentation with perspective is nascent as the artist implies an extension of space both behind and in front of the figures, and the physical types and poses reflect direct obser­ vation of nature. All these elements would be at the heart of Donatello’s subsequent art. Brunelleschi and Donatello

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returned to Florence shortly after the Anichino incident, and their re-entry into the city could not have come at a more auspicious moment. In most art historical narratives the year 1401 introduces the formal beginnings of a revolution in art, the spark of the so-called Renaissance. It begins in Florence, where the international merchants’ guild (Arte di Calimala) sponsored a competition for a new set of bronze doors for the Baptistery, the second of three sets to replace wooden doors with bronze ones. The finalists were Brunelleschi and Ghiberti. The two final competition panels survive. Both depict the Old Testament episode of the Sacrifice of Isaac, and between the two scenes we find all the seeds that blossom into the Renaissance. Some still lie dormant, but the cues of trans­ formation are incipient rather than absent. ‘Renaissance’ literally refers to a rebirth, but a rebirth of what? That answer, often simplified as a rebirth of classical antiquity, more co­ gently implies a rational study of the natural world and its ultimate perfection through depiction in art. Classical sources, in many forms, provided inspiration. During the early Renais­sance the more abstract and artificial styles en­ countered in the Middle Ages slowly gave way to styles based more on logical reasoning and empirical understanding through the senses. Art in turn more closely mimicked phys­ ical reality. An essential ingredient was an insistence on a relationship between art and the human observer. This meant a difficult transition involving modifying or abandoning certain medieval motifs, patterns, assumptions, traditions and expectations. The competition reliefs in 1401 show this process well under way.

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Artistic Formation

Rather than compare and contrast the competition reliefs for their own sake, we can look at them through the mind­ set of Donatello for what they offered in terms of artistic challenges and new arenas for experiment. In Brunelleschi’s figure of Isaac (illus. 3) Donatello saw the evidence of a body based on natural observation, and in Ghiberti’s Isaac (illus. 4) the complementary study of classical statuary and its modes of idealization. Brunelleschi’s Abraham terrify­ ingly commences to plunge the knife into his son’s throat, evoking raw human drama and emotion. Abraham’s body, however, still does not convince in its shifting of weight, just as Ghiberti’s Abraham sways artificially like many a Gothic sculpture but with its own internal grace and elegance. References to classical sculpture appear in both designs, with the most obvious being Brunelleschi’s servant pulling a thorn from his foot, clearly fashioned after an antique prototype called the Spinario. Compositionally, Donatello observed two options, with Brunelleschi’s overall design clinging to the medieval quat­ refoil pattern set over a grid and Ghiberti abandoning that approach to investigate more emphatically the illusion of spatial recession in sculptural relief. The two artists’ respec­ tive approaches to working in bronze also offered divergent concepts of technique. Brunelleschi continued to work in the idiom of a goldsmith by the application of individual pieces melded together into a whole, while Ghiberti created more like a sculptor in the sense of modelling planes of relief for a greater integration of the figures and their surroundings. To any progressive young artist, the rush of artistic ideas and pos­ sibilities must have seemed volcanic in their sudden eruption.

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No direct evidence exists that Donatello helped his friend Brunelleschi, but he would have been involved in the thea­ tre of the competition and was an interested student of the results. He absorbed lessons from both men and each left a lasting impression. With Brunelleschi he continued to culti­ vate a rewarding friendship, and a few years later he would work briefly for Ghiberti as a top assistant. There are conflicting accounts of the competition and what later transpired. Ghiberti claimed to have won outright, 3 Brunelleschi, Sacrifice of Isaac, 1401–3, gilt bronze.

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while Brunelleschi’s partisans argued it was an effective tie, with the two participants being offered a chance to work together on a collaborative enterprise. The latter is more likely. These guild patrons were businessmen, after all, with a long history of hedging bets. In any event, Brunelleschi and Ghiberti were men of conflicting personalities, unable ever to get along over the many decades to come. In this early instance, whatever the directive, rather than collaborate, Brunelleschi simply walked away. 4 Ghiberti, Sacrifice of Isaac, 1401–3, gilt bronze.

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The immediate aftermath of the Baptistery competition proved fundamental to the history of art. Ghiberti went on to produce the first of two sets of doors he created for the Florence Baptistery (a pre-existing set already graced the south entrance). These north doors proved a training ground for many young artists in Florence. His final set, for the Baptis­­ tery’s east side, is so beautiful it has been immortalized as the ‘Gates of Paradise’.19 Brunelleschi, meanwhile, set off on a different type of artistic adventure. He went to Rome. In that city he im­ mersed himself in the study of ancient art, and for at least part of that sojourn he was accompanied by Donatello. Donatello likely made his initial trip to Rome shortly after the Bap­ tist­ery competition ended in 1402 and is not documented again until between 1404 and 1407, when he is listed as work­ ing for Ghiberti on the north Baptistery doors in Florence. Neither artist stayed continuously in Rome without periodic visits to Florence and other cities, but while Brunelleschi made Rome a second home, Donatello remained strictly a visitor. Contemporary sources agree that the Rome experience proved of fundamental importance for the development of both artists. According to the mathematician Antonio Manetti, Brunelleschi’s friend and biographer, Brunelleschi initially aimed to study sculpture but he quickly became obsessed with architecture and classical engineering.20 Vasari, as usual, echoes prior sources when he summarizes: Filippo and Donato, who were together, resolved to depart from Florence in company and to live for some

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Artistic Formation

years in Rome, to the end that Filippo might study architecture and Donato sculpture.21 Brunelleschi never completely gave up sculpture but was to make a much greater mark by designing buildings, through his innovative engineering projects, and by developing the science of perspective. Donatello remained primarily engaged with sculpture, though not without interest and some expertise in all that classical study had to offer. They must have made a colourful pair, each idiosyncratic in his own way, not much caring what others thought, and both intensely interested in art. They were budding creative geniuses although as yet unaccomplished and unproven, and essentially unknown in Rome. They had limited resources but also no obligations. They just needed to make ends meet and explore the Eternal City. Manetti says they cared not about what they ate, what they wore or where they lived. They were there to explore, measure, excavate and experiment. They supported themselves doing goldsmithing work, which offered flexibility, income when needed and, for Donatello, important training in craft. Vasari says that to the uninformed they looked like treas­ ure hunters. The pair were indeed treasure seekers – but for a different fortune than one might suppose. They hoped to find the secrets of art as transmitted through the often scarred and buried remains of classical objects. They sought systems of proportion in buildings, the orderly organization of design elements, naturalistic poses in statuary and novel techniques in all the arts. In statuary they focused on the ideal­ ization of the human form. They returned to Florence with

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measurements, drawings, and memories of place and context as invaluable artistic riches that they would soon apply to a new art. The infusion of Roman sources proved critical to the formation of this budding Renaissance aesthetic. fashioning artistic identitY Upon return from his first experiences in Rome, Donatello spent some time with Ghiberti, Brunelleschi’s old rival. He was one of several assistants named as working for Ghiberti on aspects of the north Baptistery doors between 1404 and 1407.22 Though his role remains unclear, Donatello was one of the higher-salaried employees, suggesting more than menial contributions. Furthermore, he received only partial payment, indicating his employment there was brief. What did Donatello take from his time with Ghiberti? Ghiberti worked in various media but at the time he was becoming the foremost Florentine expert in bronze, the medium of the north doors. Designing for bronze implied facility with pliable media necessary for modelling: clay, wax, plaster and other materials. Ghiberti also made Madonna and Child sculptures and other furnishings in various media for homes and churches. Ghiberti’s workshop was a large operation, with the opportunity to gain exposure to diverse techniques. The experience with Ghiberti also informed Donatello about the efficient running of a large sculpture studio. Dona­ tello must have quickly realized he was temperamentally averse to this type of enterprise, and he thereafter always sought different relationships with his colleagues. Donatello

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Artistic Formation

was a better collaborator than an employer; he would rather have partners and use subcontractors than operate a sculptural conglomerate like Ghiberti. Donatello subsequently transitioned out of the Ghiberti workshop and into a nexus of sculptors working under the aegis of Florence Cathedral. This workshop, called the Opera del Duomo, was under the patronage of the wool guild (Arte della Lana), and the primary medium was carved stone rather than cast bronze. There existed here a much freer atmosphere, promoting individual artistic development, and an implicit belief that from competition among artists working for the same cause the best work would eventually emerge. It is here that Donatello formed a sense of independence as a sculptor. By 1408 he was already being recognized as a formidable young carver of statuary and was entrusted with work on one of the most important commissions of the time, the Porta della Mandorla, the extravagant entry on the north side of Florence Cathedral that was then in progress (illus. 5). Donatello’s activity before 1408 is not well understood. He was a participant within the cathedral workshop, master­ ing his carving skills, but it is crucial to recognize that any young sculptor, whatever his individualized talents, was here integrated as part of a team working as collaborators, taking care to form their work into a harmonized whole. It is not a slight to think that Donatello might have carved secondary works or architectural details to develop his carving skills and have contributed to various items of statuary; all of which makes attribution difficult. He became the most skilled carver of his generation, though how he developed such mastery is a mystery of art.

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As important as technical skill was the formation of artistic relationships. Donatello soon gravitated towards a fatherand-son team, Antonio and Nanni di Banco, who became his friends and in many ways acted as mentors. Other important sculptors at the cathedral workshop, who factored significantly in Donatello’s early career, included Niccolò di Piero Lamberti and Bernardo di Piero Ciuffagni. Though none of these men 5 Porta della Mandorla, marble.

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Artistic Formation

achieved the later fame of Donatello, they cannot be dis­ counted as companions or friendly rivals, and at times both. In November 1406 Donatello received payment for a prophet to adorn the Porta della Mandorla. Though identi­ fication of this figure is disputed, a small statue from the Porta, now in the cathedral workshop museum, is almost certainly by Donatello from this period (illus. 6).23 This small figure (about 128 cm / 50 in. tall) shows some progressive features when compared to the other examples from the same complex. The prophet does not stand in a typical con­ trapposto but rather leans forward, balancing himself while putting weight onto the left knee and pushing it forward. Drapery subsequently smooths out over the left knee and thigh, while the drapery on the right clings to the body in concentric folds. The face of the figure presages Donatello’s later faces described in his marble David and St George, and the wreath that circles the prophet’s head appears much like that on the former. One final detail speaks volumes towards its attribution to Donatello. A knot of rope lies against the prophet’s right breast. Its purpose is unclear, especially since the prophet has lost whatever he once held between his hands, which may have been a scroll fashioned in another medium. Nevertheless, the intricacy and realism of this small knot indicates an artistic sensibility keen to those seemingly incidental quirks that animate a body or describe a fashion or characterize an attitude. Throughout his career Donatello’s eccentricity of character shows through in unique moments of interpretive detail, making his works inimitable. By February 1408 Donatello had clearly distinguished himself among the cathedral workshop sculptors and he

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received a more exalted commission. By this time he had formed a close artistic and personal relationship with his col­ league Nanni di Banco. Nanni was probably born around 1374, making him about twelve years older than Donatello. The two were so in harmony artistically that Vasari mistook Donatello for being the older master, and their respective contributions from this period are still debated. In January 1408 a commis­ sion had been awarded to Nanni and his father Antonio to make a statue of the prophet Isaiah. This was intended as part of a grand scheme to create twelve prophets that would grace the exterior buttress spurs of Florence Cathedral.24 In February Donatello was awarded the contract to sculpt a companion prophet, specifically a David. This created a rivalry to be sure, but a friendly one. Nanni finished his figure first, in December, and it was placed on a cathedral spur. Donatello finished his figure the following June; the plan then took an unexpected turn. Instead of Donatello’s figure joining Nanni’s atop the cathedral, Nanni’s figure was removed, leaving all the spurs once again bare. The life-sized figures proved too small to have their intended effect at such a great height of display. Nanni’s Isaiah remained part of the cathedral decorations, first gracing the facade and then finding its way inside the building, where it still stands today. The fate of Donatello’s figure remains murky and it could be one of several extant statues in the cathedral museum of undetermined provenance and authorship.25 Meanwhile, there was no time to lose in employing Dona­ tello to make more works for the cathedral, and the overseers (Operai) smartly sought to use competition among their sculp­ tors to everyone’s distinct advantage. A scheme was already

6 Donatello, Prophet, c. 1406, marble.

7 Donatello, St John the Evangelist, 1408–15, marble.

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Artistic Formation

in progress, with marble being quarried, to place sculptures of four seated evangelists on the cathedral facade. In December 1408 contracts were signed, giving one statue each to Niccolò di Piero Lamberti, Nanni di Banco and Donatello. The fourth statue would be given to the artist whose resultant figure was determined to be best. This not only encouraged artistic com­ petition but added the nice inducement of another commission to spur on superior work. Unfortunately, the Operai eventually learned what they should have surmised from the start – that the artists would not deliver on time, and in 1410, with none of the three statues completed, they gave the fourth to Bernardo di Piero Ciuffagni. All four figures were finished by 1415, Donatello’s under threat of a significant fine for further delay. Ciuffagni had a certain advantage in a late start, having seen progress made by the others, but his statue of St Matthew is sterile and unexpressive, and is certainly the least interesting of the four. Lamberti’s St Mark shows an attempt to enliven the figure through more attention to drapery and facial detail, but it ulti­ mately remains boring and unresponsive to new tendencies. Nanni’s statue of St Luke is of a different character. It is bold, with a distinctively rendered face that implies life study. The whole conveys a gravitas and monumentality derived from the study of ancient sculpture almost to exaggeration in its jutting right elbow and massive lap. The saint’s right hand dramatically perches on his thigh and the torso exudes an implied movement as if reacting to a viewer. Donatello’s St John the Evangelist (illus. 7) is not a radical digression from the others but offers an effective and original exploration of the grandly seated subject.26 It is most akin to Nanni’s St Luke

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but with an added element of realism that makes his figure the most convincing and idiosyncratic. A sweep of drapery crosses the chest and breaks from the normal stylization of drapery folds; the book is held upright by the wrist rather than by artificially posed fingers; the neck turns slightly towards the right while the knees veer to the left: all these details work in concert in the St John and lead to the most animated and energetic portrayal of the group. The figure is best seen from below, which was the original viewpoint – with its base about 3 m (10 ft) from the ground – and from this perspective the elongated pyramidal form evens out and displays one of the first clearly evident uses by Donatello of optical corrections, which will be a concern for the entirety of his remaining career.27 The viewer’s experience is essential, and no sculptor since classical times had taken this realization to its fruition, especially since it entails the deliberate distor­ tion of form in the process. Visually the figure adjusts when viewed correctly. Art is a fiction, and Donatello understood how to manip­ ulate it to best advantage. Ripped from its context and viewed head-on, the fiction is revealed, rendering the visual effect far less stunning. Only Donatello and Nanni understood this at the time. They were engaged in a different conversation from Lamberti and Ciuffagni, who were left behind while others marched forward towards a new art. During his career Donatello rarely worked on one com­ mission at a time, making any strict sequence of his sculptural development dubious. He also consistently experimented with varied media. On both issues, a good case in point is a statue Donatello made of the prophet Joshua.28 It had its

35

Artistic Formation

beginnings in 1410 when the Operai revised their ill-fated scheme to place twelve prophets atop the cathedral spurs. Having learned that life-sized figures were too small, this time they wanted giants. Donatello was to manufacture a colossal figure of Joshua. A problem, however, was that the scale they had in mind (about 5 m (16 feet) tall) would make it difficult to complete in marble, especially since no block of sufficient size had been quarried since ancient days. Piecing together smaller blocks of stone was a possibility but an unpalatable aesthetic choice for most sculptors. Donatello approached the problem with his typical inven­ tiveness and proceeded with an unprecedented plan. He constructed his figure with a brick core surrounded by clay, and he had the whole whitewashed with lead white to imitate the appearance of marble stone. It worked. The figure carried the nickname the ‘White Colossus’ or ‘The Large White Man’ and was hoisted to a cathedral spur where it remained until the eighteenth century, when it strangely disappeared from all records. We know its appearance from prints, none of which render much detail but all of which demonstrate its grand effect. Modern clichés describe innovation in terms like ‘think­ ing outside the box’. For Donatello such innovation became a norm. He lived in an environment that he helped create, that prized invention and problem-solving in art, and that put an emphasis on the novel and daring, even for its own sake. This dynamic is well illustrated by an incident in which Donatello took part around 1409–10 – a brilliant ruse per­ petrated by Brunelleschi, Donatello and their friends on an unsuspecting colleague.29 Antonio Manetti narrates the events, which centred on a woodworker named Manetto, nicknamed

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Il Grasso (The Fat One). Manetto made the mistake of not attending an arranged dinner with a group of friends that included Brunelleschi, Donatello, Manetti, the patron Gio­ vanni Rucellai and others who congregated at the house of Tommaso Pecori, a distinguished aristocrat. In this salon-like meeting of intellectuals and artists Manetto’s absence was considered a social slight. As playful revenge, Brunelleschi 8 Brunelleschi, Crucifix, c. 1410–15, polychrome wood. Santa Maria Novella, Florence.

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Artistic Formation

orchestrated a rather mean but devilishly clever prank whereby the group succeeded in fooling Manetto that he was actually somebody else. The plot entailed the collusion of a judge, a priest, family members, colleagues, friends and other con­ spirators, all of whom subsequently addressed Manetto as a mutual acquaintance named Matteo. Donatello played his 9 Donatello, Crucifix, c. 1407–10, polychrome wood. Santa Croce, Florence.

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part and laughed heartily at the outcome, which resulted in a relatively benign ending. He played the prankster, fully complicit in this group dynamic that was petty on the one hand and ingenious on the other, with perverse attention to detail, such as using opiates to induce a deep sleep in the victim so the perpetrators could rearrange his workshop and change his sleeping orientation to further confuse the poor woodworker on awakening. One must dispel the idea of the solitary Renaissance genius, whether in pranks or in art. It took many individuals, some with extraordinary intellect and creativity, to successfully engineer this elaborate ruse, and so too in making progressive art. Donatello also took his turn as the lesser player in a pur­ ported instance of artistic one-upmanship. Around the time of the prank on Manetto, Donatello completed a wooden crucifix for a chapel in the church of Santa Croce (illus. 9).30 Various sources mention the work, including an embellished version of events by Vasari. Vasari says that upon finishing the crucifix Donatello showed it to his friend Brunelleschi, who criticized the figure for looking more like a peasant than a Christ. Donatello thus challenged Brunelleschi to make a better one. Brunelleschi fashioned his work in secret and one day asked Donatello over to dinner. The pair first went shopping and Brunelleschi asked Donatello to transport the food to his house while he ran an errand. Donatello opened the door to Brunelleschi’s house and beheld the crucifix, at which point he dropped the food to the floor, breaking the eggs in the process. The story ends with Donatello declaring to Brunelleschi, ‘to you it is granted to make Christs and to me to make peasants.’

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Artistic Formation

The anecdote, however much exaggerated, raises impor­ tant issues regarding the development of the new Renaissance aesthetic. Donatello’s crucifix remains in the church of Santa Croce and Brunelleschi’s rests across the city in Santa Maria Novella (illus. 8). While neither crucifix can be precisely dated, they were both produced in this age of transformation from medieval to Renaissance style. Donatello’s Christ, at its most basic and important essence, is in fact a study of the male nude – Donatello’s first realization of the theme.31 Contrary to popular perception, Donatello did not produce many adult nudes. He eventually made at least three crucifixes (two in wood and one in bronze) and a bronze youthful David, while the rest of his nudes are variations of spiritelli (sprites) of one sort or another, whether in relief or free-standing. Aside from the crucifixes, Donatello sculpted no other adult male nudes and no female nudes approaching life size if we consider that his wooden Magdalene is clothed in her own hair and reveals little of her body. This crucifix is thus an important early statement on the unadorned human body. What did Brunelleschi mean by accusing Donatello of manufacturing a peasant? The failing, as implied by Brunel­ leschi, is in what the figure was not. It was not heroic, and certainly not god-like, as judged by a classical aesthetic. Its virtues reside in its realism, based in large measure on life study, but the forms do not coalesce in a way that conforms to a greater classical ideal. In truth, the two respective cruci­ fixes are not radically different and to the uncritical eye are rather comparable. The main differences are found in the respective exploration of the body and the emotion it elicits in the viewer. Donatello’s figure is more raw and emotive of

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suffering, like the German Andachtsbilder (devotional images) that were so popular in the Middle Ages. Donatello’s Christ seems haggard, his detailed face rife with pain, and his body slumped in suffering; the musculature appears exaggerated and mannered. The addition of polychromy makes the figure seem more real, and it may have been applied by a painter, a common means of collaboration.32 Donatello also incorp­ orated a medieval aesthetic in its proportions. One can easily argue that the head is too large, the legs too short and the arms rather scrawny. Though optical corrections may be present, the arms are hinged to pivot at the shoulder, so the figure was probably meant to serve multiple poses and to be seen from multiple viewpoints – for example the arms might toggle to the side when taken down from the cross, as if re-enacting the Deposition. The crucifix may have served other functions, such as a featured object in processions, plays or other active cele­ brations in addition to its more passive display as a reverential sculpture. By comparison, in Brunelleschi’s crucifix one notices the classical derivation of idealized proportions, the elegance of the body and its almost effortless sway. Brunelleschi’s Christ suffers less and emanates a stoic calm. Modern observers often prefer the Donatello figure because of its rawness, but it is not a question of preference. In the early fifteenth cen­ tury Brunelleschi’s sculpture would have seemed more classical and progressive. It represents the rebirthing of a classical system in the ultimate Christian figure, arguably still awkwardly, but at least decidedly. Masaccio, considered the first true Renaissance painter, saw the revolutionary nature of Brunelleschi’s crucifix and essentially painted his friend’s

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Artistic Formation

figure at the centre of his wall fresco known as the Trinity, in the same church of Santa Maria Novella. Masaccio’s Trinity is acknowledged as one of the first Renaissance paintings and it helped introduce Brunelleschi’s system of mathematical perspective, with the most astounding optical illusion of three-dimensional space for its time. Masaccio was good friends with Brunelleschi and Donatello and depicted them both in a lost fresco in the cloister of Santa Maria del Carmine. It is cause rather than coincidence that these three, the first great painter, sculptor and architect of the times, were close friends and conversed with each other both in words and in art as the Renaissance took root. the daw n of r enaissance art The breakthrough to the dawn of a Renaissance in art was imminent. As with the critical competition for the Baptistery’s north doors, this new activity took place at an important build­ ing central to Florence’s civic identity. It is called Orsanmichele. The building still stands on the via dei Calzaiuoli, the street that runs from the Baptistery to the Piazza della Signoria, one of the most trafficked avenues in the city then as now. It had been the site of an open grain market that was later enclosed and transformed into an oratory and grain storage facility. It was not only associated with spirituality and the notion of miraculous intervention for the citizens of Florence, but served as a guarantor of the city’s collective health and its ability to provide food to all its citizens. The building bears fourteen exterior niches built into the structure, and their embellishment was assigned to the various civic guilds, both major and minor.

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Due to little early progress having been made in decorating these niches with statuary, a decree in 1406 stipulated that the niches should be filled within ten years on penalty of forfeiting patronage rights. The threat of losing a privilege is a good way to beget action. The decree sparked immediate competition among the guilds and their chosen artists to embellish the niches. The resulting statuary would be highly visible, amounting to an open art gallery featuring the city’s finest sculpture and glorifying its benevolent patrons. The minor guilds all commissioned marble statues while the major guilds pre­ ferred bronzes. Bronze was far more expensive in material costs and had a higher status, thus giving greater prestige to those who used it. At this time bronze work in Florence was synonymous with Lorenzo Ghiberti, whereas marble carving was associated with those sculptors connected to the cathe­ dral workshop. The main characters all bear familiar names: Brunelleschi, Lamberti, Nanni di Banco, probably Ciuffagni and, of course, Donatello. Progress began in 1406 with an uninspiring Gothic figure of St Luke made by Lamberti for the niche of the judges’ and notaries’ guild (Arte dei Giudici e Notai). It set a low bar for innovation that would be quickly superseded. The guild itself, sensing some embarrassment, would later replace it with a bronze statue. A statue of St Peter was next commissioned by the butchers’ guild (Arte dei Beccai). Older sources attribute the figure to Brunelleschi or Donatello or both, but it is an inconsistent statue that makes only incremental contributions to a new style through its nascent classicism and insistence on a low viewpoint.

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Artistic Formation

The truly inspiring creations were those of the second decade of the fifteenth century. Ghiberti enjoyed an ascend­ ant artistic position, with his work progressing on the north Baptistery doors, and he was the only sculptor in the city working extensively in bronze. He became the natural choice for the major guilds, the most wealthy and politically power­ ful. Ghiberti’s figure of St John the Baptist (illus. 10) for the Arte di Calimala was a casting tour de force that finally rivalled the ancient accomplishment of producing large-scale statuary using the lost-wax process. This massive, larger-than-life figure exudes an even more monumental presence. It is one of the most beautiful sculptures cast in the entire fifteenth century, though it largely speaks the Gothic language of a previous generation. The drapery makes elegant patterns of curving lines, much like rippling water, but their flow relates little to the figure beneath. The pose has a stereotypical medieval sway rather than a convincing shift of weight indicative of a nat­ uralistic pose. The saint’s stern expression, overwhelming size and otherworldly sense of presence make it an abstract and timeless statement, whereas the more progressive trend of Donatello and the marble sculptors would focus on the human and the actuality of the natural world. Where Ghiberti’s bronzes are impressive accomplishments within an established internationally recognized style, Dona­ tello’s marble figures at Orsanmichele were revolutionary. In 1411 Donatello received a contract from the guild of linen weavers and used-cloth dealers (Arte dei Linaioli e Rigattieri). This was a minor guild, and the marble block assigned to Dona­­ tello had actually been quarried for Lamberti two years before. This block became Donatello’s figure of St Mark (illus. 11),

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which has been called the earliest unequivocal Renaissance work of art in any medium.33 The statue is justly praised for its classicism, its humanity, its natural pose and its realistically intense expression. But even an infinite list of these individ­ ual parts will not add up to the whole of what makes this a transformative figure. In truth, Donatello’s St Mark is not a statue of absolutes. It appears defective if seen incorrectly and groundbreaking

10 Ghiberti, St John the Baptist, c. 1412–16, gilt bronze.

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Artistic Formation

only when recognized as a novel way to create art for the human eye. Vasari’s narrative about the statue makes this point vividly. He claims that the guild members were initially dis­ pleased with the statue when they saw it at eye level. Donatello urged them to let him fix it. For two weeks he did nothing to 11 Donatello, St Mark, 1411–13, marble.

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the statue but raise it into the niche at Orsanmichele and cover it up. When it was newly unveiled at the correct height, the spectators were duly amazed. Viewpoint and the way the statue interacted with the observer in time and space were essential. The contemporary viewer at Orsanmichele needed to see this statue in this niche, at this height, with this light, within these limits of street, surrounding buildings and the context of fifteenth-century Florence. In such a way, the details coalesced into a greater whole. St Mark’s contrapposto imitates a natural pose that most humans enact without any thought, shifting weight towards one side of the body, as recognized in much classical statuary. The drapery falls as it does because of the body underneath, clinging or hanging according to the body’s movement. One of the most telling details is the cushion on which the saint stands. It probably refers to the commission­ ing guild and its wares, but more importantly it appears to be soft, allowing the saint to sink slightly into its supple surface. In other words, the cushion reveals that the figure has weight. Donatello’s St Mark was the first statue of the Renaissance to break down the barriers between reality and artistry. All previous statues of the type assume an imaginary plane through which the viewer peers into an unreal world of spirituality and abstraction. Donatello shatters this barrier because the reality he depicts seems continuous with the viewer’s own. The optical correction does not make the aber­ ration go away – it allows it to make sense. All is purposeful to foster an illusion of merging realities. Both the humanity and spirituality of the saint are established in rapport with the viewer, making both seem more present.

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Artistic Formation

As if to prove the point, the original statue looks decidedly awkward when viewed straight on in the museum today, while a copy enjoys the original niche. The body seems elongated and even the drapery appears contorted. Without the niche to obstruct our view we see that the back is unfinished. These are secrets behind the curtain of artistry that would not have been readily revealed to the original spectator. When first unveiled, the statue’s effects were magical, as if Donatello had made a marble figure come to life. Michelangelo took particu­ lar note of this illusionism and, if Vasari is to be believed, said that ‘he [Michelangelo] had never seen a figure that seemed more like an honest man and that if St Mark were like the statue, we could believe all that he had written.’34 With this statue Donatello inspired belief in the power of art to imi­ tate and even improve upon life experience, and he thereby ushered in the true rebirth, or Renaissance, of art as an ideal outgrowth of the natural world. Donatello thrived on competition, whether competing with the ancients, with his contemporaries or with himself by always striving to invent new forms and never falling into repetitive patterns. Donatello’s only real rival working within the new style at Orsanmichele was Nanni di Banco, his friend and companion at the cathedral workshop. Concurrent with Donatello’s work on St Mark, Nanni worked on a figure of St Philip for the shoemakers’ guild (Arte dei Calzolai).35 Vasari relates that the guild first gave the commission to Donatello, who demanded too much money, and that it subsequently transferred the commission to Nanni. When Nanni finished the statue, he requested even more money than Donatello,

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whereupon the guild asked Donatello to settle the dispute. Unexpectedly, Donatello sided with Nanni. His argument was that it took much more time for Nanni to carve the figure than Donatello himself would have needed, and therefore Nanni deserved more money for the additional time he had spent. It was a tongue-in-cheek response that supported his friend while at the same time claiming his own artistic supe­ riority. The only real losers were the guild patrons, who had to pay more money than they desired. Many of Vasari’s tales are inventions, but this strikes just the right tone of friendly rivalry in which both sculptors could fairly claim victory. Nanni made a more notable contribution to the chorus of activity at Orsanmichele through a group of sculptures known as the Quattro Santi Coronati (Four Crowned Martyr Saints, illus. 12).36 Nanni belonged to the sponsoring guild, the masters of stone and wood (Arte dei Maestri di Pietra e Legname), and winning the commission from his peers indicated how far Nanni’s repu­tation had risen both artistically and poli­ tically.37 The martyrs’ story took place under the Emperor Diocletian (r. 284–305), when this group of Christian sculp­ tors chose death rather than carve statues of the pagan god Asclepius. Nanni depicts them as heavily classicizing fig­ ures, emanating stoic gravitas. Again, Vasari claims that Donatello saved his friend because Nanni had initially made the four-figure group too large for the niche. Donatello therefore sent Nanni to Prato for a few days, during which time he and some assistants shaved down the sculptures to fit. All he asked from Nanni in return was a dinner. The story is unlikely, especially because two of the figures are actually carved from the same block, leaving little room for

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Artistic Formation

modification. But again, the tales of artistic rivalry and sup­ port ring true in spirit. Donatello’s next revolutionary move came through a figure of St George (illus. 13) and an accompanying narrative relief featuring one of the saint’s exploits (illus. 14).38 By legend, George was a Christian soldier who saved a princess and her town by capturing a dragon that had been terrorizing the popu­ lace. George slew the dragon once the townspeople converted to Christianity. Donatello’s statue of St George was made for display in a shallow niche under the patronage of the guild of armourers and swordsmiths (Arte dei Corazzai e Spedai). At various times throughout its subsequent history this has been Dona­ tello’s most admired statue. The Renaissance architect Filarete, despite criticizing Donatello for other works, called it ‘excel­ lent and perfect’.39 Its original appearance is debated since drill holes in the head suggest a head covering such as a helmet or wreath, while holes at the left thigh imply a once-attached scabbard, and a cavity at the right palm indicates the saint held an object like a baton, sword or lance. Later visual rep­ resentations inspired by Donatello’s St George add various objects to all these areas. Considering the nature of the guild as providing arms and armour, it is logical to suppose that George did bear their wares. Bronze accoutrements would have activated the figure both visually and spatially. A sword, for example, would have jutted out into the street towards the viewer, while a helmet would have filled the awkwardly empty space in the uppermost part of the niche. Generations of critics especially admired the life-like qual­ ities of St George. Vasari says:

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In the head can be read the beauty of youth, spirit and valor in arms, a proud and terrible energy and a mar­ velous sense of movement within the stone. Certainly in modern figures no such vivacity and spirit is to be seen in marble as nature and art effected through the hand of Donatello in this statue.40 12 Nanni di Banco, Quattro Santi Coronati, c. 1409–17, marble (copy in original setting).

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Artistic Formation

A passage by the writer Anton Francesco Doni, from 1552, has the statue actually speaking, asking the viewer, ‘Why do you resent my beauty? It was impossible that Donatello should represent me otherwise than as I am.’41 A sexualized con­notation was given by Anton Francesco Grazzini in the later sixteenth century when he called the statue ‘my beautiful Ganymede’, with its homoerotic connotations.42 13 Donatello, St George, c. 1415–17, marble.

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One key to the statue is the connotation of impending action. Donatello posed the statue with subtlety, using nei­ ther a typical contrapposto stance nor one that implies stasis. George’s legs stand apart while his arms balance the shield, forming a perfect tripod of stability but not relaxation. He leans slightly towards his left and forward from the niche. He arches his shoulders back and his waist forward as if tak­ ing a deep breath of readiness. Put together, St George stands watchful and alert, and it seems that he could at any moment confidently move forward to battle. In contrast to the other statues at Orsanmichele and most other sculptural representa­ tions of saints in the city, Donatello’s St George displays an ideal of youthful assuredness. Instead of being covered in voluminous flowing drapery, George wears a cape over clas­ sicizing armour, and the muscled cuirass emphasizes an idealized athletic body that must lie beneath. The dress and shield are of a type appropriate for tournaments and pageants, making explicit that he is on display. 43 Altogether, this unique interpretation of young manhood, in a city so celebrating of it, must have been revelatory. With sublimely idealized facial features, both tender in age and mature in spirit, St George manifests the perfect embodiment of the active life that singularly complements the spiritual and contemplative lives 14 Donatello, St George relief, c. 1417, marble.

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Artistic Formation

denoted in the other contemporary sculptures at Orsanmichele. St George is thus the exception to the rule, and, if we imagine the glistening bronze accoutrements complementing white marble and a sword jutting out from a shallow niche, it is no wonder he seemed more alive and vibrant than anything yet seen in Florentine art. It would be wrong, however, to think of this sculptural florescence occurring as a series of monologues in which one sculpture directly succeeded another, with conversation proceeding in an orderly way. Instead, one must envision a scrum of activity, with the sculptors frequently arguing and just as often agreeing, offering friendly challenges, accepting criticism and sculpting overlapping works that regularly ex­ tended far beyond their expected dates of completion. The guilds would not have allowed sabotage or subterfuge, but they certainly encouraged friendly rivalry and serious com­ petition. Only in wishful hindsight do the results seem inevitable and their contributions distinct or linear. For this reason, it is understandable that with many of the works we attribute to Donatello the sources also implicate Brunel­ leschi.44 Brunelleschi was an important part of Donatello’s early conversations, and when it came to Donatello’s next challenge Brunelleschi’s innovative thinking about art was certainly at its core. While creating his St George statue Donatello made a con­ current breakthrough in the arena of relief sculpture, and his peers deserve some recognition for stimulating the creativity.45 The revolutionary nature of the art must be seen in relation to painting and the fundamental challenge of depicting the three-dimensional world on a two-dimensional plane. This

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challenge gave impetus to the development of a mathematical way to render fictional space, such that Brunelleschi developed (or discovered, one could argue) single-point perspective – also called mathematical or Brunelleschian perspective. Masaccio most famously displayed its use in his painting of the Trinity in Santa Maria Novella, but Donatello’s relief for St George precedes it by a decade. Donatello also took the un­precedented route of starting with a plastic medium and incorporating the extension of space seemingly afforded only to those working in one plane. To understand Donatello’s revolutionary technique one may again compare his work to that of Nanni di Banco, an excellent sculptor in his own right. Nanni’s relief beneath the Quattro Santi Coronati shows the four classical sculptors engaged in their art. They work on a figure and on architectural orna­ ments. Nanni displays the whole as if the viewer peers into a box (much like a shoe-box tableau exercise). The whole is bordered on all sides while we peer through the front into a space defined by the objects within. The space is as deep as the width of the person or chair or sawhorse seen depicted. A back wall parallel to the front plane prevents any further reading of space. The three-dimensionality of figures and objects is actual rather than implied. Forms are literal and exist as well-formed objects in space. The technique, which has precedents in Roman sarcophagi, has the advantage of clarity and simplicity, while the execution takes virtuoso technique to successfully carve with such intricacy. With its incorporation of single-point perspective and unorthodox carving, Donatello’s St George relief has no pre­ cedent.46 It is an entirely novel attempt to render space using

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Artistic Formation

low relief sculpture, or rilievo schiacciato.47 Donatello dispenses with the rigidly defined spatial box and assumes an ideal view­ point from below, at the average viewer’s actual vantage point. He carves with varying grades of relief, ranging from the more fully three-dimensional figure of St George to the description of trees and clouds barely scratched into the marble surface. When viewed correctly, the entire scene opens up in time and space like a play staged immediately for the viewer. On the left appears the opening to the dragon’s cave and on the right a classical colonnade. Both conform to mathematical perspec­ tive, following lines that meet at an imaginary vanishing point at the centre top of the marble panel just above George’s head, and as if pushing the eye to continue to the statue stand­ ing above. Trees sketched in shallow relief form a backdrop without closing off space because the hills and clouds among them continue to recede into the infinite distance. The less detailed rendering of objects depicted as further within space establishes the first instance of atmospheric perspective in the Renaissance and has even been called ‘Impressionist’.48 Nineteenth-century copies better show some of these details since unfortunately the original has deteriorated greatly. Mounted on his horse and with full battle gear, St George looms in the foreground in larger scale and higher relief than any other detail. This makes him appear closer to the viewer visually, though the difference in relief may be measured only in millimetres of marble. His horse pivots on a slight diagonal into the background, leaving its rump well defined while the head and neck are only lightly drawn into the surface. Dona­ tello renders the scene by scratching carefully into the surface and introduces new-found motion and emotion. On the right

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side the princess swoons. In the centre George thrusts his spear and his cape flutters dramatically. To the left the dragon reels. Donatello thus creates an action-packed scene in a supposedly static medium. He has effectively destroyed the perceived superiority of painting to render spatial illusionism. A revolution in sculpture was now plain to see and experience on the exterior of Orsanmichele.

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The Business of Art

S

uccess often brings its own forms of stress. His genius now clearly apparent, Donatello gradually found himself in such demand he could not pos­ sibly satisfy all his prospective suitors, especially within the artificially determined deadlines that patrons predictably sought. Like a snowball gathering mass as it rolls down a hill, Donatello’s obligations broadened through commissions at the cathedral workshop, the guilds embellishing Orsanmichele and governmental bodies who sought his services as a point of civic pride. All these patrons were linked through the com­ plicated and close-knit politics of the day, and Donatello’s uncommon talent helped him negotiate difficult waters as patrons became more accommodating of his eccentricities than they might have been for others. Not yet thirty years old, Donatello had become an authority in the arts and, arguably – Ghiberti would have disagreed – the most progressive sculptor in Florence.

15 Donatello, David, c. 1408–12 and modified 1416, marble.

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competition and collabor ation In 1415 the cathedral Operai initiated a final push, complete with threats, for Donatello to finish the seated St John the Evangelist for the cathedral facade. At the same time, they made the task more difficult by diverting the artist to other matters. Donatello first received commissions for two new figures intended to decorate the cathedral’s campanile (bell tower). In October of that year we also learn of an extraordinary object being created jointly by Donatello and Brunel­leschi. The Operai still hoped to continue the project of adorn­ ing Florence Cathedral with giant prophets perched on the twelve spurs that buttress the dome. There was yet only one reasonably successful figure – Donatello’s multi-media statue of Joshua, which was weathering poorly since it had already needed to be re-whitewashed. Brunelleschi and Donatello were to make a test figure, or scale model, of a giant stone statue to be covered in gilded lead. The experimental figure was an episode of geniuses trying to make lemonade out of lemons. This time it didn’t work and may have caused temporary friction between the two protagonists. In January of 1416 the Operai made threats that Brunelleschi should give the lead to Donatello or face arrest.1 These threats were not idle. In September of 1412 Brunelleschi had even managed to have Donatello imprisoned because of a legal dispute between them over 50 florins.2 Time and again the artists patched up their complicated relationship, and in 1419 Donatello and Nanni di Banco are found help­ ing Brunelleschi with a model for his greatest achievement, the dome of Florence Cathedral.3 Donatello and Nanni later served on a committee to advise on Brunelleschi’s progress.

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Even with overwhelming amounts of work in progress for Orsanmichele and the cathedral, Donatello received addi­ tional demands for sculpture, including from the government. In July 1416 government officials insisted that the cathedral Operai immediately turn over a marble statue of David that was in their possession (illus. 15). Donatello and his assistants received sums to modify it. The statue was set up in the gov­ ernment palace against a wall painted with the Florentine lily over a blue ground. This was in the Sala dell’Orologio (room of the clock). The statue in situ made an impressive sight and remained in place until the eighteenth century. The origins of this statue remain unclear, with some claim­ ing it was Donatello’s first attempt to adorn the cathedral spurs in 1408–9 and others arguing it must be a later statue, completed around 1412, when he was paid for a figure of a prophet David.4 The latter suggestion convinces more readily since the statue has an ill-formed back, indicating it was meant to be seen within a niche or against a wall rather than high atop the cathedral, and its base does not match the shape of the cathedral spurs. Stylistically, however, it must precede the transformative innovations seen in the St Mark or St George stat­ ues from Orsanmichele. It belongs to an earlier era, around 1408–12, and Donatello’s intervention in 1416 was meant to prepare this previously carved stone for a new setting. The statue displays ambivalent tendencies. The overall stance of David appears awkward, as it leans with a slight Gothic sway rather than contrapposto, and it has an elon­ gated neck and rubbery-looking arms. Drapery furls around the figure’s right side and billows around the right arm but clings glue-like to the leg. The details, though, are beautifully

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executed, especially the hair and victor’s wreath on David’s head, the rippled borders of his clothes and the evocative head of Goliath. David’s right hand originally held straps that connected to the sling’s pocket seen resting on Goliath’s head. The statue also bore gilding. Typical of these early represen­ tations of David is the presence of a stone in Goliath’s head and again in the sling’s pocket, which eviscerates time in that the imagery can be read as both celebrating a present victory and confirming the protagonist as armed and ready to fight future foes. This was especially appropriate in its new setting where it took on greater political significance. Donatello intervened in 1416 to ready the statue for its final placement in the government palace, and an inscription was added prior to the end of the sixteenth century which read: ‘To those who fight bravely for the homeland the gods will lend aid even against the most terrible foes.’5 Florence had a long tradition of associating itself with the biblical David, with Michelangelo’s giant statue being the most famous later example. It too came out of the cathedral workshop but upon completion was set in front of the government palace. Dona­ tello’s marble David spoke much earlier as a political statue, and Michelangelo well knew of this and other precedents when he composed his masterpiece.6 Another civic symbol for Florence was a lion holding a shield, called the Marzocco. Actual lions resided in cages kept behind the Palazzo della Signoria, their behaviour being consulted in times of war. In front of the palazzo the Florentines displayed various stone versions of the Marzocco and, in a theatrical show of subservience to the state, pris­ oners were forced to kiss its behind.7 Donatello received

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his commission for a Marzocco (illus. 16) from the cathedral Operai in anticipation of a visit from the new pope, Martin v (1417–31), which eventually transpired between 1418 and 1420.8 To prepare for this important event a new papal apart­ ment was built at the church of Santa Maria Novella with a staircase designed in consultation with Ghiberti. Donatello’s Marzocco was intended for display at its apex. The stone of both staircase and lion was the local pietra di macigno, rather than marble. It is a softer stone and not as weather-resistant, but it had the advantages of being less expensive and easier to carve, and served especially well for interiors. Donatello’s Marzocco follows the traditional format of a seated lion resting a paw on the Florentine shield. It is not­ able for its detailed and expressive face, which is almost a mix of the feline and human. Such an anthropomorphic figure guarding the Florentine republic like a soldier might have seemed too aggressive and even defiant to a pontiff whose favour was being cautiously courted. The statue should have been quick work but Donatello did not complete it in time for Martin v’s visit. One cannot help but wonder whether the delay was inten­tional so as not to antagonize the Pope with such a blatant symbol of Florentine independence. Martin’s visit was an important event, as no pope had visited Florence for 150 years. The timing occurred just after the great Papal or Western Schism, which saw three men simultaneously claiming to have papal authority. The Council of Constance settled matters with the election of Martin v as pope, and he would pass through Florence on his way from Constance to Rome. A loser in the schism was Baldassare Cossa, formerly John xxiii and now an antipope. Cossa had

16 Donatello, Marzocco, 1418–20, pietra di macigno.

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been supported by the Medici, who remained loyal to Cossa, and they would later honour the man posthumously by creat­ ing, with the help of Donatello and Michelozzo di Bartolo­meo, a magnificent tomb monument. The Florence visit witnessed the theatrical reconciliation of Martin v with Cossa, who died shortly thereafter, instigating a significant change in Dona­tello’s career. Though pulled in all directions, Donatello had to address the commission for the campanile. Money to Donatello was being dispersed regularly, and his friend Nanni di Banco assisted by acting as guarantor for advanced payments. But Donatello needed help carving and turned to a competent if uninspiring sculptor, Nanni di Bartolo, nicknamed il Rosso (the Red).9 The campanile bears four niches on each of its four sides, and eight of these spaces already contained statues. Donatello received commissions for two new statues along with the oppor­tunity to finish an additional figure left incomplete by Bernardo Ciuffagni. Donatello understandably shifted res­ pons­­­ibility for this statue to il Rosso. Donatello delivered one of his new statues in 1418 and another in 1420, all the while working concurrently on his many other projects. The docu­ments do not specify the identities of these campanile prophets, and therefore scholars have taken to calling them the Bearded Prophet and Beardless Prophet, respectively.10 The Bearded Prophet (illus. 17) was probably the earlier of the two to be finished, since it is most like the statuary on Orsan­michele, though the individual chronology of these prophets is less important than the resulting pair, especially since Dona­tello rarely completed any statue in this period

17 Donatello, Bearded Prophet, 1416–18, marble.

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without others in various stages of ideation or execution. The Bearded Prophet seems serious and self-contained, with a pose significantly more effective when seen from below, indicating the same obses­sion with optical considerations as at Orsanmichele. The right hand at the chin with index finger across the cheek marks a pensive and quiet figure with gravitas but without the same attention to the body displayed in the St Mark. Here the body is more hidden, but a nice detail shows in the left foot, which overlaps its rocky base and implies a break in the barrier between its space and the viewer’s. The Beardless Prophet (illus. 18) appears more animated than its companion and his drapery cascades over the edge of his rocky base. The prophet holds a scroll between his hands and looks down towards the viewer. Donatello gave the face a portrait-like character with a sombre expression, more com­ pelling than his bearded counterpart’s, and more similar to ancient portrait busts of Roman senators. The muscles and veins of the neck stand out, denoting great strain, and thus the physical tension suggests the psychological and emotional turmoil borne by this prophet whose identity escapes us today but would have been known to Donatello’s first audience. Both figures were well received and gained their respective places in the campanile niches. With progress on the campanile project going well, Dona­ tello received another commission for this series. This involved a two-figure group of Abraham and Isaac to be carved from one block of stone (illus. 19).11 Donatello again turned to il Rosso for assistance. The two sculptors made remarkably quick work of this statue, having begun in March 1421 and finishing by November, and it shows. Though Donatello must have

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had the major role in the statue’s design, he was not respon­ sible for the bulk of the carving. The group lacks the power of Donatello’s other works of the period. Abraham stands behind a kneeling Isaac and the father rests a knife’s edge on his child’s shoulder. It is unique among the campanile stat­ ues for comprising two figures in a narrative situation and might have been more dynamic in Donatello’s hands alone. Donatello and il Rosso were well aware of the obvious refer­ ence to the reliefs made twenty years earlier by Brunelleschi and Ghiberti. This result pales by comparison, and the drama is so weak that it has been explained away as a depiction after the event, when Abraham relaxes his arm knowing the sac­ rifice will not proceed. In retrospect it seems an opportunity had been lost, especially to explore further the male nude in the figure of Isaac. Still, there is no indication the Operai were anything but pleased – they paid handsomely (125 florins) for their work. Il Rosso would soon be given another statue to carve, depicting Obadiah, and Donatello remained well employed. One reason for Donatello working with il Rosso is that personal and professional tragedy had recently struck in one blow. In 1421 Nanni di Banco died. The cause remains unknown but Vasari indicates an aching flank (mal di fianco), or a prob­ able abdominal illness. Nanni’s death must have been unsettling to Donatello, even in an age accustomed to untimely death by plague, accident or unexplained causes. Nanni had been about 47 years old when he died and in a prime position professionally, politically and socially. Soon after finishing the Quattro Santi Coronati he was elected to high governmental offices, which was unusual for a sculptor. Documents show

18 Donatello, Beardless Prophet, 1418–20, marble.

19 Donatello and Nanni di Bartolo, Abraham and Isaac, 1421, marble.

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that in Florence he was giving assistance and inspiration to Donatello, Brunelleschi and others. All the while, Nanni worked on finishing the cathedral’s Porta della Mandorla. On his death, Donatello and several other colleagues stepped in to satisfy the situation. Nanni had received the Porta della Mandorla commission in 1414 and work had progressed slowly due to his other artis­ tic and political responsibilities.12 He died with the central and most important section, the Assumption of the Virgin scene, mostly complete but needing some installation and finishing touches. In 1422, after Nanni’s death, Donatello added to the ensemble by inserting two profile heads of prophets into the frames. They seem unnecessary unless considered a tribute of sorts to Nanni or part of Donatello’s desire to finish his friend’s work exactly as planned. Nanni’s contributions had a lasting influence on Floren­ tine sculpture, most notably through the work of Luca della Robbia but also in sculptures by artists such as Bernardo and Antonio Rossellino and Verrocchio.13 The monumental clas­ sicism of Nanni’s earlier statues was not lost on Donatello, nor was the new dynamism seen in the Assumption of the Virgin. The Assumption offered an argument that the exaggeration and abstraction found in Gothic statuary could be used for good purpose within the new Renaissance idiom of naturalism. Nanni’s Assumption has been called Baroque – a descriptive that characterizes an art two centuries thence – for its dram­ atic movement and theatricality, and these qualities may have prompted Donatello to try new directions. In the wake of Nanni’s death, stylistic idiosyncrasies in Donatello’s succeeding works signal new experimentation.

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One of these works is an additional statue for the cam­ panile, carved during the period 1423–5. It depicts the prophet Jeremiah (illus. 20) and picks up from tendencies seen in the Beardless Prophet and detected concurrently with the St Louis of Toulouse. Jeremiah’s drapery shows even greater animation, almost unnaturally disturbed, with sections so convoluted they recall the melodramatic sensibility found in Nanni’s late work. The figure has an exaggerated, manic look, with facial features that appear intensely personal and portrait-like but almost like that of a madman. The statue is the product of distress and virtuosity coming to the fore. Jeremiah is powerful and emotional but lacks the subtlety of the most celebrated work Donatello later carved for the campanile – a statue of Habakkuk, or the so-called Lo Zuccone. At the same time he worked on Jeremiah, Donatello explored the possibilities and limitations of a new medium – bronze. The impetus emerged from the prestigious opportunity to decorate an additional niche on Orsanmichele – the most prominent of the entire complex – on the central pier of the building on the heavily travelled via dei Calzaiuoli. This niche belonged not to a guild but to a powerful political party called the Parte Guelfa. Their patron saint was St Louis of Toulouse, who had renounced his claim to the Kingdom of Naples to become a Franciscan friar and symbolized papal over imperial authority. Donatello’s new statue would be flanked on the left by Ghiberti’s successful bronze St John the Baptist and on the right by Lamberti’s unremarkable St Luke. Donatello worked on the St Louis statue (illus. 21) and its niche between 1423 and 1425.14 He designed the space as the most authentically classical of all the building’s niches and it is

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probable he had the input of Brunelleschi, who had also been working for the Parte Guelfa at the time. Overall, the niche has a new sculptural quality, with many relief embellishments that could only have come from Donatello’s own creative mind. The St Louis was Donatello’s first major work in bronze, and it betrays some inexperience with the medium. In many ways it is a monumental version of goldsmith work, being intricately pieced together from about a dozen separately cast pieces. It is open at the back and so unbalanced that it cannot presently stand on its own without support. Pieces of the statue are certainly missing, including the figure’s right forearm, his crozier’s crook and possibly parts of the back. The piecemeal quality did have the advantage of allowing for greater depth of drapery folds and protruding parts, such as the crozier and detailed mitre. It also enabled fire gilding, meaning the entire figure could be more efficiently covered in gold and would weather well. Donatello probably favoured the experimental over the practical, however, in keeping with his unorthodox artistic character. Donatello’s work presented a radical alternative for bronze statuary as compared to those examples by Ghiberti, who in 1423 had just finished another bronze statue for Orsanmichele, that of St Matthew. Ghiberti’s St Matthew is not especially innovative but satisfied the confines of a shallow niche and provided a gesture of dynamic movement towards an entry door. Ghiberti’s statue is benignly straightforward while Donatello’s St Louis is a complicated essay in abstraction. In the latter, the lack of body definition under busy drapery and the awkwardly mannered hands have purpose. Its greatest visual advantage at Orsanmichele was that it was the only fully

20 Donatello, Jeremiah, 1423–5, marble.

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gilded statue. Early light hitting the golden figure, which faced east across a wide street, must have made a spectacular sight. Its convoluted folds catch light and shadow and increase the flickering effect of sunlight, unlike a smooth bronze surface, which tends to reflect direct light more blindingly. The mitre was partly silvered and imbedded with rock crystal and blue enamel, all increasing the visionary nature of the image in situ, where the statue became icon-like and the niche an altar-like setting.15 Though with a political association, Donatello’s St Louis would have been the only statue on Orsanmichele that sang as an intensely spiritual figure sparkling in the rays of divine light, and thus Donatello sacrificed realism for spirit­ uality. Its abstractness was part of its particular message of a dedicated commune under the watchful eye of a selfless patron saint. The statue was moved during Donatello’s lifetime, however, and later commentators never saw it properly and therefore disparaged it. The Parte Guelfa’s power diminished with the rise of the Medici, especially from 1434 onwards when Cosimo de’ Medici returned from exile. Around 1451 the statue was removed and the niche later sold to the Mercanzia (the mer­ chant’s court that regulated all the guilds). The St Louis was then transferred to the facade of Santa Croce, where it made a poor sight. Vasari, not knowing Donatello’s original intention, called the statue the ‘least successful of his works’ and narrates that when it was accused by a friend of being ‘clumsy’ Donatello replied ‘that he had made it that way on purpose, since the Saint had been a clumsy fool to relinquish a kingdom for the sake of becoming a friar’.16 Though youthful like the St George,

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it was never similarly celebrated, being too aloof and distant in its portrayal. Once it was divorced from its context Vasari and his contemporaries completely misunderstood the nature of the statue, which was as unorthodox a work as Donatello had yet made. Evidence of its initial success, moreover, was that Donatello soon found himself besieged with commis­ sions to be executed in bronze. One of these new bronzes was a reliquary bust depicting San Rossore, cast for the church of Ognissanti in Florence (illus. 22).17 In 1422 the saint’s head, which had been kept as a relic in Pisa, was transferred to Florence, and the commis­ sion followed shortly thereafter. Donatello’s tax declaration (catasto) for 1427 reveals that the friars of Ognissanti still owed him money and that Donatello in turn owed Giovanni di Jacopo degli Stroza for the bust’s casting. It is probable that this same expert also cast the St Louis. Evidently things had not gone exactly as planned, but an admirable creation resulted nonetheless. Donatello’s reliquary bust is cast in at least four pieces, joined with screws.18 It should be considered an exploratory work, and Donatello’s innovative ideas would soon be better realized when he had a more expert collaborator for works in bronze. These were important early steps, but he had yet to master fuller possibilities with the medium. The San Ros­sore bust represents abstract portraiture in the sense that it provides a visage of the saint, but one whose actual appearance was completely unknown since he had died over a thousand years before, during the reign of Diocletian. The implication of realism, still, is quite strong, and through the details Dona­tello asks the viewer to suspend doubt for a moment and recognize

21 Donatello, St Louis of Toulouse, 1423–5, gilt bronze.

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the soldier-saint’s realistic armour, the finely described facial hair including the intricately worked eyebrows and the idio­ syncratic nature of the face that suggests use of a live model.19 Such works are often called ‘speaking reliquaries’, and creating a sculpture that would speak to the viewer was one of Dona­ tello’s obsessive missions, as explored more pointedly in later work, especially the Zuccone. The period that included these initial experiments in bronze were uneasy times for Donatello and other sculptors 22 Donatello, Reliquary Bust of San Rossore, 1422–7, gilt bronze.

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in Florence. For political and economic reasons, in September 1423 the Arte della Lana suspended their commissions for stat­ uary, making a few exceptions for works already in progress.20 Donatello’s collaborator, il Rosso, who had finished the statue of Obadiah in 1422 among various other sculptures, left Florence for Venice in 1424, at least partly to escape debts.21 With Nanni di Banco deceased, il Rosso gone and Brunel­ leschi fully engaged on constructing the dome for Florence Cathedral, while having constantly to negotiate artistic terri­ tory with Ghiberti, Donatello achieved a pre-eminent status in the field of sculpture. He became swamped with commis­ sions, both within Florence and from patrons in other cities.22 He consequently did something that might seem rather unusual but which in context was perfectly logical: he formed a long-term partnership with the artist Michelozzo di Bartolo­ meo. Though he must have hated the thought, Donatello hereby acknowledged that his art had become a business, and while he was unquestionably a great artist, he had little talent or patience for managing either his personal or professional affairs. Michelozzo was a natural manager and worked well in partnerships. He brought expertise in bronze work and in architecture. He was also an admirable sculptor. For these reasons and others, the initial partnership with Michelozzo proved to be a godsend. partnership In his catasto declaration of 1427, Donatello claimed to be 41 years old and supporting his mother, Orsa, his widowed older sister, Tita, and her eighteen-year-old son Giuliano.23 Though

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catasto declarations tend to exaggerate debts and downplay assets, Donatello appears not to have been in a strong finan­ cial state despite his copious artistic output. He lists money owed to him for various commissions, including from the Opera of Siena Cathedral and the friars of Ognissanti in Flo­r­­ ence. He in turn had debts to others, including substantial obligations for works relating to Sienese commissions and the sculptor Jacopo della Quercia. Donatello was renting a home from Guglielmo Adimari, of an old patrician family, in the corso degli Adimari (part of the present via dei Calzaiuoli near the cathedral) and owed two years of back rent. This is not the financial portrait expected of such a successful sculp­ tor. In contrast, for the same year’s catasto return Lorenzo Ghiberti declared owning a house and workshop in the city, a plot of land (with olive trees and a vineyard) in the country, and an impressive 700 florins invested in government bonds.24 Even a sculptor who cared so little for wealth could see he had created an untenable financial situation that would not end well. There was no lack of work. On the contrary, with obligations clearly exceeding Donatello’s available time, he urgently needed assistance carving stone and exploring the new medium (for him) of bronze. For financial, practical and other reasons, Donatello thus sought a partner to help man­ age his affairs and found a faithful and talented collaborator in the person of Michelozzo.25 In substantial ways, Michelozzo was a perfect complement to Donatello both in terms of temperament and artistic expertise. Michelozzo was born in 1396, making him about ten years younger than Donatello. Historians have emphasized his work as an architect but he was an artist of wide range

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and accomplishment. He showed proficiency in sculpture in a variety of media, including stone and bronze, and enjoyed a relationship with the Florentine mint since the age of four­ teen. Furthermore, he proved to be an inspiring and efficient collaborator, having mutually beneficial artistic relationships over his long career with Ghiberti, Donatello, Luca della Robbia and Maso di Bartolomeo. He was a natural manager and diplomat and adept at negotiating the perilous caprices of patrons, politicians and colleagues. There was little he could not do or find a way to get done. The business arrangement between Donatello and Michel­­ozzo began around 1425. At that point Donatello was overburdened, while Michelozzo, for his part, wanted separa­ tion from a working relationship with Ghiberti. Ghiberti was not pleased, complaining in a letter to the Sienese sculptor Giovanni Turini of ‘ingratitude’, but the two later reconciled and Michelozzo was again working with the Ghiberti family by 1437.26 It seemed nobody could remain estranged from Michelozzo for long. Partnerships were normally contracted for three years, and the one between Donatello and Michelozzo was renewed twice so that it lasted for a total of nine years. A partnership brought many benefits, not least of which was greater financial stability since each partner shared in the earnings of the other. This created a natural incentive to assist, advise, collaborate and otherwise act in concert for mutual professional gain. The accounting was complicated and included several pending commissions on each side that had been awarded before the partnership formed, but Michelozzo was more than capable of dealing fairly and competently with the tallying.

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The partnership provided a hedge against the unpredict­ ability of patrons and commissions since Donatello now profited from Michelozzo’s stable salary at the mint, and Michelozzo took a share of Donatello’s work for the cathedral. Michelozzo was clearly the businessman of the two, writing out all the partnership declarations and business correspond­ ence and even making out Donatello’s catasto declarations. The partnership also allowed the artists to take on greater capital risk and expand their operations. Over nine years the partnership had workshops in several different locations in Florence, and for limited periods they also kept operations in Pisa, Prato and possibly Rome. One tends to think of Michelozzo as the principal manager and architect and of Donatello as the creative genius and sculptor, but responsibilities were not so cut and dried and never spelled out as such in documents. Works produced dur­ ing the partnership arrangement therefore present critical complications. Clearly, some works are primarily by Donatello and others mainly by Michelozzo, but the point of the part­ nership meant that each had a vested interest in the success of the other. To insist on cutting the division of contribution too finely is to mistake the nature of mutually beneficial collabora­ tion that may not manifest so distinctively in the execution. The artistic impetus for the partnership emerged with the opportunity to design and manufacture an elaborate tomb honouring Baldassare Cossa, the man who had become Pope John xxiii during the Western Schism and then antipope. Backed financially by the Medici, during his time in power Cossa (also spelled Coscia) elevated the priority of the Medici bank within the papacy, exponentially increasing the wealth of

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the family. Though Florence was ostensibly a guild republic, in actuality the Medici increasingly controlled the city’s politics, much enabled by this vast new wealth. When Cossa died in 1419 his will requested burial in the Florence Baptistery, and to assure such favour he bequeathed money and a precious relic, a finger of St John the Baptist. His four executors included Giovanni de’ Medici and other Medici supporters, and for Cossa’s tomb they chose Dona­ tello and Michelozzo, two artists who were becoming ever more entwined with the Medici family. The cathedral’s baptistery was one of the most honoured sites in Florence. Believed at the time to be a Roman temple (it was actually begun in the eleventh century), it lay at the literal and figurative heart of the city, and most children born in Florence were baptized there.27 Its exterior doors were then being cast in bronze by Ghiberti, and inside it boasted extensive decoration, including its ceiling featuring the most important mosaics in the city. Cossa’s tomb monument was a unique opportunity to add to this artistic feast. Donatello and Michelozzo finished the tomb by 1428 and it bears an important place in the development of the com­ memorative funerary monument (illus. 23).28 In effect it helped set in motion the basic parameters that continued to develop through the Renaissance and even into the modern period with the essential forms intact. It is grand, theatrical, and refer­ ences both Christian and classical precedents. The whole must be credited to both artists, though there is considerable vari­ ation in the execution of its parts. The emphatically vertical structure stands sandwiched between two pre-existing col­ umns. It reads best from the top down where one first sees

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a giant canopy suspended from a ring. The canopy opens to reveal a stone relief of the Madonna and Child who preside over a gilded bronze effigy of the deceased. The former pope lies on a lion-footed bier over a sarcophagus whose inscribed surface bears his name flanked by two putti. Descending from 23 Donatello and Michelozzo, Tomb of Baldassare Cossa, 1424–8, marble with gilt bronze effigy.

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the sarcophagus, Cossa’s coats of arms appear above three personifications of virtues in high relief, and finally a platform base bears classically inspired garland swags. The overall architecture, with pieces stacked one atop the other, is less in keeping with Brunelleschian principles and Donatello’s niches at Orsanmichele, leading most critics to credit that aspect to Michelozzo. The carving, being more intriguing in design than execution, reveals workshop prac­ tice and involved several reliable studio assistants, probably including Pagno di Lapo di Portigiani. Speed of execution seems to have been a priority. One feature, nonetheless, dis­ plays palpably different characteristics from all the other parts: the bronze image of Baldassare Cossa. It is unquestionably by Donatello. The medium of bronze looms ever more important for Donatello from this point on in his career. Donatello had just finished the gilt bronze figure of St Louis for Orsanmichele, for which he subcontracted much of the technical work and which he cast in pieces. Michelozzo brought a wealth of know­ledge and experience in bronze that proved invaluable for Dona­ tello’s artistic evolution. From his years at the mint and with Ghiberti, Michelozzo knew how to navigate various technical challenges, from modelling to casting to finishing. The Cossa effigy is much like a relief sculpture and more expertly cast than anything Donatello had previously produced in bronze. It has few highly projecting surfaces and instead the artist gives much attention to detail. Cossa’s face in particular suggests the specificity afforded by study from a life mask or death mask, the latter frequently being made on the death of famous persons. Brunelleschi’s death mask, for example, still exists.

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The realistic-looking portrayal lends Cossa’s face authenticity, even if it is idealized. One sees other striking details in the borders of the pillow on which Cossa’s head rests, and dec­ora­ tive motifs adorn the mitre, gloves and vestments. Donatello gilded the whole, lending a striking visual glow to the effigy of the deceased. The partnership between Donatello and Michelozzo was now working exactly as planned, with each artist lending expertise to the other, major commissions proceeding smoothly, and a certain stability brought to their newly linked careers. The situation would eventually change, but the beginning could not have been more auspicious. the spirits of life Bronze sculpture opened a new realm of commissions for Donatello, and he eagerly explored its potential. He achieved unprecedented results, and Michelozzo must be given some credit for pouring fuel on Donatello’s creative fire in this medium. Donatello’s reputation spread quickly, and entities from other cities now vied for his services. The most important opportunity came from Florence’s great rival city, Siena, which had commenced production of the most elaborate and beau­ tifully ornamented baptismal font of the entire Renaissance in Italy.29 The finished font for Siena’s cathedral baptistery stands as a towering vertical structure with the contributions of parts from many important sculptors. Its elements featured marble and bronze, with both relief sculpture and figures in the round. Participants included the greatest Sienese sculptor of the

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period, Jacopo della Quercia, as well as Lorenzo Ghiberti, Donatello and slightly lesser local names such as Turino di Sano and his son Giovanni Turini. Siena clearly wanted to boast of employing the best sculptors in Italy, including its own. The sculpture commissions began around 1416, but Dona­­tello first became involved in 1423 when, for unknown reasons, Jacopo della Quercia transferred to Donatello respon­ sibility for one of the six narrative relief scenes that adorn the sides of the font’s hexagonal basin. The two sculptors had a long-standing professional relationship, Jacopo having taken part in the 1401 competition, and he personally assisted in the transfer of the Siena contract to Donatello. The Sienese had to wait longer than expected for their art. None of the sculptors made much progress until 1425, when the cathedral workshop started demanding the return of sums advanced. The threat of financial penalty had the intended effect and by 1427 all but one relief was completed, with the final panel delivered by Jacopo three years later. Donatello executed his scene between 1425 and 1427 in Florence and it was then couriered to Siena to be gilded and polished. All six of the resulting reliefs are beautiful, but none was as revolutionary as Donatello’s. Each of the other sculptors took an individual scene and created a type of still frame tableau, as was common practice. These scenes are relatively straightforward, with clear and convincing narrative moments. Donatello took another route. He constructed a significantly more complex scene, both vis­ ually and interpretively, which contains multiple narratives (illus. 24). Ostensibly, his scene depicts the Feast of Herod, during which Herod was so seductively charmed by the

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dancing of his stepdaughter, Salome, that he promised her any gift. Salome’s mother, Herodias, convinced her to ask for the head of St John the Baptist, which was duly given. Dona­ tello’s relief simultaneously depicts at least three moments in the story, and it questions time and narrative sequence suggestively in an unprecedented way.30 The foreground shows the presentation to Herod of John’s head, displayed on a platter. The king recoils in shock towards the viewer’s left while another group of revellers coalesces on the right. This leaves an open area in the centre of the panel for the viewer’s eye to travel back in space and time. The middle

24 Donatello, Feast of Herod, 1425–7, gilt bronze.

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ground marks a visual interlude during which a musician plays an instrument before two onlookers – a moment of peace and sensuality between two scenes of horror. Though we cannot see the danc­ing Salome, her presence is implied. Donatello teases us with a dynamic tension in that we know the dance seduces the king and leads to the death of a holy man, yet Salome herself is absent. One must imagine the sex­ uality that inspired Herod’s desire. Reality strikes again as the eye moves to the background where Herodias receives the platter with the head of John the Baptist. Moreover, the neck of the severed head is hidden by a pier, denying the viewer any morbid satisfaction in witnessing the gore. Donatello encases the whole in an architectural framework composed of classical arches, but the perspecitve is intention­ ally manipulated such that the viewer must move to properly investigate the scene. While the foreground floor pattern takes the eye directly back into space, the arches pull the eye from side to side as if the viewer were moving deeper inside the architecture. These arrangements force the viewer to contin­ ually scan the detailed scene, never resting the gaze in any one place or moving in any single direction. Altogether Donatello creates a remarkable integration of spatial effects unique for its time and rarely seen again. The subsequent stage of the font’s decoration involved six statuettes meant to stand on the corners of the basin, each representing a Christian virtue. Donatello received commis­ sions for two of these figures, representing Faith and Hope respectively. In 1427 he and Michelozzo wrote to Siena to con­ firm their identities, which was important because it meant that the artists intended to design the figures with symbolism

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appropriate to their roles. In other words, the two artists had decided that their figures would not be generic fare. Faith (illus. 25) and Hope (illus. 26) are relatively small sculptures, measuring about 52 cm tall (20½ in.). Donatello conceived them as free-standing statuettes described fully in the round, with complementary poses and countenances. Faith reaches out and downwards with her right hand, which now holds only a remnant of the original cross, and her left hand grasps a chalice. She looks downwards solemnly and with her right foot she subtly steps off her base. Hope, in contrast, brings her hands upwards and together.31 She tilts her head skyward and appears almost to float off her base as her spirituality raises her upwards. Both statuettes exude powerful emotions. Donatello’s description of physical form gives them a notable presence, a believability and intensity. Their flowing drapery is more controlled than that of St Louis of Toulouse and not as linear as that represented in Cossa’s effigy; with these figures Donatello has entered a new subtlety of execution, both expres­ sive and commanding. Many critics have noted Donatello’s developing classicism as well as the distinct influence of Ghiberti, but the resulting style is not derivative since he has combined the elements into new and original forms.32 Donatello’s innovations continued with two additional commissions for the Siena baptistery font. He made a small door (sportello) in gilt bronze for the tabernacle, but the patrons rejected his creation in favour of another by Giovanni Turini, and Donatello’s work has been lost.33 He did receive payment for his time and trouble, and it intrigues us to consider what could have been so unusual and challenging about the door as to make his contemporaries in Siena deem it unacceptable.

25 Donatello, Faith, 1427–9, gilt bronze.

26 Donatello, Hope, 1427–9, gilt bronze.

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Donatello’s final works for the font consist of three youthful nude statuettes. They joined three others made by Giovanni Turini, for a total of six. Donatello’s figures are clas­ sically derived, and thus the beings are often called putti or, when transposed into a Christian context, angels. But they are actually personifications of animating spirits and can more properly be called sprites, or spiritelli. They are the embod­ iments of abstract concepts such as sensation, inspiration and love.34 Donatello investigated numerous themes and stylistic types through his art, but throughout his career he showed a particular focus on youth, especially in the form of such spir­ itelli. There exists a host of spiritelli attributed to Donatello and his circle with good plausibility, many of them meant for domestic interiors and others that formed parts of fountains or other exterior adornments. These include various forms of gleeful micturating putti – which are really water sprites who produce a pure emission, playful sprites that blow pinwheels, sprites that hold fantastic sea creatures and others that evoke the essence of love.35 They go by various names (putti, cupids, angels, bambini and so on), but inevitably they simply augur positive themes such as good health, fortune, love, fertility, abundance and wealth. Too often forgotten is that a main purpose was to elicit joy in the viewer, and prompt smiles and chuckles in the process. They appealed to the emotions as much as to the mind. Donatello’s figures for the Siena font refer to music, dance and song. Though inspired by classical prototypes, for the first time since antiquity the spiritelli do not merely decorate but engage as active participants in divine revelry and function

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as conduits to spiritual ecstasy. One spiritello (illus. 27) dances a familiar choreography that Botticelli would also copy for his dancing graces in the Primavera. A trumpet player (illus. 28) blows an instrument recognizable from many pictures of heaven and the Last Judgment. The third spiritello strikes a tambourine (illus. 29) and opens his mouth to sing. Together they resonate with ideas of heavenly bliss. These spiritelli have been dubbed the first true free-standing figurines of the Renaissance for good reason.36 Each stands on a shell of convex surface. Thus the sprites balance precariously on a curve, which further energizes their poses. They all stand in variations of classical contrapposto, but not statically in the least. Of all the figures on the font, these sprites would be the most widely influential because they symbolized what was at the heart of the Renaissance – the classical reborn into the Christian. What followed in Renaissance art were endless variations of the type, through sprites that referred to the arts, natural elements, love and more. These figures became a staple of production for Donatello and even more so for generations of followers. Donatello was well regarded in Siena though he executed most of his work in Florence. He visited the city frequently and was on good terms with Jacopo della Quercia and Gio­ vanni Turini. In 1429 he travelled to Siena to act as godfather to the daughter of a Sienese goldsmith, Tommaso di Paolo di Vannuccio.37 As with his colleagues in Florence, there was an attitude of competitive respect that Donatello shared with his Sienese counterparts. One final work in Siena from this period deserves mention. In 1426 the bishop of Grosseto, Giovanni Pecci, died shortly

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after making a will that called for his eventual burial in Siena Cathedral. The commission for a bronze tomb slab went to Donatello sometime in the following years.38 This commission put Donatello in direct comparison with Ghiberti, who had recently made a tomb slab for Fra Leonardo Dati in the Floren­ tine church of Santa Maria Novella, the same church with Brunelleschi’s wooden Crucifix and Masaccio’s Trinity fresco. Ghiberti’s commemorative slab is rather static and the effigy looks squashed from any viewpoint. In contrast, Donatello took viewpoint as a fundamental starting position. The Pecci slab 27 Donatello, Dancing Spiritello, 1429, bronze. 28 Donatello, Spiritello Playing the Trumpet, 1429, bronze.

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in Siena Cathedral (illus. 30) originally rested conspicuously in front of the high altar, and by manipulating the forms of the relief Donatello created an ideal viewpoint for a viewer standing at the foot of the effigy.39 The effect is unprecedented three-dimensionality. Even the soles of Pecci’s shoes are seen from this angle, and the whole likely evoked the contemporary

29 Donatello, Spiritello Playing the Tambourine, 1429, bronze.

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practice of viewing the deceased during the funeral ceremony before burial. In effect Pecci remains eternally on view in a true-to-life fashion even to this day.

30 Donatello, Tomb Slab of Giovanni Pecci, c. 1428–30, bronze.

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sculptur e as painting: schiacciato r elief More by circumstance than by design, Donatello and Michel­ ozzo were becoming specialists in funerary monuments. The Cossa monument had established a new type, and on its heels Donatello and Michelozzo received two similar com­ missions. One was for the humanist and apostolic secretary Barolomeo Aragazzi, whose tomb was intended for the Pieve of Monte­pulciano. The tomb has since been dismantled and none of the remaining pieces much enlightens our under­ standing of Donatello, but within the partnership he had a vested interest in its creation between about 1427 and 1438. Michelozzo clearly took the lead on this commission as well as on a concurrent one for the tomb of Cardinal Rainaldo Brancacci, who died in 1427. Brancacci was from Naples, though he was closely connected with Baldassare Cossa as well as with the Medici and Brancacci families of Florence. Brancacci’s tomb was intended for the church of Sant’Angelo a Nilo in Naples. Credited primarily to Michelozzo with input from Dona­ tello, the Brancacci tomb bears two features of note. The first concerns business practices. The tomb was created in Pisa and its parts were then shipped to Naples. Pisa offered much easier and less costly shipping while still being close enough to Florence for Michelozzo and Donatello to exert quality con­ trol over a studio there. The commission progressed quickly so they did not have to support the extra studio for long. The partners were thinking like efficient businessmen. In fact, they jointly owned a mule they declared as a business expense, and in 1426 Donatello bought a boat to help ship stone from Carrara to Pisa. In Florence they also employed a studio hand,

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a boy named Rinaldo di Giovanni Ghini, who was fourteen years old in 1427 and lived in the house of Michelozzo.40 The second item of note is a sculptural passage. Despite the rather workmanlike craftsmanship on most of the Bran­cacci monument, one detail, a marble relief, shows the hallmarks of Donatello and is a virtuoso piece that only he could have con­ tributed. This schiacciato relief features the Assumption of the Virgin (illus. 31) and was inserted into the most visible section of the monument, just above eye level.41 In the scene, a melan­ choly Virgin slumps on a throne that appears to emerge from a background composed entirely of clouds. Angels swoop towards her, treating the clouds like fluid waves bearing mass and weight that move due to their presence. One muscular angel supports the throne from below, with foot perched on the frame’s edge and arms raised in reverent effort. Other angels hover nearby, and smaller heads are just perceptible as if an infinite number of angelic beings continue to multiply in the heavenly realm. Donatello continued to explore the potential of relief sculpture both in bronze and marble to spectacular effect. In fact, the most elaborate relief from this period is a long hori­ zontal work (40.9 cm × 114.1 cm) showing the Ascension with Christ giving the keys to St Peter (illus. 32).42 Its original intended location remains unknown but the Brancacci chapel in Florence has been plausibly hypothesized. By 1492 the relief formed part of the collection of Lorenzo de’ Medici as a framed and precious object. One certainty is that it visu­ ally cements a continued artistic connection with Masaccio, who was working in the Brancacci chapel until 1427 or 1428 and had a close friendship with Donatello as well as with

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Brunelleschi. Their association is documented in 1426 when Donatello, then in Pisa, twice collected payments for Masaccio, who was working on an altarpiece intended for the church of Santa Maria del Carmine in that city. 43 Not surprisingly, Mas­accio’s painting features a Donatellesque Madonna. Though the specifics of their interaction remain elusive, the synergies are unquestioned. Masaccio’s most famous narrative is the Tribute Money in the Brancacci chapel, and many simila­r­­ ities exist with Donatello’s Ascension relief in the disposition of figures, attention to plastic form, and even the description of clouds and trees. The two artists were clearly in fruitful conversation. Donatello’s Ascension relief offers a wealth of details and techniques otherwise found only in painting. For example, in just the few centimetres on the relief’s far left one notices a 31 Donatello, Assumption of the Virgin, 1427–8, marble.

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tiny village in the distance, trees in perspective and two angels, one clapping while the other embraces him with an arm around the back. Theirs is such a human action it seems palpably real and derived from spontaneous expressions of camaraderie. Additional angels appear in the sky amid billowing clouds, lending an ethereal presence. The main figures converge within a naturalistic landscape, forming a circular disposition around a hovering image of Christ, and the whole reflects the influence of Brunelleschi’s methods of rendering perspective. Donatello had no peer in the carving of low-relief marble panels, and his compositions came into high demand. Many con­cerned the theme of the Madonna and Child. These inde­ pendent panels remain undocumented, though, and extant examples are often hopefully attributed, but two stand out 32 Donatello, The Ascension with Christ Giving the Keys to St Peter, c. 1426–8, marble.

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as the most likely to have been carved by Donatello. Similar to the Assumption relief in style and mood is a small relief now in Boston called the Madonna of the Clouds (illus. 33).44 Again, the figures come to life when seen from slightly below. The Virgin cradles the Christ Child with her left arm while draw­ ing up her gown with her right. Angels hover, and one in the upper right moves out of the frame, thereby implying extended space. The other marble relief from this period was carved slightly earlier. Called the Pazzi Madonna (illus. 34), it is virtually undis­ puted as a masterpiece of the type, but it deals with different concerns.45 Whereas the Boston relief transports viewers to a spiritual realm, the Pazzi Madonna places the spiritual in the here and now. The relief appeals to one’s sense of logic and

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reason by insisting on a definite viewpoint, with a vanishing point located in the centre of the lower parapet rather than the centre of the relief. From this perspective the relief opens up as a realistic window into a three-dimensional world. No haloes adorn the figures, no angels distract and no extensive narrative intervenes, other than that implied by a mother showing love to her child. When the relief was seen correctly in a domestic interior the intimacy of the portrayal must have been a startling display of reality and spirituality in the early Renaissance. 33 Donatello, Madonna of the Clouds, c. 1425–30, marble.

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With the workshop humming under Donatello and Michel­ ozzo, these Madonna and Child compositions could now be produced in quantity and in diverse media. Ghiberti had a significant operation manufacturing similar items. Between these and related studios, Florence became flooded with sculpted Madonna and Child reliefs in bronze, stone, terra­­ c­­otta, stucco and other media. At times they were painted or gilded, and what had once been the staple of painters now became a speciality also of sculptors. A later generation of art­ ists would produce copious numbers of these images, with surviving examples primarily in the style of Donatello. These

34 Donatello, Pazzi Madonna, c. 1420–25, marble.

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sculptors included Desiderio da Settignano, Antonio Rossellino, Bene­detto da Maiano, Verrocchio and many others. pitfalls, disruptions and opportunities The Donatello and Michelozzo partnership proved profitable and mutually beneficial, but sustainability eventually became an issue. The arrangement encouraged collaboration, but their responsibility for individual projects was not equal. Left to his own devices, Donatello was clearly the less reliable partner. Though the partnership dissolved in 1434, there was never a falling out between the two, and later in life Michel­ ozzo would come to Donatello’s aid. But in the early 1430s Donatello’s fickleness, in spite of his unquestionable genius, came to the fore. The commission that exposed these difficulties began in 1428 for the city of Prato. Prato held an important relic, the Sacra Cintola, or holy belt (essentially a girdle), that the Virgin Mary gave to St Thomas as physical proof of her Assumption into heaven. It was displayed each year from an external pulpit on the corner of the church of Santo Stefano (then called the Pieve and now the cathedral). Donatello and Michelozzo received a commission to construct an innovative new pulpit for the church’s facade (illus. 35). 46 Thanks to diligent recordkeeping by the Pratese officials, the commission is unusually well documented and reveals in true scale the exasperation and frustration of dealing with Donatello when he was not fully invested in a project. Things began smoothly enough. Brunelleschi showed up in Prato in 1429, probably to advise on the unusual architectural

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issues. He had previously consulted on the situation as early as 1412. The pulpit’s impressively original design features a large round canopy surmounting a pulpit curving around one corner of the building. It allows large numbers of citizens to congregate below to see and hear the celebrations. The initial structural work, probably supervised by Michelozzo, proceeded without issue and beautiful architectural details complement the whole from below. The sculptural body of the pulpit was another matter. The design called for a series of seven convex panels inserted into the rounded form of the pulpit, and these were primarily the responsibility of Donatello. To oversee the on-site work, Donatello and Michelozzo installed a workshop supervisor in Prato, Pagno di Lapo Portigiani, who had prob­ ably helped them with the Cossa tomb. Pagno specialized in stone and supervised a team of sculptors to work on the mouldings and reliefs. Later, when needing bronze expertise for the pulpit’s roof, the partnership appointed Maso di Bartolomeo to oversee operations. In concept, the arrange­ ment should have worked well, but Donatello proved dilatory in seeing to the reliefs, which were the crucial decorative elements. Donatello did not delay due to laziness. On the contrary, he remained exceedingly busy, but for some reason the Prato commission fell low on his priority list. Donatello’s wherea­ bouts are hard to pin down in the early 1430s. In 1430 both he and Brunelleschi arrived in Lucca, on assignment from Flo­­rence, and spent two months supervising construction of a river wall (a dyke or levee) for military purposes. Unfor­tun­­ ately, it did not work as planned. Later in the year Donatello visited antiquities near Pisa, Lucca and Rome, which also

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implies a purposeful avoidance of Prato. By the end of 1430 he was in Rome, where he spent considerable time for the next three years. These Roman years had a different character from those spent there in his youth with Brunelleschi as ‘treasure seekers’, though his interest in the wonders of clas­ sical antiquity remained intense and is well documented. This time Rome presented opportunities that were drying up in Florence. Due to political turbulence and a war with Lucca, money was tight in Florence and the cathedral overseers felt strapped since they bore considerable obligations to pay for military architecture. Brunelleschi saw his salary slashed in half for his work on the cathedral’s dome and his workers fared far worse. New commissions of significant scale would be hard to come by in Florence. An important development for Donatello during this period was his expanding relationship with certain patrons, particularly members of the Martelli and Medici families, who were closely linked through business and artistic patronage.47 Vasari erroneously claimed that Donatello was brought up in the house of Roberto Martelli, probably confusing the hospi­ tality that the Florentine patron showed Donatello in Rome in the 1430s. Roberto worked for the Medici bank in various loca­ tions, eventually becoming branch manager in Rome. Roberto’s siblings served the Medici bank in Venice, Pisa and Ancona, and the two families assisted each other in contacting artists, managing accounts and overseeing commissions. These power­ ful patrons, especially the Medici, would be crucial for the rest of Donatello’s career. It was probably in this period that Dona­ tello worked on a marble statue of David, which he reportedly gifted to Roberto Martelli, and which features in the background

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of a sixteenth-century picture of Ugolino Martelli painted by Bronzino. The inconsistently carved work may have been re­ worked from an ancient block and even altered after Donatello’s intervention, but there is no doubting the high regard the family had for it or that the theme of a victorious David conformed nicely to Florentine and Medicean propaganda that the Martelli were eager to support.48 35 Donatello and Michelozzo, exterior pulpit of Prato Cathedral, 1428–38.

36 Donatello, Tabernacle, c. 1432–3, marble.

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During his stay in Rome, Donatello was constantly badg­ ered by officials from Prato, and various members of the Medici family lent voice to vouch for him and assist with financial matters. In April 1433 the Prato officials sent Pagno to Rome to retrieve Donatello. It seems to have had a positive effect, and both Donatello and Roberto Martelli left Rome later that year. Roberto went to manage business affairs in Basel while Donatello returned to Florence. Donatello left two works in Rome that are extant there. July 1432 saw the death of Giovanni Crivelli, archdeacon of Aquileia, and Donatello carved a tomb slab for the deceased, which was placed in Santa Maria in Aracoeli. Damaged and worn, and traditional in style, it would be a dubious attrib­ ution were it not for an inscription identifying Donatello as its author. It did have the effect, nonetheless, of publicly intro­­ducing Donatello’s style to a Roman audience. The more consequential work was a tabernacle for St Peter’s, now situ­ ated in the Sagrestia dei Beneficiati (illus. 36).49 We lack hard evidence of a Roman studio, and it is possible Donatello carved the works in Florence and had them shipped to Rome. The tabernacle displays an authentically classical architectural vocabulary populated by youthful angels in various engaging poses indicative of Donatello’s mind if not always his hand. A relief at the apex of the tabernacle serves as the highlight, where flanking angels pull back a canopy to reveal the Entomb­ ment of Christ. Joseph of Arimethea and Nicodemus lower the body into a sarcophagus while mourners react to the episode with intense emotion. The work proves that this type of crushed relief still had power, but Donatello would soon turn in a new direction.

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Back in Florence, Donatello faced new challenges of both personal and public natures. The partnership with Michelozzo had been mutually beneficial, but due to personalities and politics it had essentially run its most useful course. In 1434 the partnership was allowed to expire and the two artists went their own ways, the friendship apparently still intact. Dona­ tello began renting a house with a studio from Cosimo and Lorenzo di Giovanni de’ Medici. He still needed to finish the Prato pulpit reliefs, but, despite this obligation, political disruption and more compelling commissions continued to distract him. The Prato situation would not end satisfactorily, and this must be accepted rather than excused because, in addition to achievements, failings also help define an artist.

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F

lorence in the early 1430s was a city in political tur­ moil. Though it was ostensibly a republic, Cosimo de’ Medici had consolidated such power that in September of 1433 adversaries had him imprisoned and then exiled. Cosimo went first to Padua and then Venice before changes in the political situation, and various financial crises, brought him back to Florence in 1434 with increased power and influence. By contemporary accounts, Michelozzo accom­ panied Cosimo abroad, and this loyalty certainly earned him favours. Michelozzo became the unequivocally preferred Medi­­ cean architect, employed on many of the most important building projects of the subsequent decades. Donatello also entered more emphatically into the Medici sphere of patronage. Though their partnership had expired, Donatello and Michelozzo remained closely allied, especially through the Medici, and there is no indication that their per­ sonal and professional relationships remained anything but amicable. Cosimo used his extensive artistic patronage for various purposes, and both Michelozzo and Donatello would become primary beneficiaries of his largesse.

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speaking sculptur es The decade between 1434 and 1444 became one of Dona­ tello’s most productive. Unfortunately, few works other than the most public commissions are well documented. Many important pieces are attributed and dated by their relation­ ship to the fixed works, but in reality Donatello was by no means an artist with a linear artistic development. Com­­ mis­sions often overlapped, works once initiated were often delayed for long periods, and our understanding of the nature of his workshop assistance remains incomplete. Never­ the­­less, recognizing these limitations, most of Donatello’s more significant works can be put into a viable context of artistic activity. At the start of the 1430s the elephant in the room was the Prato pulpit. Though the Prato contract had stipulated com­ pletion by 1429, Donatello did not even begin carving the main reliefs until 1434, and they were considered finished only in 1438. Cosimo de’ Medici had become involved by 1433, and both protected and prodded Donatello on the matter even before his exile. The Prato situation needed resolution but, unfortunately for the insistent and hopeful Pratesi, other commissions in Florence soon complicated the picture. Again the Operai of Florence Cathedral devised ambitious new plans for the cathedral’s embellishment that included Donatello. The sculptor had already contributed significantly to the exterior decoration of the building and, though it was still unfinished (one can argue that it was never completely finished), the Operai now focused renewed attention on its interior. They initiated a project to construct two new organ lofts. The first would be placed over the north sacristy and

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was awarded to Luca della Robbia by 1431. The other would go above the south sacristy, and in 1433 Donatello received this commission with the recognition that his work would be compared to Luca’s. The Operai deliberately cultivated compe­ tition by authorizing more money for Donatello – 50 rather than 40 florins per relief – if his finished work was more beautiful than Luca’s. Donatello and Luca were friends. Both sculptors admired the work of Nanni di Banco and worked profitably with Michelozzo. Their rivalry was a good-natured one and would continue in future years.1 These creations are often called cantorie or choir lofts due to the singing and dancing figures that populate the reliefs. Both structures have been dismantled and subsequently re­ stored numerous times, beginning in the seventeenth century, and thus mostly but inexactly mimic their original appear­ ances.2 Luca followed a traditional format in creating ten separate relief panels featuring musicians, singers and dancers (illus. 37). They illustrate Psalm 150 (‘Praise the Lord’ or Laudate Dominum), whose opening lines are inscribed as frieze decor­ ation on the structure’s front. The psalm describes praising the Lord with trumpets, the lute and harp, tambourine and dance, strings and pipe, and sounding cymbals, all of which Luca effectively depicts in the scenes. These square panels rest between pilasters on the upper organ level and between supporting consoles below. They subtly blend heavenly and earthly as the angelic figures project off the panels in fairly high relief so as to be reasonably visible by a viewer standing far below, thus implying mutual participation in praising the spiritual through music and dance. In a sign of artistic synergy, adding to Luca’s cantoria, Donatello contributed two gilded

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bronze spiritelli holding candles, which offered further visual accents to the work.3 The light from their candles would have flickered off their fine golden surfaces, making one wonder whether they even distracted the eye from Luca’s reliefs, a competitive trick that would not have been beyond Donatello’s wily personality. Donatello’s own cantoria (illus. 38) takes each reasonable artistic assumption of Luca and reveals its limitation. Donatello does not provide separate individual panels for the main body of the loft itself. He illustrates no single passage of text. Instead, he makes us witnesses to an active celebration, 37 Luca della Robbia, Cantoria, 1431–8, marble.

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highlighting the physicality of dance, its visual beauty and the spiritual ecstasy that church music might inspire. Donatello dispensed with the idea of separating the individual relief panels (though indeed several are pieced together) and instead creates a continuous frieze of action along the exterior upper surface of the loft. The angels form a troupe of revellers who glide in a narrow space between exterior columns and the mosaic-lined wall of the loft itself, making the organ space seem like the innermost chamber (naos) of a classical Greek temple. The dancers, here transformed into Christian spirits, perform in this space between columns and naos (called the pteroma), at times seeming to materialize by emerging through the mosaic-lined wall itself. They float above a ground of

38 Donatello, Cantoria, 1433–9, marble with gold and mosaic inlay.

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vegetal ornament – leaves, fruits and nuts – which emphasizes their intercessory role between heaven and earth, and their actions proclaim that music and dance can help one experi­ ence the divine. There had been nothing remotely comparable to this frieze of dancers since the passing of the classical age (illus. 39). The supporting unit consists of five consoles, beautifully adorned with floral motifs, and the spaces between are filled with two reliefs of festively paired sprites and two panels with bronze heads, based on antique prototypes and mounted on porphyry. 4 The ordinary compartmentalized nature of the support contrasts the extraordinary and unified activity in the loft’s frieze above. Studio assistance makes itself evident, even between the right and left sides of the loft, but the quality

39 Donatello, detail of Cantoria (illus. 38).

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control is of a high order. Aside from carvers, other artisans contributed gilding and Brunelleschi even helped procure proper stone. Everything comes together under Donatello’s direction in a multi-media unity of innovative style and spiri­ tual substance of the type especially admired in the Baroque and called a bel composto. What astonishing disappointment must have been felt by the officials from Prato when they saw this work finished in 1439, just a year after their own project was essentially com­ pleted. Donatello’s Florence cantoria displayed all the genius they wanted for their pulpit, which celebrated one of the greatest relics in all of Tuscany, the Sacra Cintola. Instead, Donatello delivered to Prato something of significant promise in its overall scheme, with its panels of celebrating spiritelli, but showing ambivalent attention to the details of its execution. Most unfortunate is the evident overreliance on assistants for the carving, which too often displays little of Donatello’s own fine dexterity with the chisel despite a revised agreement in 1434 demanding his own hand (illus. 40). The pulpit reliefs have also suffered from deterioration from the elements due to their outdoor display over five centuries, making comparison to the cantoria that much more disadvantageous. Donatello had whetted the appetite of his Pratesi com­ missioners by designing a classicizing capital for the underside of the pulpit.5 Brought to fruition by Michelozzo in 1433 and later gilded, it shows playful spiritelli of various sizes and poses, including one who peeks down at the others as if emerging from the pulpit itself to see what is transpiring (illus. 41). If this were any indication of Donatello’s intentions, anticipa­ tion of the marbles would have been great indeed. But their

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production was clearly Donatello’s own responsibility, and without Michelozzo’s supervisory assistance the sculptures due from Donatello lagged in every way. In plan, the seven Prato panels read as seven individual reliefs separated by paired pilasters in a circular arrangement circumscribing the southwest corner of the church. They again feature dancing spiritelli similar to those Donatello designed for his cantoria in Florence and there are definite passages of artistic inspiration. Playfulness and joy emerge at welcome moments, as figures challenge the confines of their frames and bustle with frenetic energy, but in execution they too often seem perfunctory rather than committed. The mosaic-like 40 Donatello and Assistants, detail of exterior pulpit of Prato Cathedral (illus. 35), 1433–8, marble with mosaic inlay.

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background, as seen in the cantoria, lends an ethereal and time­ less quality to their appearance and must have sparkled nicely in the outdoor setting. Overall the figures remain mostly dis­ passionate spectacles to be observed rather than joined, and this is where the Florence cantoria calls the viewer infinitely closer, because to miss the confluence of details would be to miss a moment of artistic grace. Constant bitterness poisoned the air of the Prato officials, with one expense account from 1436 ending with, ‘he made a fool of us’.6 Donatello and Michelozzo must have felt some guilt, and twenty years later they sent an extraordinary letter to Prato respectfully offering their services to make right any deficiencies.7 The offer was ignored.

41 Donatello and Michelozzo, capital from exterior pulpit of Prato Cathedral (illus. 35), c. 1433, gilt bronze.

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The Prato officials were not the only ones to be disap­ pointed by Donatello’s dilatory ways. The Operai at Florence Cathedral also had their share of dashed hopes. Most notably, in 1437 Donatello signed a contract to make two sets of bronze doors for the cathedral sacristies. He received money, assis­ tance and materials, but he accomplished little before leaving for Padua about seven years later. One door was eventually executed by his friends Michelozzo, Luca della Robbia and Maso di Bartolomeo, surely with Donatello’s approval. Dona­ tello retained the other door commission, but it remained unfinished (if even begun) at his death. As late as 1459 the Operai still hopefully referred to him as master of the sacristy doors, but it was never to be. In 1439 Donatello also received the commission to design marble altars for two of the fifteen chapels that surround the cathedral’s crossing, and he consulted on obtaining coloured stones for the new choir.8 The Operai eventually transferred the chapel reliefs to Luca della Robbia, following Donatello’s model, but the works were never fully completed as planned. As for the choir, we hear no more of Donatello’s involvement. Despite his unquestioned talent, Donatello’s pattern of delay­ ing or abandoning commissions was not confined to the Prato pulpit and only became more pronounced. His bad habits were further enabled in subsequent years by patrons growing ever more desperate for even the chance to receive a signifi­ cant work by the artist. Donatello did, however, complete an additional commis­ sion for the cathedral complex that ranks among his most famous figures. Made for the campanile, and complementing his other statues on that structure, this statue depicts the

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prophet Habakkuk (illus. 42), but due to its distinctive head it has been known since the Renaissance by the nickname Zuccone (literally ‘Big Pumpkin’ or more commonly ‘Pumpkin Head’).9 In January 1434 Donatello received money for the statue in progress, and further payments continued until 1436, when it was finished. Vasari considered it Donatello’s finest work, characterizing it as ‘more beautiful than anything else he ever did’. The admiration and affection for the Zuccone stem from the realistic depiction. Around 1550 the chronicler Giovanni Battista Gelli wrote about the lifelike nature of the statue, even claiming it was a portrait of Giovanni di Barduccio Cheri­­ chini, though this is unlikely since Cherichini was a political adversary of the Medici who died in 1416.10 More insightfully, Gelli also said of the statue that it ‘seems to lack only the power of speech’. Gelli continues, ‘Donatello was aware of this too, according to an assistant of his who was present when he carved that figure, he kept saying, “Speak! Speak!”’11 Vasari, as usual, embellished the story, having Donatello shout at the statue, ‘Speak, speak or I’ll give you dysentery.’12 In effect, Vasari has Donatello threatening Zuccone with eternal discomfort if he would not confirm to be alive. The issue of being lifelike is at the heart of the work – we might be fooled into thinking, if only for a moment, that the statue can talk – and fidelity to nature resonates as a con­ stant acclamation of Donatello’s art. Bartolomeo Fazio, in his De viris illustribus (On Illustrious Men) of 1456, writes that Donatello ‘seems to form faces that live, and to be approach­ ing very near to the glory of the ancients’.13 Great art has the power to suspend disbelief, making the unreal seem real.

42 Donatello, Habakkuk (Zuccone), 1427–36, marble.

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Zuccone’s lean body appears sturdy and sinewy. He tilts his head down as if to converse with the viewer. He is not actually bald, but the description of hair is carved only lightly upon the scalp and from a vantage point far below is practically invisible. More clear is the facial expression, with open mouth deeply incised and teeth visible from close up, a prominent nose (now chipped), and the furrowed brow of someone deep in reflection, seeming almost in pain from emotional turmoil. Donatello’s depiction has a timelessness about it, both reflec­ tive of the here and now and believable as a description of a prophet who lived in the distant past. It evokes empathy for the prophet’s suffering because the prophet seems so much like us. This made it unusually powerful and relevant in an age focused more and more on an art of believability and on creations that seem an extension of real existence. With the Zuccone, Donatello cemented his reputation as having no equal in carving life-size figures from marble. In fact, in typical Donatello fashion, this would be among the last major free-standing figures he would make in stone. His com­ petitive nature drove him to other media and other themes, as would the nature of future patronage. One such new chal­ lenge appeared through a commission for a stained-glass window for the cathedral and put him in direct com­pe­­tition with the formidable Ghiberti. Ghiberti was in constant entan­ glements with Brunelleschi over work at the cathedral and had once employed the young Donatello. Donatello had clearly developed a contrasting artistic sensibility and may have expressed a low estimation of Ghiberti’s art if the fol­ lowing anecdote is to be believed. The story goes that, after Ghiberti sold an unproductive property called Lepricino:

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‘Donatello was asked what was the best thing – meaning in sculpture – Lorenzo had ever done; Donatello answered: “Selling Lepricino.”’14 The two men had implicitly competed through their respective contributions at Orsanmichele, the Siena baptistery font and other venues. This competition would be more direct. The arena, moreover, would play out not in sculpture but through design. the art of design Drawing and, more broadly, design, were understood to be at the heart of good art. The Italian word disegno denotes both. One could not paint, sculpt or design buildings without a good sense of disegno. Pomponius Gauricus, in his 1504 book De sculptura (On Sculpture), claims that Donatello advised his students as follows: ‘the whole art of sculpture could be taught with one word: “Disegnate!” [draw!]’15 Unfortunately, there are no surviving drawings convincingly attributed to Donatello.16 In 1433 the cathedral Operai decided to create a stainedglass window for the east end of the building. It is one of eight windows that pierce the drum supporting Brunelleschi’s dome, and this particular window would, in effect, be the most visible work of art for all congregants when looking down the nave of the church towards the high altar. Its theme was the Coron­ ation of the Virgin, and the cathedral is in fact dedicated to Mary as Santa Maria del Fiore (Holy Mary of the Flower). Two designated officials initially chose a design submitted by Ghiberti, but the next year found them considering one by Donatello. The decision was of such importance that outside

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consultants were called in and they included intellectuals, theologians and painters.17 Eventually the Operai judged Dona­­ tello’s design more honourable and magnificent (or more appropriate and beautiful) than Ghiberti’s. Though the huge window, 3.8 m in diameter (12½ ft), has suffered over the years, with much colour and detail lost, it impressed with its artful simplicity (illus. 43). Against a blue background, Christ crowns Mary queen of heaven while surrounded by a circle of winged seraph heads. Nothing distracts from the protagonists, where bodies and action are easily legible from a great distance, especially with the light rising from the east whereby the holy figures seem to hover in a timeless, spaceless dimension. Donatello received 18 florins for his window design for Florence Cathedral while Ghiberti had earlier received only 15. Greater artistry evidently translated into money. Two glass specialists took the design and transformed it into the actual stained-glass window. Meanwhile, another name of impor­ tance emerges from the documents as rendering paid assistance – Paolo Uccello, who later received commissions for addi­ tional cathedral windows.18 Uccello was a leading painter in Florence and an expert in perspective. His obsession with perspective was such that Vasari claims he would stay in his study all night and that when Uccello’s wife called the painter to bed, he longingly lamented, ‘Oh what a sweet thing is this perspective.’ Vasari describes Uccello as a sensitive man, but exagger­ ates Uccello’s overreaction when criticized by Donatello in the following story. In the main market in Florence, known as the Mercato Vecchio, stood a church dedicated to St Thomas. Paolo Uccello received the commission to paint a scene of

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the Doubting Thomas on its facade. When Donatello saw that Uccello’s scaffolding affected undue secrecy he asked the painter what he was covering, and Uccello told his friend he would have to wait and see. When Uccello finally finished the work and took down the scaffolding, Donatello commented, ‘Now that it’s time to cover it you’re revealing it.’ This deri­ sive comment must have been meant as tongue in cheek and taken as such, for when Paolo’s son was born, in 1451, the 43 Donatello, Coronation Window, designed in 1434 and completed in 1438, stained glass.

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child received the name Donato, and one likes to think it was in honour of both the painter’s father (called Dono) and his good friend Donatello.19 In the same market area as Uccello’s mural Donatello created a work, now lost, that had a significant resonance during the Renaissance. It depicted a figure of abundance, called Dovizia, which translates roughly as ‘wealth’ in a civic sense.20 It symbolized the city’s prosperity and charity, as well as the peaceful trade of plentiful food bought and sold in the market. In effect, Dovizia was the personification of Florence herself, or as the citizens believed the city to be. Donatello based the figure on ancient Roman precedent, such as the personified imagery of Alimenta, the symbol of the Roman state charity instituted by the Emperor Trajan. Donatello’s Dovizia was thus among the first overt Renaissance expressions of classical form and content in a statue that was not overtly Judaeo-Christian. The market where Dovizia stood was located in an area destroyed in the nineteenth century to make way for the present Piazza della Repubblica. It had been the site of the ancient Roman forum now transformed into a centre of commerce. In 1429 an ancient column was relocated from a position near the campanile to the market entry and Donatello then received the commission to make the statue of Dovizia to stand atop this column. The column stood as an impor­ tant marker but also became the site of spectacle when condemned prisoners were chained to it for public display. Donatello’s Dovizia therefore became one of the more visible outdoor statues in the city. Instead of marble, Donatello used a softer stone, pietra di macigno, probably because it was local

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and carried civic importance.21 Unfortunately, the statue deteriorated over the centuries until being replaced around 1720. Its remnants are lost. The Dovizia can be dated to about 1428–30, in part by way of a play written around 1450. The relevant passage concerns a fictional account of King Nebuchadnezzar, who desires the greatest sculptor to create a gold statue of him. The king sum­ mons Donatello, who declares, ‘I must depart soon because I have to do the Pulpit of Prato . . . but I must also do the Dovizia for the market that is to be placed on the column.’22 By this time the delay in the Prato pulpit was infamous and probably even humorous to many, excepting the Pratesi. The significance of the contemporary Dovizia, however, must not be underestimated. We know Dovizia’s appearance through the many copies and variants it inspired as well as through paint­ ings of the market. Judging from the replacement, the original statue was about 2.35 m tall (about 7 ft). The copies agree that Dovizia held a fruit-filled cornucopia in her left hand and with her right hand balanced a basket of fruit atop her head. In effect she represented an early advertisement for a great place of commerce whose prosperity inspired civic pride as well as an obligation for communal charity. The profusion of small-scale copies and derivatives of the statue shows that this sense of pride in prosperity extended to the private home. The Della Robbia family, in particular, produced several sim­ ilarly themed small statuettes, still extant, for a proud and growing merchant-class populace (illus. 44).23 During the manufacturing stage of Donatello’s Coron­ ation window, his friend Paolo Uccello won the commission for the large and impressive fresco of Sir John Hawkwood to

44 Giovanni della Robbia, Dovizia, c. 1520 (after an original of Donatello, c. 1428–30), glazed terracotta.

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be painted on the north wall inside Florence Cathedral (illus. 45). Hawkwood was an English mercenary soldier who served Florence repeatedly in the late fourteenth century. The gov­ ernment promised him a marble tomb, but a cheaper and more efficient option prevailed instead. With Uccello’s great mastery of Brunelleschian perspective, he painted an eques­ trian tribute on the cathedral’s interior left wall with such impression of three-dimensionality that it evokes sculpture. Furthermore, the fictitious monument appears to be made of the grander medium of bronze rather than marble. The Operai knew that nobody would actually be fooled, but it shows the extraordinary impact of single-point perspective on the eye of the observer in this period. It is inconceivable that Donatello was not involved in the designing of the Hawkwood monument. Years later, Uccello accompanied Donatello to Padua, where Donatello’s famous equestrian statue of Gatta­ melata shows distinct reference to the ideas expressed in this painting. Important conversations between Donatello and Uccello thus played out within their art, and, helping to insti­ gate such discussion, another strong voice emerged, that of their mutual friend, Leon Battista Alberti. Donatello and Alberti may have first met in Rome, where Alberti served as a papal secretary. In Florence their relation­ ship became truly consequential to Donatello’s art. Alberti’s family had been exiled from Florence for political reasons, but the ban was eventually lifted and Alberti safely entered Florence in the retinue of Pope Eugenius iv in 1434. A year later, Alberti completed the Latin version of his treatise on painting, De pictura (On Painting), which revealed the won­ ders of perspective as formulated by Brunelleschi.24 A Tuscan

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version appeared in 1436, dedicated to Brunelleschi, and concurrent with both were the completion of Uccello’s Hawk­­ wood fresco and the consecration of Florence Cathedral. This latter event occurred on 25 March 1436, the feast day of the Annunciation and, for Florentines, the beginning of the New Year. There was still some construction in progress, but the main structure of the dome was almost complete and would be considered Brunelleschi’s finest achievement. As Alberti wrote in On Painting, ‘Who could ever be hard or envi­ ous enough to fail to praise [Brunelleschi] the architect on seeing here such a large structure, rising above the skies, ample to cover with its shadow all the Tuscan people?’25 Alberti’s treatise, ostensibly about painting, recognizes the synergy inherent in creative human endeavours. Painting was deeply affected by the developments in architecture and sculp­ ture as well as new revelations in mathematics and science, and all were linked in the extraordinary setting of Renaissance Florence. Conversations about perspective and new modes of creativity were developing at a rapid pace, and the unmistak­ able nexus was the group of artists swirling around Donatello and Brunelleschi. As Alberti says in his preface, I have come to understand that in many men, but especially in you, Filippo [Brunelleschi], and in our close friend Donatello the sculptor and in others like Ghiberti, Luca della Robbia, and Masaccio, there is a genius for [accomplishing] every praiseworthy thing.26 Too often the breakthroughs of one individual overshadow the contributions of the group that made such innovations

45 Paolo Uccello, Sir John Hawkwood, 1436, fresco.

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possible, and though Alberti gets credit for writing down certain artistic principles, his debt to others was substantial and he acknowledged it. As if to complement aspects of Alberti’s treatise, Dona­ tello created a sculptural response in the form of a relief sculpture, now in Lille, which depicts the Feast of Herod (illus. 46).27 The original context for the Lille relief remains unknown, but it ended up in Medici possession by 1492 and was probably intended from the start as a demonstration piece in sculpture of the principles Alberti describes in reference to painting. It was becoming more common to apply the new rules of perspective to painting, and Donatello had first shown its application to sculpture in his schiacciato relief of St George and the Dragon, using planes of low relief and delicate surface scratches as opposed to painted lines and coloured fields. The Lille relief pushes these techniques even further. It ostensibly illustrates the same story as the bronze relief Donatello com­ pleted years earlier for the Siena baptistery font featuring the story of Herod and the beheading of St John the Baptist. The key to any work executed according to Alberti’s trea­ tise is the location of an ideal vantage point for viewing. This is usually a precise distance directly opposite the object’s vanishing point. Single-point perspective mimics the optical illusion that parallel lines moving away from a viewer appear to converge when in fact they remain parallel in actual space. The classic example is that of looking directly down railway tracks – the sides appear to converge towards the horizon line though they do not in truth. In the Lille panel the conver­ gence of these lines, called orthogonals, occurs just above the head of the seated woman whose back faces the viewer. She

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is the closest figure in the foreground plane, and we look over her from a distance about two and a half times the width of the panel to see the scene correctly. If the viewer goes an extra step to close one eye, making vision monocular, the scene’s three-dimensionality opens up almost magically. The archi­ tecture makes logical sense, the stairway adjusts accordingly, and the many figures become well integrated into space. It is not perfect, to be sure, but makes as strong a statement about perspective as seen in any Renaissance relief sculpture, or painting, for that matter. One cannot remain at a distance for long, however, because the relief overflows with details so delicately carved they must be inspected up close. A child huddles, as if bored, at the bottom of the staircase; St John’s head beckons a glimpse as it rests on a platter; and, amazingly, Donatello seems to 46 Donatello, Feast of Herod, c. 1435, marble.

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describe a tapestry or painted fresco decoration behind Herod’s table. Many animated participants populate Herod’s table in the foreground; a procession appears in the middleground; and relief decorations adorn the truncated archi­tecture in the back­ground. Every glimpse of something new compels 47 Michelangelo, Madonna of the Stairs, c. 1491, marble.

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the viewer onward. In this way Donatello pulls the viewer back and forth, activating not only the illusionary space within the sculpture but the actual space of the viewer experiencing the work, first dispassionately from a ‘correct’ viewpoint and then passionately while experiencing the aesthetic beauty of virtuoso carving. Neither Donatello nor any other Renais­ sance sculptor ever accomplished anything quite like it again. When the youthful Michelangelo looked for inspir­ ation while carving his most Donatellesque relief, known as the Madonna of the Stairs (illus. 47), he looked to this work – but even he never mastered rilievo schiacciato in quite the same manner. gender , sexualit\, \outh and age It is no surprise that the Lille relief ended up in Medici hands, since almost everything Donatello produced in Florence after Cosimo’s return had Medici approval if not direct involvement. Frustratingly, most of these works remain poorly documented. A case in point is the brilliant Cavalcanti Annunciation (c. 1436– 40) in the church of Santa Croce (illus. 48). The family patron was Niccolò di Giovanni Cavalcanti, whose sister Ginevra married Lorenzo di Giovanni de’ Medici (Cosimo’s younger brother).28 Donatello’s work originally served as an altarpiece for a more elaborate chapel, with an altar table just below it. The main structure features a classically inspired architec­ tural framework that mimics a decorative window unit as seen from the outside of a building. Donatello defies the stylistic subjugation to prescribed architectural orders by creating his own stylistic embellishments, such as the pilasters with their

48 Donatello, Cavalcanti Annunciation, c. 1436–40, pietra di macigno with gilding and terracotta spiritelli.

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adornment of rose-like petals, their bases made of volutes and capitals sporting fanciful heads. This fantastical combination does not conform to any pre-existing formula. It is a new and original evocation of antiquity. Inside the frame we witness the Annunciation. The enact­ ment occurs against a decoratively panelled wall that closes off any background space and creates a clearly defined box-like enclosure. The Archangel Gabriel begins the action by kneel­ ing before Mary to deliver his message and Mary responds by recoiling in surprise while securing a book against her body with her left hand and bringing her right hand to her breast. The outlines of a lectern appear behind her, and both lectern and book traditionally refer to Christian interpretations of the prophecies of Isaiah in the Old Testament.29 Finally, six spiritelli sculpted in terracotta populate the rounded pediment above the main scene. Stylistically the work is consistent with the Zuccone, which Donatello finished between 1434 and 1436. In a telltale detail, the description of the back of Zuccone’s left leg closely matches that of the Cavalcanti Virgin’s right leg. Rather than marble, Donatello used the softer pietra di macigno, found also in the Dovizia and Marzocco. Some of the original gilding remains, and conservation work has revealed that much of the stone sur­ face bore a coating to make it look more like marble. Though the tabernacle remains in its original location, the spiritelli have been moved over the years and have suffered some dam­ age. Still, they provide a key visual dynamic and add subtle commentary by expressing wonder and astonishment while conversing with each other and reacting with dramatic body language to the scene below.

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Throughout his career Donatello showed a willingness to experiment and employ the style most appropriate for the commission. Here he was not afraid to incorporate a Gothi­ cizing aesthetic, as seen in the exaggerated sway of the Virgin and tilt of the Archangel Gabriel’s neck. He does this for dramatic impact rather than as stylistic convention since the bodies are otherwise believable. The space-box also references a medieval format, and it stands in stark contrast to spatial concerns explored in works such as the Lille relief. This is em­ phatically not a perspectival scene that appeals to reason – it is a vision of spiritual truth. The figures in the Cavalcanti altarpiece also present unexpected challenges by way of a subtle androgyny in their forms. All these features might appear awkward if one expects Donatello’s art to have developed in a linear fashion towards greater realism and naturalism. But this is a false assumption. Part of artistic genius is knowing what methods to employ in a given situation. Like an expert fisherman, a great artist uses more than one lure. A lure in art can be ambiguity – not indecisiveness, but the intentional suggestion of formal and interpretive variability. Art might suggest change rather than an absolute. For exam­ ple, critics regularly praise the art of Leonardo da Vinci as expressing variability and even mystery.30 Donatello preceded Leonardo on this course by at least a generation, and he dem­ onstrated how to exploit such mystery – not to resolve it but to explore its interpretive possibilities. In evoking such nuances of variability, no work by Dona­ tello is more misunderstood than his bronze David (illus. 49). The David is more analogous to poetry than to prose, making suggestions rather than declarations. Vasari meant

49 Donatello, David, c. 1434–40, bronze.

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the ultimate compliment when he praised the statue’s fidelity to nature by stating, ‘This figure is so natural in its liveliness and its softness that it seems impossible to artists that it was not crafted from life.’31 Yet Vasari knew it was a fiction whose actual form could not possibly exist in nature. The artistry therefore lies, in part, in making viewers believe a being existed that never was nor could be. The work is undocumented but sources and provenance suggest that it was a Medici commis­ sion, prob­ably from about 1434–40 and originally intended for the old Medici palace that stood on the via Larga, further up the street from the structure we see today.32 Its earliest description has it mounted atop a column in the courtyard of the new Medici palace, which was in progress by 1444. This David is generally regarded as the first nude freestanding large-scale figure that had been cast in bronze since antiquity, and each of these aspects bore significance in early Renaissance Florence. In formal terms, the statue repre­ sents a rebirth of the style and spirit of an ancient ideal. The nude figure was the most celebrated subject in classical sculp­ ture, and Dona­tello met this theme head on. While the biblical David was rarely if ever depicted nude in Florentine art up to this time, Hercules – a figure considered a classical counterpart to David – almost always was, along with the most admired classical statuary. Thus nudity reinforced the classical associations. Its scale is about life-size or slightly less, and while Donatello’s spiritelli do provide some prece­ dent for the nude figure, they were all considerably smaller in scale. The revival of bronze statuary had ample precedent at Orsanmichele but none of those figures were nude. Simply put, no previous sculpture of the fifteenth century

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yet contained all of the classicizing elements found in Donatello’s bronze David. The subject was well chosen since Florence had long made much of David as a civic symbol.33 By 1416 a marble figure of David by Donatello had been taken to the Palazzo Vecchio, the official seat of government, and another was long intended to stand atop the cathedral. Other images of David existed in both public and private spaces. Donatello’s bronze David, however, has garnered a unique kind of fame among all the early Renaissance images of David. In many ways it is an enigma that demands interpretation but remains frustrat­ ingly resistant to it. While clearly male, the statue seems to bear characteristics that many observers consider feminine – particularly the protruding breasts, rounded belly and cur­ vaceous buttocks.34 Other related aspects of the statue’s iconography are indeed sensuous if not overtly erotic and, as yet, have defied definitive explanation. For example, David appears completely nude except for knee-high boots and a soft hat bearing a garland. These features have been inter­ preted as innocuous at one extreme and at the other have been likened to fetishizing props. David stands in contrapposto, with his right leg straight and his left foot resting on the decapitated head of Goliath. In details some find provocative, the moustache of Goliath falls gently over David’s toes (illus. 50), and a wing from Goliath’s helmet caresses David’s right thigh and rises well into the groin area. One leading textbook in the twentieth century once went so far as to refer to the ‘lascivious content of the statue’.35 Today’s audience increasingly understands beyond binary descriptions of gender and sexual preference in people as

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well as art. That a statue might incorporate both masculine and feminine aspects of being seems more reasonable today than it did only a brief time ago, and, for various reasons, this greater acceptance of fluidity correlates more closely to a fifteenth-century mindset that was also attuned to a certain ambivalence of gender and sexuality. Furthermore, neither physical attraction nor the admiration of beauty is the same thing as sexual desire or its implied consummation, and this was also well understood in the Renaissance. Modern critics, however, have been obsessed with categorizing the David’s sexuality and defining Donatello in light of it.36 In retro­ spect, most of these interpretations say more about the critics and their time than they do about the statue, and are often anachronistic. Nevertheless, it is legitimate to address the question, raised repeatedly over the past century, of whether the bronze David explicitly refers to male homoeroticism and whether this sheds any light on Donatello’s own sexual preferences. The evidence is scant. In truth, this is Donatello’s only statue that exudes such sexuality through a young male nude and is therefore a singular visual expression. The bronze David may certainly be taken as an ideal of physical form but not the ideal any more than any other statue by the artist. St Mark represents an ideal, as do the Zuccone, Judith and Mary Magdalene. In fact, Donatello was so inventive that no two of his statues are very much alike, and there is little constancy in his idealization of figures. This stands in stark contrast to Michelangelo, for example, where most of his figures depict similar heroic male nudes, epitomized by his giant marble version of David.37

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No document directly addresses Donatello’s sexual pref­ erences. The literary evidence once used in this regard is equivocal and mostly concerns excerpts from a book of anec­ dotes compiled in the 1470s.38 One story from this source begins with Donatello having quarrelled with an assistant and chased him all the way to Ferrara with intent to kill him. On the recommendation of Cosimo de’ Medici, Donatello gained permission from the Marchese of Ferrara to carry out the murder. When later asked by the marchese whether he had indeed killed the boy, Donatello responded, ‘No, dammit. He laughed at me, and I at him.’ A second story concerns a barb attributed to Donatello when he declined the studio services of an attractive assistant’s more handsome brother with the line, ‘The less long will he stay with me!’ A final story offers that, ‘Donatello used to tint [apply make-up to] his assistants, so others would not take a fancy to them.’ These hardly pro­ vide conclusive evidence that Donatello desired his assistants sexually. They mainly indicate Donatello’s fiery temper, that the more handsome young males were likely to receive other offers of employment or otherwise leave his studio, and that Donatello took steps to make them appear less attractive. We simply do not know Donatello’s own sexual preferences or how they manifested over many years – he was at least 44 years of age when he began work on the bronze David and possibly close to fifty when he finished. During the Renaissance, Florence was certainly consid­ ered a bastion of alternative sexual practices, but the public accusation of sodomy could have harsh consequences, as Leonardo and Botticelli, among other artists, learned at first hand.39 If Donatello did harbour male sexual preferences it

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was in his interest to keep that private, and it is unthink­ able that a statue in the Medici palace could advocate such behaviour.40 It would be a mistake, all the same, to ignore the raw sexuality of Donatello’s bronze David, for it is real and potent. The David may not be an overt statement of male homoerotic desire, yet it is very much a statue charged with blunt sexual­ ity that was certainly meaningful in the context of its other associations. The theme of David slaying Goliath had direct political resonance. Politically, Florentines saw themselves reflected in the youthful underdog, the implication being that they had to battle countless Goliaths who could potentially bring tyranny to the citizenry. As in Donatello’s marble David, the artist here implies many narrative moments, referencing both past and present: David holds a rock but no sling; neither Goliath’s head nor his helmet reveal a gash from being struck; David holds a sword beside Goliath’s severed head. One foe has been vanquished but David stands ready to repeat the act for any future would-be tyrant. Most emphatically, Donatello’s bronze David does not concern singularity or stasis. It is about transformation, or metamorphosis, with room for the physical, political, sexual and social implications that may come with it.41 The future of Florence was seen as embodied in its young males, who were often paraded and celebrated in processions, orations and art. Donatello’s bronze David features a male coming of age, a fact evinced as much through physical change and physical beauty as through propitious action. Budding sexu­ ality is not denied but highlighted, and it forms an important part of the statue’s iconography, as epicene youth blooms

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into manhood through the deed of slaying Goliath. David’s name translates as ‘beloved’, and the wings that spread from Goliath’s helmet might be interpreted as arms and hands, with feathers bearing finger-like projections that brush along the leg. Yet while one wing rises against the right thigh, the other is pinned down by the same leg and the sword, frus­ trating any advance.42 Sexual desire is thus acknowledged yet controlled, and this important theme resurfaces in much Medicean art, such as Botticelli’s Pallas and the Centaur (c. 1482), which has a similar theme of mediated sexuality. Donatello’s bronze David demonstrates, moreover, the classically derived belief that an individual expressed one’s nature along a spec­ trum from the feminine to the masculine. One’s manliness was not just a function of physical characteristics but was also expressed through action, specifically accomplishing mas­ culine deeds and denying actions that would be considered feminine, including those that were sexual in nature. With the defeat of Goliath, David transitions decisively from feminine to masculine and from boy to man.43 It was a clever move for Cosimo de’ Medici to visually pro­ claim Davidic associations, especially so soon after he himself had been labelled a tyrant. In truth, David does represent a future monarch, and that too might have been subtly appeal­ ing to Cosimo.44 The political dimensions thus intertwine with the statue’s other associations, including those highlight­ ing human sexuality. The best art functions on many levels simultaneously. An intriguing hypothesis that resurfaces periodically and bears reconsideration is that Donatello may have portrayed himself in the head of Goliath (illus. 50). 45 Though this is

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conjectural, one is certainly struck by the similarities between the statue’s high cheekbones, facial hair and even knitted brow, and the corresponding features of the representation of Dona­ tello in the Louvre panel. There exists a long subsequent tradition of artists portraying themselves as Goliath, most famously Caravaggio, and Donatello may have begun that tradition here.46 Art has a life different from its makers, and Donatello’s bronze David is no exception. A new Medici palace was under construction by 1444, probably under the direction of 50 Detail of bronze David (illus. 49) showing the severed head of Goliath.

51 Donatello, Spiritello (Atys-Amorino), c. 1440, bronze.

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Michel­ozzo, and when finished the bronze David eventually found itself in its open courtyard on a magnificent ped­ estal completed by Desiderio da Settignano. By 1469 it bore the following inscription: ‘The victor is the defender of the homeland. God crushes the wrath of an enormous foe. Behold! A boy overcame a great tyrant. Triumph, o citizens.’47 Embrac­ing the cult of youth, the statue explicitly proclaimed deliverance from tyranny by way of the bravery of a boy, one transforming into a man. 48 With the theme of youth of such paramount importance in Florence, Donatello brilliantly portrayed it repeatedly, with optimism and gusto. The bronze David certainly complements the recurrent theme of spiritelli that Donatello introduced as early as the Siena baptistery font, and he even included spiritelli triumphantly processing with a chariot on Goliath’s helmet as part of the bronze David composition. We see early spiritelli on the crozier of St Louis of Toulouse, spiritelli who play music and dance in Siena, and similar images in relief on the Prato pulpit and Florence cantoria. The Cavalcanti altar offers emo­ tive spiritelli witnessing a Christian miracle. The great French illuminator Jean Fouquet, who visited Florence and Rome, was overwhelmed by Donatello’s use of spiritelli to enlighten and animate architectural settings.49 Donatello invented new spiritelli throughout his career, like a signature move. All are meaningful and not merely decorative, and consistently enhance viewing spaces both public and private, and both secular and spiritual. The most famous and enigmatic of Donatello’s freestanding spiritelli is the awkwardly misnamed Atys-Amorino (illus. 51).50 Though assuredly by Donatello, its iconography

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remains elusive. Vasari saw it in the house of Giovanni Battista Doni, though it may have been commissioned by a different family, such as the Bartolini Salimbeni.51 Vasari shows confu­ sion over its subject when he describes it as ‘a metal statue of Mercury by Donatello, 1½ braccia [c. 87 cm] tall and clothed in a certain bizarre fashion’.52 Indeed the statue is unusual, as is much by Donatello, which is why overly complicated interpretations are unpal­ atable. The viewer of Donatello’s art must accept vagaries. Artists like Donatello surprise, and issue creations that are un­­predictable and inimitable. They imagine the mythical uni­ corns when others can only envision real horses. This figure is a sprite, with wings on his back and winged sandals on his feet. Associations with Bacchus (the tail) or Aphrodite (wings) need not be interpreted too explicitly or literally. Spiritelli can move freely within classical realms like angels do in the Christian worlds. A snake entangles the figure’s feet while he raises his arms in a pose that has never been adequately deciphered.53 The arm positions appear to be original, and there is no evidence that he ever held an object, though it is not impos­ sible; perhaps he grasped some item made of a soft material. His arms might reference a long-forgotten gesture or a youthful game such as civettino (a slapping game played with the feet held stationary), as seen on contemporary birth trays (deschi da parto). The dress does seem unusual to a later audience, with the breeches clearly designed to leave his sex revealed. To Dona­­tello’s contemporaries, this was a crucial point. Sprites are innocent, with no shame in their nudity or awareness of sexual desire. They were perfect specimens to

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celebrate the purity of love, procreation and childhood inno­cence. As with the common water sprites, here the explicit display of the genitalia straightforwardly references health and prosperity. The statue must have been made in the context of a mar­ riage or the birth of children. This is clear from evidence of other statuary and imagery on domestic items like birth trays, where young males urinate, tug on one another’s penises or otherwise display their genitals innocently but purposefully. Poppies are commonly shown with these naked youths, since the plant’s seeds denote fertility, and Donatello’s spiritello bears stalks of the plant on his belt. The symbols together declare that this being represents the health of a family, one that will procreate and extend the line’s existence. The spiritello statue references familial concerns, as do contemporary paintings such as Botticelli’s beautiful Venus and Mars (painted later, in 1483), with its accompanying sprites sometimes described as little satyrs.54 They are mis­ chievous, to be sure, but not malevolent. The snake at the feet of Donatello’s statue denotes the conquering of danger and baseness in the context of love and children, as again referenced much later in a painting of Venus and Cupid (1525) by Lorenzo Lotto. In this painting, a snake appears below Venus while, in an action that seems bizarre to the modern viewer, Cupid micturates onto her body as a gesture of health and fertility.55 Youth and sexuality are celebrated in Donatello’s bronzes as in no other artworks from the period. A different medium, wood, offered explorations of other significant themes. Wood is carved rather than modelled, it was generally less expensive

52 Donatello, St John the Baptist, 1438, polychrome wood.

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to procure, and the process from drawing to finished product proved speedier. Wood could be painted to appear more life­like and easily gilded for added effect. The sculptor might even incorporate other media, such as real cloth, hair or stucco additions. Large-scale wooden statuary tended to prompt different patronage and display from marble or bronze, and such works were usually made for the interiors of churches. There exist two surviving wooden sculptures securely attributable to Donatello that he made before leaving for Padua in the winter of 1443–4. The first is a figure of St John the Baptist (illus. 52), carved in Florence and shipped to Venice for a Florentine confraternity that met in the church of the Frari.56 Though it was formerly considered a late work, conservation of the statue in 1972–3 uncovered Donatello’s name and the date of 1438 on its pedestal.57 Adding his name to sculptures was something Donatello did only occasionally, particularly for works to be seen outside Florence. St John the Baptist was a patron saint of Florence, and his image appeared on one side of the city’s famous currency, the gold florin. His feast day on 24 June is still celebrated in Florence with much pomp and ceremony. This figure of John the Baptist thus fittingly served the expatriate Florentine community in Venice, and the Florentine merchants who commissioned it must have been proud to have a statue made by their city’s leading sculptor. The sculpture appears lifelike due to its vivid painting, but it feels rather subdued and the body conservatively posed compared to the great figure of the Magdalene that would follow, or even the moving image of the dead Christ that

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Donatello would soon carve for Padua. Both of these other wooden statues brim with implied energy and evoke great pathos. Instead, the wooden Baptist remains more static. His drapery hangs over the left shoulder and right arm in a rather clunky manner, and the contrapposto hardly animates.58 The dramatic face, though, exudes a sincere and thought­­ful ex­ pres­­­sion of religious fervour and conviction. Wood allowed Dona­­tello to experiment with telling detail. One such detail, which only Donatello would attempt, concerns the eyes. Where­­­­ as the right eyelid opens alertly and the eye stares straight ahead, the left eye falls downwards and to the left. Assuming it is based on life study, the model suffered a medical condition known as ptosis – a drooping of the upper eyelid – and due to the facial asymmetry it would have been most likely caused by an orbital fracture.59 Donatello thus emphasizes human spirituality through the idiosyncratic realism of the statue’s physical appearance. Fully capable of creating an ideal, here Donatello chose instead a broken and imperfect man on which to model a saint. The other wooden statue Donatello carved before leaving for Padua has long been hailed as a masterpiece. Mentioned in copious early sources, it depicts Mary Magdalene (illus. 53) in an interpretation without extant sculptural prece­ dent and with no comparable progeny.60 Brunelleschi had carved an early wooden statue of Mary Magdalene for the Corbin­elli chapel in the church of Santo Spirito, but it perished in a fire of 1471. Though we have no indication of its pose or appearance, it made a striking impact on con­ temporaries, and according to Antonio Billi, writing around 1530, the Magdalene statues by Brunelleschi and Donatello

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respectively were seen as rivals.61 Echoing praise similarly afforded to the St George and the Zuccone, Francesco Bocchi, in 1591, declared Donatello’s Magdalene the most beautiful statue in the Florence Baptistery, ‘and so beautifully designed that she resembles nature in every way and seems alive’.62 It is, in fact, the most celebrated early Renaissance statue of a female apart from the Virgin Mary, and, significantly, Donatello’s version in no way celebrates outward feminine beauty or female sexuality. Unfortunately, much about Donatello’s Magdalene remains unknown. There is no documentation of its patronage or of its provenance before 1500, when it was returned to the bap­ tistery after an unexplained absence, and it may be that the bap­­tistery was not its original location. There is no doubt, however, that it could only have been carved by Donatello, and, mostly for its stylistic similarity to the wooden Baptist, the Magdalene may be dated near it in time. Consistent in technique with the Baptist, it consists primarily of poplar wood supple­ mented by the application of gesso, with the whole finished with paint and gilding. Its interpretation, in addition, strikes a complementary if more intense and dramatic chord. Donatello’s Magdalene is a staggeringly innovative artistic contradiction. On the one hand, it is conventional in theme and general pose – a standing Mary Magdalene with hands clasped together in prayer, demonstrating penitence. On the other hand, it is unique in its expressive power. The physical manifestations of the Magdalene’s hardship, suffering and facial decrepitude become vehicles to understand the ecstatic nature of her spiritual awakening. Donatello thus transforms external ugliness into an expression of inner saintliness, and

53 Donatello, Mary Magdalene, c. 1438, polychrome wood.

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thereby beauty. The Magdalene’s body seems haggard but sinu­ously lithe. It is rugged but not emaciated, like a mara­ thon runner whose limbs bear no extra flesh and whose taut muscles reveal their tireless strength with each powerful exertion. She has been called masculine by some, but this misses the point; her example subsumes her gender into a universal symbol of repentance. Her hands come together in prayer while her long tresses of hair clothe her entire body, thus denying any sexual tension. Her face bears the tragic truth of her utter humanity. Donatello’s Mary Magdalene stands on a rock, where she seeks divine guidance in her penitence. The depiction is heart-rending, but not pessimistic, as she brings us face to face with the reality of pain, the ravages of time and the effects of self-deprivation. This sculpture says that our suffering is nothing compared to hers, and that if she ultimately finds spiri­tual bliss, so can we. Its unorthodox portrayal is typical of Dona­tello in that it disrupts the mundane and presents a chal­ lenge that must have left younger sculptors astonished and humbled. the ordeal In some ways, Donatello followed a path remarkably like the classic hero’s journey.63 Having passed through early stages of adventures, gaining powers, meeting mentors and surviving challenges, he inevitably faced an ordeal. This involved work in the Old Sacristy of the church of San Lorenzo. It helped precipitate a sort of exile in a far-away place – Padua – from which he would return to face new tests of his art and character.

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San Lorenzo is one of the oldest and most important churches in Florence, with origins dating back to the fourth century. In the early fifteenth century Cosimo de’ Medici initiated its modification and rebuilding as part of a grand process of urban revitalization in the immediate neighbour­ hood. The new Medici palace rose in the 1440s not far from the northeast corner of the church, but before the palace could be built Cosimo had to buy up adjacent properties. From 1433 onwards, Donatello rented one of these large spaces near the church as a studio. Cosimo and his brother Lorenzo di Gio­vanni charged the sculptor an annual rent of 5 florins, far below market prices. Donatello’s obligations in turn were artistic in nature. Designed by Brunelleschi, San Lorenzo is considered one of the first expressions of a new, Renaissance style of architecture. The church’s Old Sacristy, so named because a sub­­­sequent (new) sacristy was built in the sixteenth century, was begun in about 1422 after Brunelleschi’s design and was the first part of the new church structure to be completed. It received its roof in 1428. The sacristy served various pur­ poses, both ecclesiastical and commemorative. One function was as a family memorial, since it contained the sarcoph­­ agus of Gio­vanni di Bicci de’ Medici and Piccarda Bueri, the parents of Cosimo and Lorenzo de’ Medici.64 The whole bears a dedication to Giovanni di Bicci’s patron saint, John the Evangelist. The beauty of the architectural space resides in the math­ ematical purity of its forms, based on perfect squares, circles, cubes and spheres (illus. 54). The architectural details are minimal, with each supporting unit carved from pietra di

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macigno stone and declaring itself as an essential component of support against white plaster walls. It is the sense of archi­ tectural perfection and ornamental discretion that Donatello was accused of violating, both in concept and detail, through works he made for the space. The original sculptural ornament, though spare, included some significant embellishments. Brunelleschi’s famous com­ petition panel featuring the Sacrifice of Isaac ornamented the back of the altar.65 In the centre of the room stands a large vesting table, under which resides the sarcophagus of Gio­ vanni di Bicci, de’ Medici and Piccarda Bueri. This is generally attributed to Brunelleschi’s adopted son, called Buggiano, and all these displays clearly had Brunelleschi’s approval. Donatello added decorations in four general areas and it is understandable to see them as intrusions. From uppermost placement to lowest, one encounters four roundels with scenes of the legend of St John the Evangelist (located in the dome’s pendentives), four evangelist roundels (one in each of the wall lunettes), two reliefs of paired saints (above the doors flanking the altar niche) and two sets of bronze doors with elaborate surrounds (below the paired saints). The copious and colour­ ful decoration contrasts rather glaringly with the small and intimate sacristy space, whose basic colours had been grey and white, with a conspicuous roundel of red porphyry in the centre of the vesting table. Much of the added decoration seems appended rather than integrated, especially the new door frames, which injected prominent architectural elements on a scale and in a style that run counter to Brunelleschi’s overall vision of an architecture based on a logical arrangement of forms with no extraneous decorative members.

54 Donatello, decorations in the Old Sacristy of San Lorenzo, Florence, c. 1439–43.

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Early commentators pulled no punches. Antonio Manetti, in his biography of Brunelleschi (c. 1475), accuses Donatello of working ‘with such pride and arrogance that he installed [doorway decorations] without ever consulting Brunelleschi’. Manetti, a staunch Brunelleschi partisan, added, ‘What he did in the sacristy, individually and collectively, utterly lacked the grace of Brunelleschi’s forms.’ Manetti claims that Brunel­ leschi even composed sonnets to exonerate himself from any blame having to do with Donatello’s interventions. In his book on architecture, written between 1461 and 1464, Filarete, who praised Donatello’s St George as ‘perfect’, criticized Dona­ tello’s figures on the bronze doors on either side of the altar space by stating, ‘If you have to do apostles, do not make them look like fencers, as Donatello did in the two bronze doors in the sacristy of S. Lorenzo in Florence.’66 Antonio Billi, a sixteenth-century biographer of artists, mentions the Old Sacristy doors around 1530, ‘even though they are not very graceful’. The Florentine artist Baccio Bandinelli wrote to Duke Cosimo i de’ Medici in 1547 criticizing the Old Sacristy doors and bronze pulpits as coarse. Other artists and commentators also praised Donatello’s work in the Old Sacristy. Vasari, in particular, had no reservations about its beauty, and Francesco Bocchi, in his guidebook of 1591, describes individual works as well as the whole and concludes that, ‘artists visiting this place enjoy the sweetest delight imaginable’. Creatively, Donatello tried some daring and original tech­niques for the time, and it is easy to lose sight of that fact. The upper stucco work is the most innovative. With the stucco, Donatello explored the possibilities of adding a

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varied palette of colour to the three-dimensionality of relief sculpture. It was not new to paint stucco or even terracotta, but to do so with narrative scenes using the progressive new techniques of mathematical perspective was unprecedented. In effect, Donatello sought a logical next step forward from rilievo schiacciato by adding colour to relief sculpture. In hind­ sight, it is easy to see glazed terracotta, as developed by Luca della Robbia, as the more elegant and beautiful development in this type of sculptural appendage, but mastery of the tech­ nique was still almost a decade away and its success was far from evident at the time of the Old Sacristy decoration.67 Still, Donatello never again went back to painted stucco on this scale. For practical reasons, interior decoration was traditionally installed from the top of the interior downwards, and that is a logical way to assess the Old Sacristy decorations because, except for modelling the wax forms from which the bronze doors were cast, Donatello worked in situ. The narrative roun­ dels in the pendentives comprise the most daring parts of the overall decoration and presented difficult challenges because their surfaces are concave as they follow the curvature of the pendentives. They also betray extreme experimentation under­­ taken in a context where speed was of the essence. Conservation work has shown in detail how Dona­tello used nails to support the damp stucco, which he worked by hand, leaving finger­ prints in the process.68 Stucco could be painted while wet or dry, and Donatello used both techniques. Some of the meth­ ods employed have ancient precedent while others suggest consultation with a contemporary painter who well knew fresco technique. The perspectives are formidable, with lines

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still evident where an artist scratched guides into the stucco surfaces. Donatello must have worked with an expert in per­ spective – and there were plenty to choose from, including Brunelleschi, Alberti and Uccello. A case could be made for each of them as a friendly collaborator, but the aesthetic is closest to Uccello, who also offered expertise working with fresco and pigments. The figures appear in white against blue and red back­ grounds, yet their stories remain difficult to read from afar and often seem cluttered even in reproduction. The Raising of Drusiana, in which St John resurrects the woman from the dead, offers the most drama. For her cloak Donatello used the only dark pigment in the entire chapel, which makes her stand out significantly and reminds the viewer that this space is, in fact, also a mausoleum.69 The architecture in this scene is the most successful, as Donatello creates a grand stage for the action, all beneath a barrel vault that comple­ ments the roundel form and helps aim the viewer’s attention towards Drusiana. Surrounding figures, impressively mod­ elled, show much dynamic action. The other scenes vary in their dramatic intensity, often too busy to read clearly, though the scene of St John on Patmos offers a welcome visual contrast through the sparse landscape setting of the saint’s mystical vision. The four evangelists that occupy the lunettes present quieter and more simplified scenes. Their collective mood suggests deep contemplation. Donatello poses each as seated and reading at an altar-like lectern accompanied by their appropriate symbol. They contain wonderful classical-inspired details and evocative facial expressions, though they also

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display languid, weary body language. The most acclaimed, St John, slumps forward from his seat with an anguished look of concentration. The pairs of saints that occupy the spaces above the doorways receive ambivalent assessment due to stylistic incon­ sistencies. The faces of saints Lawrence and Stephen evoke remarkable energy and pathos, and the detailed decorations on their vestments bring to life otherwise flattened bodies. These features differ in the figures of saints Cosmas and Damian, with their stoic faces and drapery that contains little detail even as wonderfully dynamic bodies show movement beneath. There was apparent indecision about how the sur­ faces should appear, and ultimately Donatello decided to brighten the faces with lead white.70 Technical studies also show two different artists at work. One hand both added and subtracted material while a second hand only subtracted. Though the saints by this second hand are often attributed to Michelozzo or an assistant, Donatello had overall responsibility and no document specifies shared authorship. The two sets of bronze doors in the sacristy present myriad problems of style and iconography.71 Contemporary sources identify them, along with their surrounds, as the main targets of critical disapproval, though the doors are, in fact, remark­ able works for their time. Donatello always left the casting of bronze to others, and Michelozzo may have taken on that important role here. Though their partnership had long ended, their working relationship continued. From 1437 on, Michelozzo assisted Ghiberti on the famous Gates of Paradise, the final set of doors for the Baptistery. Work on these respec­ tive sets of bronze doors overlapped and were concurrent

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with the commission for two additional sets of bronze doors for the sacristies in Florence Cathedral. The growing desire for bronze doors in ecclesiastical spaces thus presented heightened expectations of the artists involved, and in this battleground Ghiberti most definitely took home the prize. Donatello’s bronze doors for San Lorenzo appear conserv­ ative in nature and may be based on precedents found in early illuminated manuscripts. Each respective set features ten panels, and within each panel two figures face one another in animated debate. The left set is usually called the Martyrs’ Doors and the right set the Apostles’ Doors, but few figures on any of the panels can be specifically identified. As a whole the doors might seem rather dull in their repetitive pairing of saints, and the interaction of figures is often uncompelling. But among the forty individual figures one finds moments of sheer brilliance. At his best, Donatello attempts to achieve in bronze relief what rilievo schiacciato proffered in marble; that is, the suggestion that figures exist in extended space and are not mere protrusions on a flat surface. He gives the bodies classical proportions, seen through clinging transparent dra­ pery, and invents interesting individual poses. Some figures overlap or deny the frame, while others reaffirm the frame by resting on it. To be sure, some poses appear more dynamic while others seem stale, and disappointing figures might be excused by the claim that other hands were involved – and surely they were. Donatello, however, was responsible for the quality control expected of his studio, and he clearly com­ posed some beautiful notes even if they often fail to come together as song. Alberti may have been criticizing Donatello’s work when he wrote in On Painting, ‘A runner is expected to

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lunge with his hands and feet, but I prefer a philosopher while he is talking to show much more modesty than skill in fencing.’72 Fronds held by characters on the Martyrs’ Doors indeed look like swords, though Alberti’s words would have cut more deeply. Criticism from a colleague need not imply an adversarial relationship. Alberti and Donatello certainly continued their fruitful interactions long after completion of the Old Sacristy decorations. Donatello’s subsequent relationship with Brunel­­ leschi is murkier. Antonio Manetti, Brunelleschi’s biographer, writes that Donatello’s works in the Old Sacristy never had Brunelleschi’s approval. Manetti also claims that Donatello’s indignation against his friend caused Brunelleschi to compose sonnets to make clear which parts were his and which were Donatello’s. These sonnets are lost but there exists one poem, possibly related though probably earlier, addressed to Dona­ tello and attributed to Brunelleschi. It is difficult to interpret and must contain innuendos fully understandable only to their close circle, but it basically tells Donatello to stop talk­ ing and get back to his work, which is something that justly earns him praise. It has a biting tone of telling someone to stick to what they know and do best.73 In the winter of 1443–4 Donatello left Florence rather abruptly for Padua. Why did Donatello leave? There are two basic hypotheses, not mutually exclusive: he may have been running from something in Florence or running to new opportunity in Padua. Most biographers emphasize the latter, but there is some reason to consider the former. His depar­ ture was sudden: documents place Donatello in Florence as late as October 1443, associated with Fra Filippo Lippi, but

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he appears in Padua by January of 1444.74 He had many com­ missions in progress, especially for the cathedral, and more pending that he simply left hanging. Later comments by Donatello indicate ambivalent feel­ ings about his artistic reception in his home city. Vasari offers that Donatello appreciated the drive to excel that criticism might inspire and that Donatello returned to Florence from Padua precisely to regain critical appraisal, even if censorious: Because he was taken to be a wonder and praised by all critics, he decided to return to Florence, saying that if he stayed any longer he would forget everything that he knew, being so greatly praised by all, and he would willingly return to his homeland and continue to be criticized, since such criticism would give cause to study, and consequently bring greater glory.75 Criticism might inspire greatness but it can also leave a sting, and Donatello was human. The carping from work at San Lorenzo must have taken a toll, especially if his good friend Brunelleschi was composing critical poems and Alberti obliquely criticizing the poses of his religious figures as more appropriate to athletes. Still, there does not seem to be wide­ spread alienation in Donatello’s leaving. Certainly Michelozzo remained friends with Donatello and helped him upon the sculptor’s return from Padua. Cosimo de’ Medici also welcomed Donatello back with open arms. Paolo Uccello reportedly joined Donatello in Padua at some point, proving that the sculptor did not leave Florence friendless. But Donatello left Florence nonetheless.

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The other hypothesis for Donatello’s departure maintains that there was an opportunity in Padua so irresistible that he dropped everything in order to pursue it. With or without some dissatisfaction in Florence, this is the more intriguing possibility.

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P

adua welcomed Donatello. The city lies on the mainland side of Venice and from 1405 onwards was considered Venetian territory. Cosimo de’ Medici spent time there during his brief exile from Florence (1433–4) and reportedly received good treatment from both the Paduans and Venetians. Cosimo’s original exile required him to spend ten years in Padua but he remained only two months before transferring to Venice to be with his brother and his bank. Cosimo’s wealth made him desirable and he knew the disastrous state of finances in Florence would help facilitate any eventual return, so he tended to business assiduously. Cosimo eventually left the region with good connections and a sound reputation such that his favourite sculptor would be well accommodated in turn. For the artist to go to any foreign city without Cosimo’s approval would have been perceived as a dangerous and unac­ceptable slight. Padua was safe, despite the fact that an anti-Medicean faction also resided in the city. The leader of this constituency was Palla Strozzi, a significant patron of the arts who may have been a distant relation to Donatello. An artist of Donatello’s talent and character could move tactfully between feuding political forces, and Palla’s son, Onofrio,

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eventually provided valuable assistance by facilitating payments while Donatello worked on the Gattamelata. heroic sculptur e In Padua, Donatello found a cultured and prosperous city with many benefits. It boasted a celebrated university, one of the most respected in Europe at the time and whose origins go back to 1222. The university maintained particular exper­ tise in law and medicine, including human anatomy. The latter may have been of particular benefit to a sculptor so devoted to the realistic portrayal of the human body. The city had wealth and thus a fair amount of patronage and collect­ ing, with much interest in antiquity due to the many respected humanists living there and an ancient connection to the Roman historian Livy, who was born there. Local artisans included the influential painter Francesco Squarcione, who also collected antiquities in a studio where Andrea Mantegna later trained. Padua possessed the Arena (Scrovegni) Chapel, which housed frescoes by Giotto justly lauded for their artis­ tic significance. With a stimulating intellectual and artistic environment, associations with rich and powerful patrons and little competition in the realm of sculpture, Donatello still needed one crucial element to attract him there: a great com­ mission. This emerged in the form of an equestrian monument to a mercenary soldier named Erasmo da Narni, better known as Gattamelata (Calico or Honeyed Cat).1 Erasmo da Narni was one of the famous mercenary sol­ diers (condottieri) who conducted war on behalf of various Italian states. At one point he had commanded an army that

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served Florence, and thus Cosimo de’ Medici considered him an ally.2 Gattamelata began serving Venice in 1434, having helped orchestrate some significant victories. Though highly celebrated, in many ways Gattamelata was an unlikely subject through whom Donatello would create one of the great monuments in Western art. Gattamelata was a commoner, a mercenary rather than a ruler, not even Venetian or Paduan. He was from Narni, in central Italy, and served Venice for only a short time before his death in 1443. Similarly, Lisa Gherardini and her merchant husband Francesco del Giocondo were of little historical significance; the portrait of his wife which Francesco commissioned from Leonardo da Vinci, however, has become the world’s most famous picture, the Mona Lisa. Leonardo made Lisa immortal in paint as Donatello would do for Gattamelata in bronze. Such is the power of art. Gattamelata, who died in 1443 after a long illness, left a will with instructions for a relatively modest burial in the Santo, the church in Padua dedicated to St Anthony and the most impressive ecclesiastical structure in the city. He was indeed buried there. The Venetian state went further still and gave him an elaborate funeral and sanctioned the commission of an equestrian statue in his honour. The Gattamelata statue was to be erected in the square directly in front of the Santo just to the north. Though officially a state commission, what few documents exist indicate that much of the financing and management of it went through Gattamelata’s executors, which included his widow, personal secretary and a relative.3 Documentation beginning in 1447 indicates that casting occurred during the spring and summer of that year. Given the magnitude of the

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planning, modelling and preparation for the casting of such a huge piece, the design probably began in 1444 and likely prompted Donatello’s relocation from Florence, as claimed by Vasari. Donatello had begun a quest to revive the ancient form of the equestrian monument. Though one tends to think of artists working individually, the crafting of Renaissance sculpture was often the result of teamwork. Donatello’s collaborators in Florence had included Brunelleschi, Nanni di Banco, il Rosso and Michelozzo, to name a few. In Padua, Donatello worked mainly in bronze and used the able services of an expert caster named Andrea del Caldiere. Donatello’s Paduan studio, located near the church of the Santo, must have employed many other indi­ viduals, and the Florentine artist Baccio Bandinelli later claimed – probably with some exaggeration – that Donatello had had eighteen or twenty assistants.4 Donatello’s residence in Padua did not mean he did not travel extensively, including trips back to Florence, where he appears in October 1445 helping to estimate a work for Florence Cathedral carved by Brunelleschi’s adopted son, Buggiano. Brunelleschi died six months later, in April 1446. Donatello’s most important early collaborator in Padua was his friend Paolo Uccello. Uccello’s presence in Padua has been vastly undervalued, partly because it is undocumented. In 1443 he finished painting a clock face with four heads for the interior of Florence Cathedral and then had ample oppor­ tunity to periodically join Donatello in Padua. In Padua, Uccello reportedly executed lost paintings of giants in the courtyard of the Casa Vitaliani, a commission possibly secured by Donatello, but his main reason for visiting the city would

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have been for the two artists to consult while formulating the Gattamelata monument.5 Donatello had assisted Uccello pre­ viously in designing the great Hawkwood fresco in Florence Cathedral, and the two must have relished the thought of bringing the equestrian idea to life in the third dimension. With Donatello, collaboration and competition brought forth some of his most creative moments. Uccello and local artists provided the former. Competition appeared in the form of a contemporaneous and equally ambitious equestrian monu­ment then under way in Ferrara. The Ferrarese monu­ ment commemorated Niccolò iii d’Este, who died in 1441. It was commissioned in 1443 by his heir, Leonello d’Este, from two Tuscan sculptors, Antonio di Cristoforo and Niccolò Baron­celli, and the work was installed in 1451.6 Though they are far from household names today, Donatello knew these two sculptors well. Antonio di Cristoforo trained and then collaborated with Luca della Robbia. Niccolò Baroncelli had been an apprentice to Donatello, the two even living together for a time, as recorded in 1427, and the younger artist had been working in Padua for about eight years before Dona­ tello’s arrival. The success of the Ferrarese horse would be such that Niccolò earned the nickname Niccolò del cavallo (Nicholas of the horse). Niccolò’s exit from Padua at the same moment as Donatello’s entrance to the city cannot have been coin­­cidental. The final link in this nexus of equestrian interest, serving as both collaborator and competitor, was the all-purpose instigator Alberti. Alberti spent much time in Ferrara during this period and consulted on the d’Este monument. Moreover, at the same time he composed a treatise, dedicated to Leonello

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d’Este, called The Living Horse.7 In this work Alberti stressed the ideal nature and behaviour of the horse, both in battle and on parade, and by implication what an ideal equestrian monument should evoke – a proper bearing and comport­ ment of the protagonists rather than mere description of appearances. Unfortunately, the Ferrarese monument suf­ fered destruction by Napoleonic forces in 1796 and we know its appearance only at second hand. Donatello’s statue, how­ ever, survives in excellent condition and conforms well to Alberti’s theories, suggesting the two artists continued to be in fruitful contact even outside of Florence. The challenge that excited all these artists was to revive the equestrian monument as known from classical antiquity and to do so in the commemoration of a contemporary per­ son. In effect, the recently deceased would be likened to the great emperors of old. Donatello’s ultimate success in this regard resonates through the words of an early commentator, Michele Savonarola, who shortly after the statue’s completion declared that Gattamelata was ‘seated just like a triumphant Caesar, and with scarcely less magnificence’.8 Some medieval equestrian sculptures did exist, but none had the realism or, more importantly, the heroic bearing of the ancient models. Visual precedents from antiquity available to Donatello sur­ vived in the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius in Rome and in four bronze horses, probably Roman and acquired from Constantinople, that then stood on the facade of San Marco in Venice. Another ancient statue, called the Regisole, stood in Pavia, not a terribly difficult journey from Padua. Like the Ferrarese monument, the Pavia statue also suffered destruction in 1796.

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Donatello relished the challenge of reviving the equestrian monument and took it up with much vigour. It is easy to lose sight of the prodigious amounts of planning and prepara­ tion between the time he arrived in Padua, in early 1444, and the casting of the monument three years later. The process involved careful study of actual horses, making draw­ ings and small models, and the dreaded practical aspects, for Dona­tello, of setting up a studio and finding assistants. The preparation for bronze casting eventually necessitated a model of actual size, the construction of an armature, the modelling of forms in clay and the working out of even the most minor details. Further steps needed to prepare the model for cast­ ing were taken under the direction of Andrea del Caldiere, but with the full cooperation of Donatello as the master art­ ist. At no point could Donatello rest until the work reached final fruition, and that did not occur until 1453. The result is magnificent (illus. 55). Horse and rider form a partnership as in classical dressage, where the harmony between them generates maximum performance with seem­ ingly minimal exertion. Their every movement seems graceful and effortless. Gattamelata’s horse appears to have been slowly walking as if on parade until stopping to perch its left front hoof on a small sphere. The sphere helps balance the bronze while evoking the image of both the battlefield cannonball and, more obliquely, the orb often held by emperors and Christ. Aside from the orb, Donatello’s sculpture in profile view practically forms a mirror image to Uccello’s Hawkwood monument, but the Gattamelata displays greater refinement and realism. Much artistic ground had been covered in the decade between these two monuments.

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Gattamelata’s horse turns his head towards his left, with open mouth, and protruding veins pulsing across his muzzle to his neck, all further animating his presence. The horse stands as a massive and powerful specimen but one well trained and groomed. In a stylized antique manner, the trimmed mane bears a topknot on the horse’s head, while the tail has been carefully combed and the hair gathered with a ribbon at its end. The human rider sits with formality and grace in an upright posture with confident bearing. The careful modelling of Gattamelata’s face suggests a realistic portrait, with beetling brow and idiosyncratically heavy jowls.9 With his right hand, Gattamelata gently extends a baton while with the left he grips the horse’s reigns. His armour combines inventions of both modern and antique motifs and should not be construed as actual. It is a brilliant fantasy, and in that sense timeless. Yet it was criticized by Filarete for its anachronistic details, proving even contemporaries often mistook the novelty of Donatello’s art. Though he renders the armour with much detail, Donatello exercises enough restraint to let each motif breathe. The cuirass features a Medusa head on its centre strap, reliefs of spiritelli adorn the sitter’s mid-section, and additional figures seem to cling to the rider’s side. Each articu­ lated piece of armour offers a new visual treasure: animated faces, individualized plates, and fringes that contrast the evo­ cation of heavier materials with those of cloth. Admittedly, the astonishing amount of detail is almost impossible to see without photographs, especially with the principal view from below (the height of the pedestal is about 7.8 m (25½ ft) tall).10 As with the best stained-glass windows, where the

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overall effect is heighted by the details the average viewer will never see up close, the effects of Donatello’s meticulously rendered statue are overwhelming. The parts become less important than the whole and the effect of the whole is easily understood. This is an image of power and invincibility, but also of a human, eminently believable as a great commander, indeed as the epitome of the ideal warrior. Donatello placed the bronze group on an elaborate stone pedestal. The uppermost part bears reliefs on each side 55 Donatello, Equestrian Statue of Gattamelata, 1444–53, bronze.

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showing Gattamelata’s heraldic device and military honours, respectively. The lower parts show fictive doorways, one slightly ajar – a motif found on ancient sarcophagi. The whole overtly references funerary imagery, though as a cenotaph rather than a mausoleum since the deceased was actually buried inside the adjacent church.11 The monument stood on the site of a medieval cemetery and thus the funerary imagery was quite appropriate. Donatello must have been especially proud of his work, since he left an inscription on the front of the marble base that reads: opvs donatelli·flo (work of Donatello the Florentine). Constructing the Gattamelata monument did not come without its own trials, with the most predictable concerning money. A story from the time, found in various sources with minor variation, begins with Donatello either being pestered to finish the statue or not receiving money for it in a timely fashion. The story continues, he took a hammer and smashed its head. When the Signoria of Venice heard this, they summoned the art­ ist and told him, among other threats, that his own head was going to be smashed, like that of the statue. And Donatello replied ‘That’s all right with me, pro­ vided you can restore my head as I shall restore that of your Captain’.12 There is normally some truth to these tales of disagreement over time and money, which abound in the literature. Patrons were loath to part with money and artists reluctant to pro­ ceed without it. Artists, always feeling rushed, could never

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deliver fast enough for their impatient clients. Donatello presents a special case since the artist was as careless and arbitrary with his finances, and as capricious with his working priorities, as his patrons were insistent about receiving timely value for their expenditures. He was as frustrating a character as could be imagined, but by the time the Gattamelata neared completion there was no doubting his unparalleled talent as a sculptor on a grand scale. In its final stages eight arbiters were appointed to decide on the statue’s worth. They praised it for ‘the great mastery and ingenuity that there had been in the making and casting of the said horse and rider’ and awarded the artist 1,650 ducats, a substantial sum.13 While in Padua, Donatello’s services were constantly being sought in other cities.14 Prospective patrons also knew of Donatello’s habitual dilatoriness in completing work promised and that it was better to induce than to threaten. The examples of his frustrating behaviour are many. In 1450 Donatello visited Mantua at the behest of Ludovico Gon­ zaga for a commission to make a bronze reliquary called the Arca di Sant’ Anselmo. Donatello made models in various media, including images of the Madonna in tufo (a volcanic stone) and terracotta. Despite promises made over the next eight years to finish the work, there is no evidence that any­ thing was ever completed. In 1451 the Bishop of Ferrara paid the sculptor for unidentified work – possibly a crucifix – that was later assigned to Niccolò Baroncelli.15 In the same year, Donatello travelled to Modena to secure a commission for a sculpture honouring Borso d’Este.16 He convinced the city to use bronze instead of marble, but despite the artist making initial progress and receiving some payments, neither

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documents nor objects show that it was ever brought even close to fruition. On 26 May 1452 Alfonso i of Naples wrote to the Venetian Doge, Francesco Foscari, seeking Donatello’s services.17 This did not come to pass but it reminded the Venetians that the sculptor had other prestigious options. In sum, Donatello had no shortage of customers, and while this did not excuse his unreliable behaviour it certainly enabled his eccentricities to be indulged. Despite these offers from elsewhere, until finishing the Gattamelata Donatello remained domiciled in Padua with much other work always to be done. Donatello’s most elaborate creations, besides the equestrian monument, were intended for the Santo, the church dedicated to St Anthony that formed the backdrop for the Gattamelata. He first completed a bronze Crucifix (illus. 56).18 Donatello received the commis­ sion immediately upon his arrival in Padua and had already begun work on it by the end of January 1444. This work pro­ ceeded unevenly, as far as we know, but by 1449 it was complete and being prepared for installation. Today Donatello’s bronze Crucifix is integrated with the high altar complex of the church, but it was originally placed midway down the nave, either above the entrance to the fri­ ar’s choir or atop the rood screen just to its west.19 The bronze figure of Christ was mounted on a wooden cross painted blue by Niccolò Pizzolo, a talented artist also associated with major names in Padua such as Squarcione and Mantegna.20 Pizzolo gilded the cross with the help of an unidentified woman described only as ‘donna’. Pizzolo himself presented a col­ ourful figure, as interested in weaponry as in art. According to Vasari, in 1453 he was treacherously slain by an enemy

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when returning to his studio. Afterwards, Donatello had to retrieve some works from Pizzolo’s brother, indicating that the sculptor and painter had retained a collaborative relation­ ship from 1449 until Pizzolo’s death. Another documented collaborator was Andrea del Caldiere, who not only helped with the casting but furnished a ‘diadem’ for the crucifix, 56 Donatello, Crucifix, 1444–9, bronze.

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probably a halo, which was then gilded by Fra Bartolomeo da Casteganaro. This object has since disappeared. Donatello’s Paduan creation presides as the first life-sized bronze crucifix of the Renaissance. Many precedents existed in wood, including Donatello’s own version in Santa Croce, completed thirty years earlier and mocked by Brunelleschi. Bronze, however, offered greater material splendour for the period viewer. Together, Donatello’s Padua and Florence images of Christ present a rare opportunity to compare the same theme as expressed by a single artist at diverse stages of his career. Furthermore, the analysis benefits from a recently 57 Donatello, Crucifix, c. 1440–45, polychrome wood.

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rediscovered wooden crucifix in the church of Santa Maria dei Servi that is contemporary with the bronze and convinc­ ingly attributed to Donatello (illus. 57).21 These Paduan works are siblings – not quite twins, but clearly of the same parent. Donatello may have carved the wooden crucifix just before leaving Florence, which would have expedited the realization of the variant in bronze once in Padua.22 These are no peas­ ants! They evoke a heroic presence that Brunelleschi had perceived as missing from Donatello’s early attempt at the theme in Florence. The Paduan works demonstrate what marvellous develop­ ments Donatello made in his style and in understanding the expressive force of the male nude. In retrospect, the Florence work shows a tentative investigation of the body. The Paduan works show greater confidence, even to the point of occa­ sional exaggeration. The faces of the two later Paduan figures more directly address the suffering of Christ and evoke pathos in the viewer. In the bronze, a Y-shaped vein protrudes on Christ’s forehead, the mouth hints at a last breath, and the details of hair and beard are described with a rugged realism. The Paduan wood shows even greater modulation of form in the sunken cheeks and skin that seems to droop as the human life force expires. Little wonder the image was seen to weep blood in 1512, as proof of its miraculous nature. The torsos of both Paduan works form a protruding semi­ circle at the thorax, revealing the edge of the ribcage and heavily defined abdominal muscles. These parts seem unnat­ urally exaggerated, even anatomically questionable, but evoke a powerful dramatic effect where the bodies, especially the bronze, seem ready to explode from the torture of crucifixion.

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Donatello understood the seeming paradox of realistic art – that realism is effective to the extent that descriptions appeal to perception, even at the expense of truth. Not until Caravaggio would an artist build more emphatically on this principle. sculptur e as theatr e Donatello’s realism was one of several characteristics of his art that anticipated the Baroque style to come 150 years later. In his most elaborate Paduan endeavour, Donatello gave rise to such theatricality, and challenged space and time so thoroughly, that he called to mind much later artists, such as Bernini in sculpture and Rubens in painting. The venue for this display was the fashioning of a new altar ensemble for the church of St Anthony.23 The church housed the tomb of St Anthony, who died in 1231. It became both a significant pil­ grimage site and a considerable point of pride for the city, and millions still visit the church annually. We do not know the precise original appearance of Dona­ tello’s altar, since it has been disassembled and reassembled several times and the present organization dates only from 1895 (illus. 58). Still, certain parameters are determinable from what survives. Donatello contributed seven large bronze statues (the Madonna and Child enthroned, and saints Francis, Anthony, Louis of Toulouse, Prosdocimus, Daniel and Justina); four narrative reliefs with stories of St Anthony; four reliefs with symbols of the evangelists; twelve reliefs with angels (some with two angels each); and a relief of the Pietà. He also completed a stone relief of the Entombment. These

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individual pieces coordinated with additional elements within an elaborate architectural setting. Donatello worked over a relatively short period, starting by 1446 and installing at least the majority of sculptures in time for the feast of St Anthony on 13 June 1450. Adjustments continued afterwards and the unequal quality of finish both within individual figures and between them leads one to question whether it was ever actu­ ally finished to plan. Indeed Donatello was still owed money when he left Padua in 1454, indicating at a minimum a lack of closure. To understand the magnitude of Donatello’s attempted innovations, certain traditions must be identified. The first was

58 High altar (modern arrangement of 1895), San Antonio, Padua.

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the widespread practice in Italy of displaying painted altar­ pieces over the high altar of churches. These were often large and elaborate, such as Duccio’s Maestà altarpiece in Siena which originally measured around 5 m (about 16½ ft) in both height and width, and sculpture was generally included only as an enhancement, for example by adding candle bearers.24 The basic iconographic format is called a sacra conversazione, or holy conversation.25 This composition included a Madonna 59 Mantegna, San Zeno Altarpiece, 1456–9, panel.

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and Child enthroned in the centre of the painting and saints surrounding them in equal numbers on respective sides. These altarpieces generally rested on a narrow horizontal base called a predella, which often contained stories of saints important to the setting or patron. Mantegna’s San Zeno Altarpiece in Verona stands as a fine example of this type of altarpiece in the Veneto (illus. 59). The artist painted the work between 1456 and 1459 and was highly informed by Donatello’s Paduan altar.26 Mantegna’s work features an enthroned Madonna and Child flanked by four saints on each side and set within a believ­ able architectural space. The predella bears three scenes of Christ. The whole conforms magnificently to the expectations Donatello sought to challenge by way of sculpture. Donatello’s altar design transformed the assumptions of the altarpiece from a fictional representation of a spiritual world on a two-dimensional surface to a thrilling new stage that offered the third dimension in real space. In this regard Donatello thrust a riposte to Alberti and his thesis, articulated in On Painting, that the picture functions as a window through which one envisions the historia, or the narrative scene. This thesis forms the basis of much European painting until the early twentieth century when artists like Picasso and Braque destroyed that window through Cubism. Donatello confronts Alberti with this work of sculpture, staged in a temple-like setting informed in part by Alberti’s architectural theories, but that had as much to do with theatre and ceremony as architecture and painting.27 It relates to staged Nativity scenes and Passion plays and anticipates the later calvary scenes that became popular pilgrimage sites in northern Italy in subse­ quent generations. This alternative reality of holy figures was

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contiguous with the viewer’s own and thus formed part of an actual physical experience. The setting is more literal than any painting, in the here and now and in three dimensions, and the spectator could be part of this miracle of art and faith. A modern analogy would be the difference between watching a live play from front-row seats and watching a movie from the back row. The immediacy of the former can be simulated through special effects in the latter but not equalled. And in this case the ultimate performance was the solemn Christian ritual of the ceremonial Mass. Each part of Donatello’s ensemble humbles itself to the greater whole, but many of the individual contributions are masterpieces in and of themselves. The Madonna and Child literally take centre stage on a proscenium (illus. 60), high­ lighted by the Madonna’s ethereal face and Christ’s naturalistic body. In an unusual feature, the Madonna does not appear to remain seated but instead begins the process of rising. With this action she implicitly inches the Christ Child forward into the viewer’s space, subtly recalling a miracle of St Anthony when the Christ Child appeared to him in bodily form. This extraordinary interpretation was never repeated in exact form in fifteenth-century sculpture. The Virgin’s throne features sphinx-like heads on the arm rests and her unusual crown adds to the exoticism of her appearance. Critics have pointed out various precedents in the art of classical Greece and Rome, or in Byzantine and Etruscan objects, or have explained idiosyncrasies by way of patrons or local preferences, but, whatever his sources, Donatello’s art is uniquely informed by a tremendous recall of precedent which he reinterprets into new forms and endows with new relevance.

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The six saints display a remarkable variety of expression, admittedly unequal in effect. They clearly show other hands alternating with Donatello’s, but all hold to a high standard. The rugged realism of the faces of saints Francis and Anthony contrast with the genuine sincerity and simplicity of Daniel’s. The excited, almost agitated movement in the clothes and body of Justina, who stands in exaggerated contrapposto,

60 Donatello, detail of Madonna and Child with St Anthony and St Francis from high altar (illus. 58), San Antonio, Padua, 1446–50, bronze.

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contrasts with the rather unexpressively posed Louis and the almost retrograde Prosdocimus, the first Bishop of Padua. Some of the variation can be attributed to Donatello’s assistants and to the unfinished nature of the work when Donatello left Padua. Documents of 1447 reveal the names of many of these collaborators. Niccolò Pizzolo emerges as a familiar name, and as a painter he probably helped with sketches and with the narrative reliefs. Sculptors included Urbano da Cortona, Giovanni da Pisa, Antonio Chellini and Francesco del Valente, men of differing talent and artistic temperament.28 Donatello gave them particular freedom with the reliefs of the Evangelists and some of the angels, and the occasional banality of these reliefs highlights the contrast between their capable mediocrity and Donatello’s genius. Where Donatello remained fully engaged, the results explain why his capriciousness was so tolerated by patrons. The relief featuring an angel playing double pipes provides a good example. This angel – a spiritello at heart – displays a dynamic cross-axial composition as he strides to his left (view­ er’s right) while turning his torso in the other direction. The difficult contortion is handled as effortlessly as the expert turn of a Parthian bowman. The angel’s body displays not so much a contrapposto as a helical figura serpentinata, more fully realized in the round only in the next century by artists such as Michel­ angelo and Giambologna. Many of the angels have elements that project off the relief plane, but the movement of this figure exudes an uncommon agility as his right foot extends from the frame as if poised to pivot his body into our space. The graceful and effortless athleticism of this movement is unseen elsewhere.

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The reliefs depicting miracles of St Anthony present a different matter of personal involvement. Donatello fully absorbed himself in their realization and consistently showed his indisputable genius. He here achieves a symphony of per­ spective, narrative power, spiritual consequence and masterful technique. Money says something both in our century and in theirs, and in fact Donatello received 85 ducats for each of these reliefs versus 40 ducats for some of the individual fig­ ures. Some of these latter were much larger in size but less daring in scope, thus the monetary difference may be accorded at least in part to the value of the artistry. Donatello based the reliefs on a remarkable textual source written about 1435, the Sancti Antonii confessoris de Padua vita (Life of St Anthony of Padua) by Sicco Polenton.29 Shortly there­ after, in 1439, an illuminated manuscript containing the Life was chained to a reading desk in the sacristy of the church, and Donatello could have easily consulted it, perhaps together with his patrons and advisers. From this source, Donatello interpreted in bronze relief four representative miracles of St Anthony. Each scene takes place in an elaborate and individualized architectural setting, generally configured with the action in the centre and onlookers reacting at the sides. The format re­­ inforces the nature of the reliefs as analogous to predella panels complementing the sacra conversazione presented in the free-standing figures above. The architecture throughout the panels shows complex and progressive powers of inven­ tion. Donatello had already proven his talents in Florence in sculpture of all types as well as in designs for other objects, such as stained glass. In Padua he achieved some recognition

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for his independent architectural ideas. In 1447 he even engaged in making a model, in wood covered in wax, for a chapel to be erected in Venice for an unnamed Florentine confraternity, but it never came to fruition.30 While he may have drawn information from other buildings and the theo­ ries of Brunelleschi, Alberti, Vitruvius and others, ultimately Donatello laid claim to his own unique architectural designs.

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The Miracle of the Mule presents the clearest narration. In this story the donkey of a non-believer chose to kneel before the host rather than seek an offering of food, giving evidence of the sanctity of the Eucharist and the primacy of spiritual nourishment. Donatello creates a stage set with three barrel vaults, with the effect of peering through a triumphal arch, giving gravity to the central theme. Excited onlookers popu­ late either side, and in the centre Anthony offers the host to 61 Donatello, detail of Relief of the Miracle of the Repentant Son from high altar (illus. 58), San Antonio, Padua, 1446–50, gilded bronze.

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the kneeling animal. The scene carries all the grandeur and majesty of ancient Rome transformed into a triumph of Chris­ tian faith through the Eucharistic host. The Miracle of the New-born Child offers an architectural complement featuring a tableau with a flat coffered ceiling supported by a series of arches. This time the architecture ref­ erences domestic buildings. In this miraculous story a man accused his pregnant wife of adultery, but when the baby was born Anthony had the child speak the name of his father, which was indeed that of his mother’s husband. The scene thus celebrates the triumph of truth through faith and the essence of the familial unit. The third scene evokes ecclesiastical architecture in the centre and palatial architecture on the sides, defining a con­ trast because this miracle emphasizes the primacy of spiritual wealth over material greed. Upon the death of a rich man in Florence, Anthony quoted Matthew 6:21: ‘Where your treas­ ure is, there is your heart.’ The man’s heart was then found in his coffers rather than his body’s empty chest cavity. This Miracle of the Miser’s Heart affirmed church policy against usury and, of course, advocated for enrichment of the spirit above worldly concerns. The final scene occurs in the most distinctive setting (illus. 61). It takes place out of doors in a space surrounded by steps or tiered seating as if constructed for public spectacle, evoking an actual theatre or, more explicitly here, a surgical theatre.31 The sun appears prominently in the sky and is the key ele­ ment in this affirmation of the truth of miracles enacted by humans with the help of God. In this Miracle of the Repentant Son a boy who had kicked his mother confessed to St Anthony,

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earning a rebuke as well as absolution. Misunderstanding Anthony’s words, the simple-minded boy cut off his own foot with an axe. Anthony was summoned and reattached the foot. The story’s themes combine issues of the divine power of confession, the repentance and forgiveness of sin, and the miraculous ability to find healing with the assistance of faith. In each scene Donatello marries the overall setting to its theme and in the details offers insightful moments revealing a wide range of human emotion. Through the onlookers we find amazement at a kneeling mule, intense relief when a baby speaks his father’s name, horror at finding a human heart in a miser’s treasure chest and inestimable grief for an injured boy. Donatello took no shortcuts, as each scene contains some­ where between twenty and fifty individuals, or more, since it is impossible to count accurately due to the complexity of arrangements. Architectural details provide practically lim­ itless opportunities for visual exploration. Collectively, the reliefs comprise parts of a sculpted predella that reinforce the power of the miracle seen above them – that of the Madonna and Child surrounded by saints. As once granted to Anthony, a miracle manifests itself to the present audience. We will never know the precise arrangement of Donatello’s Paduan altar as originally intended, particularly the full scope of the architecture and how the individual parts precisely coalesced into a greater whole. On the bronze surfaces, only part of the original gilding and silvering remain, with enough indication that Donatello both applied the metals over the base bronze and inlaid them though damascening techniques. The reliefs were thus less monochromatic than seen today and, as with all his techniques, were enriched to enhance meaning

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in addition to visual delight. One additional highlight exists in a stone relief of the Entombment that probably served as a centrepiece on one side of the altar. The scene, largely carved by Donatello himself, evokes an engaging emotional intensity, with a frenzy of activity surrounding the burial of Christ. Executed in a local material, pietra di Nanto, a stone of often red­ dish hue, the relief contains green and purple inlays and offers a striking visual complement to the bronzes, thus embellishing the altar’s surrounds with a jewel at its core. Issues of viewership and meaning remain. We would profit from knowing the precise arrangement of saints, how they affected the altar’s perspective and sense of depth, and how they contributed to the altar as religious theatre, especially for an audience accustomed to miracle plays, elaborate Eucharistic ceremonies and other Church spectacles. Knowing the orig­ inal arrangement might help to understand better how the altar may have referenced the tomb of St Anthony and evoked funereal imagery or even the idea of the Virgin’s Immaculate Conception.32 Viewing and access may have differed substan­ tially according to the participant’s social position, from pilgrims to clergy, elites to commoners, and from locals to foreign visitors.33 Despite all these unknowns, it is certain that by the time Donatello left Padua he had indeed created a masterpiece – dare one say a miracle – of art.34 intimate encounters The Gattamelata and works for the church of the Santo are sculptures on a large monumental scale, but throughout his career Donatello also spent considerable efforts on smaller

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and more intimate objects. They could be produced rapidly, were likely quite profitable, being in high demand, and they provided opportunities for experimentation that offered minimal risk and considerable gain. The most successful of these objects he was loath to part with, keeping some until his return to Florence, where they could be immediately revealed to show his mastery and artistic growth while in Padua. Vasari mentions various other works that Donatello completed in Padua, though he is highly inaccurate about this part of Dona­­ tello’s life. He lists a wooden skeleton of a horse, a wooden statue of St Sebastian, and other figures in clay, stucco and marble, including a Madonna. One such precious artefact from Donatello’s Paduan workshop is a small bronze relief depicting the Martyrdom of St Sebastian (illus. 62).35 Despite its diminutive size, about 26 × 24 cm (10½ × 9½ in.), it carries a grandiosity of spirit in its masterful depiction of the event. Sebastian’s body appears actual and vulnerable, the angel sincere and the archers deter­ mined. Sebastian’s vividly described face seems resigned to his torture yet not defeated in his faith. Donatello’s greatest expressive moments prove equally effective whether seen as part of a grand public display or in the more intimate setting of a private object meant to be held and inspected up close. He found ways to pull the viewer into a world of the spiritual no matter the medium, scale or religious subject. The Madonna and Child was the most popular single artis­ tic theme of the Renaissance and Donatello certainly catered to this market. In 1450 Ludovico Gonzaga ordered, among other objects, three Madonna reliefs from Donatello’s studio, two in terracotta and one in tufo stone.36 Donatello produced

62 Donatello, Martyrdom of St Sebastian, c. 1450, bronze.

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reliefs in large quantities and in almost every reasonably conceivable medium. For example, we know of about two dozen versions of the so-called Verona Madonna in materials including terracotta, stucco and cartapesta (a paper medium similar to papier mâché), and some of them bear added pig­ ment or gilding.37 Not all the present productions are from the fifteenth century, but the overall designs must be based on Donatello originals.38 One of these reliefs is embedded in the exterior of a building in Verona (hence the name) on the via delle Fogge at the corner of corso Santa Anastasia, installed between casts of two angels from the Padua altar (illus. 63). It serves as an important reminder of the ubiquity of these reliefs, both inside the home and in churches, and also on the exterior of architectural structures, such as houses, shops, gates and loggias. The Verona Madonna type has unusual intensity as the Madonna clutches the child close to her body. The fingers of her left hand form a protective brace around his fragile neck and head while her right hand grips the child’s rear, making sure he is safe and secure at her bosom. With her cheek she caresses his forehead. Its design cannot have been conceived without the careful observation of actual women and children. A more intimate work that Donatello kept with him until he returned to Florence is the remarkable Chellini Madonna (illus. 64). When Donatello left Padua he suffered from var­ ious maladies and did not consider himself fully cured until receiving treatment from a doctor in Florence named Gio­ vanni Chellini. The two became friends and we know Chellini’s appearance through his portrait bust sculpted in 1456 by Antonio Rossel­lino. In that same year Donatello presented

63 After Donatello, Verona Madonna, original design c. 1450, stucco.

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to Chellini one of the most unusual sculpted objects of the Italian Renaissance, a bronze roundel about 28.5 cm (11¼ inches) in diameter.39 On one side it features a beautiful relief of the Madonna and Child – a remarkable work in and of itself. The Madonna holds the child and they sit before a parapet, which seems the only barrier to the figures emerging fully into the viewer’s space. Excited angels appear on either side and the border contains decorative pseudo-Kufic script. The size, shape and portability of the object relate it to trad­ itional birth trays that were used to serve meals to a new mother just after the birth of a child.40 In the relief, one angel pats the stomach of a companion angel who holds a tray of

64 Donatello, Madonna and Child Roundel (Chellini Madonna), c. 1450, gilt bronze.

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this type, furthering this association. Another angel, on the left, claps as if offering congratulations. Making the object even more unusual is that its reverse serves as a mould, specifically to make glass replicas (though other media could be used) that exactly reproduce the obverse image. In this medium its round format recalls stained-glass rose windows devoted to the Virgin Mary, and light passing through the glass roundel would have immediately called to mind frequent analogies made to the Virgin Mary, such as the popular hymn sung during the feast of the Nativity and referenced on the frame of a Madonna picture by Jan van Eyck: ‘As the sunbeam through the glass passes but not stains, thus the Virgin, as she was, virgin still remains.’41 Whether reflecting off the partially gilded bronze or shining through the glass casts, light and its manipulation was a thrilling way to instil spiritual meaning into an object, especially the Madonna and Child relief, which always risked seeming stale and ordin­ ary. The bronze roundel, with its capacity for replication, was an extraordinary gift, and it must have been difficult for Donatello to part with such a precious and unique object, though he was not an overly sentimental individual. Perhaps an enlightened doctor was the perfect recipient, but there was no anticipating this when Donatello packed the object to ship to Florence. It was likely meant to keep, but cheating death precipitates unusual impulses. A telling example of how Donatello thought about media like no other artist exists in an unusual terracotta relief of the Madonna and Child produced around the same time and called the Madonna Piot, after a former collector (illus. 65). 42 Like other similarly shaped and composed objects, including

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the Chellini Madonna, it was probably intended for domestic display. The intense dynamic between the Madonna and Child engages in its own right – with meaningful eye contact, expressive faces and body positions in perfect harmony with each other. The delicate description of the Madonna’s veil and elaborate fabric of her clothing suggest it may be the Donatello relief described similarly by Vasari in the sixteenth century as then residing in the Florentine palace of Bartolo­ meo Gondi, who possessed an impressive art collection.43 But the most extraordinary and unprecedented feature is the use of glass to populate the backdrop, giving visual energy to a standard composition that must often have seemed formulaic. Donatello followed no pre-existing model for this invention. He here developed a unique background pattern for the relief, featuring vases and heads of angels, by using the technique of gold or wax embedded beneath glass (sometimes called verre églomisé). As with the Chellini Madonna, with which the Madonna Piot shares stylistic and other affinities, Don­ atello here exploited the effects of glass and could have easily looked for expertise from the formidable glass industry in Venice. The Madonna Piot once bore traces of gilding and in its original condition the optical effects of the various media must have made the relief one of the most striking Madonna and Child displays of the Renaissance. The impact of Donatello’s Madonna reliefs is seen not just in the considerable number of works of the kind but also in the effects they had in transmitting his ideas to other artists and through them to a wider public. Andrea Mantegna’s paint­ ings, for example, profoundly affected the course of Western art and the artist was deeply influenced by the innovations of

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Donatello. Mantegna’s compositions of the Madonna and Child, in particular, show the arrangements and emotional intensity that so defined Donatello’s particular articulations of the scene.44 Jacopo Bellini (father-in-law to Mantegna and father of Gentile and Giovanni Bellini) may have met Dona­ tello in Florence in 1423, but the greatest effects on his art are seen after Donatello’s arrival in Padua.45 These are manifest 65 Donatello, Madonna Piot, c. 1450, terracotta with traces of gilding and medallions with wax beneath glass.

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in images not only of the Madonna and Child but in Jacopo’s studies of equestrian themes, spiritelli, and the use of archi­ tecture as believable stage settings. Many other artists were equally affected by Donatello’s presence in Padua, which must have been gratifying to the artist, but peer approval was not enough to convince him to remain. It may even have been an inducement to leave. Donatello left Padua with some ambivalence. Vasari has him acknowledging his celebrity in the city but also bemoan­ ing the lack of critical stimulus. Things may have become too routine for an artist who valued challenges, competition and honest feedback. Another reason for his move may have been health-related, as implied by his later medical treatment and a musing after the fact related in a letter of 1458 when he com­ mented about his return to Tuscany (he was in Siena at the time) that it was ‘so as not to die among those Paduan frogs’. 46 This may also have been a slight against his Padua hosts for being relatively unsophisticated. Whatever the reasons, he left as precipitously as he had arrived. He had come to create the Gattamelata statue, a challenge he successfully completed. Once certain accounts were settled, in October 1453, he made plans to leave the city even with money still owed and sculp­ tures unfinished for the Santo. In November he sought the return of marble slabs from the brother of the painter Niccolò Pizzolo. There was some reason to go to Modena instead of Florence. That March an emissary from Modena arrived in Padua to convince Donatello to complete the statue of Borso d’Este and reported back that the sculptor would soon arrive. Typical of Donatello, he went to Florence instead, and nothing more is heard of the Modena commission.

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By November 1454 Donatello was renting a new home and studio in Florence, so it is generally assumed that he returned to his native city earlier that year. He probably expected a cele­ bratory homecoming and a multitude of commissions falling his way. The reality turned out to be rather different.

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A

hero’s return is never easy. In myths and legends he generally comes home to find it much different from when he left. Typically, new circumstances and new expectations present unexpected difficulties. The hero often leaves again. Such was the case with Donatello. fashioning a legacY A frustrating dearth of documentation obscures Donatello’s initial return to Florence, with neither major new commis­ sions nor renewed activity on lapsed ones recorded. Other than the Medici, interest in Donatello’s services came from outside Florence – from Siena, Naples and Mantua. Donatello’s health may hold a key to understanding his activity, because his known work and documented activity pick up dramatically after he received cures from Giovanni Chellini, as the doctor recorded in 1456. At this point Dona­ tello was about seventy years old, an impressively advanced age in the fifteenth century. Lack of steady income plagued Donatello, and art may have been what little he possessed to offer in exchange for services, as when he gifted the doctor the remarkable bronze Madonna and Child roundel. The few

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documentary references in these early post-Paduan years are informative, however. In September 1454 a letter from Piero di Cosimo de’ Medici, in Faenza, to a business associate lists the shipment of three objects belonging to Donatello: a bronze relief, a bronze portrait head and an old container (perhaps an antiquity).1 It confirms that Donatello returned from Padua with his Medici associations intact and with portable works of art in transit. In November 1454 Donatello rented a house with studio space near the cathedral workshop. They probably encom­ passed the same premises he had occupied before leaving Florence, which had also been used by Michelozzo, who was due reimbursement for having fixed the roof. In fact, the two artists re-established their friendship, though with their per­ sonal circumstances substantially altered. Michelozzo had married in 1441 and now had children and enjoyed consistent patronage from the Medici. Donatello arrived in Florence without new commissions, sick, and with no close family to speak of. In April 1455 he and Michelozzo sent a letter to Prato offering to make amends for any deficiencies with the pulpit there, an undertaking that still seemed to haunt them, but it came to naught. In October of that year Donatello travelled briefly to Volterra on business for the Medici. Just before he left, he was paid – or underpaid in Donatello’s estimation – for two images of the Virgin Mary, and he went to oversee marble work for a studio or writing desk intended for a property at Fiesole belonging to Giovanni de’ Medici.2 The Madonnas were also intended for Fiesole. Clearly Donatello was well ensconced with the Medici but the works mentioned are rather minor. In March 1456 Donatello named a representative

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to intervene on his behalf to make claims for money owed from Padua. Finally, in August that year Chellini records his cure for Donatello and the gift of the bronze roundel. Common to these documents is a concern for money and the fact that Donatello did not take on anything of major importance or exertion. Donatello’s tax return of 1457 lists no commissions and few assets. Here we face a critical conundrum, because many works attributed to Donatello fall precisely during this period of documentary paucity. In this regard most of the relevant objects concern either Madonna and Child reliefs or decora­ tive furnishings. Between health issues and the need for immediate money, Donatello may have turned to the produc­ tion of small and quickly produced objects, especially since he could delegate much of the sculpting to assistants. Vasari lists Donatello’s many reliefs of the Madonna and Child, plus assorted smaller-scale ecclesiastical and domestic works, and affirms, He put his hand not only to great things . . . but also to the smallest things of art, making the arms of families on the chimney-pieces and on the fronts of the houses of citizens . . . For the family of the Martelli, moreover, he made a coffin in the form of a cradle wrought of wicker-work, to serve for a tomb.3 Donatello had always been a collaborator, especially with works in bronze, and it stands to reason that he sought assistance in manufacturing various objects upon his return to Florence, either out of necessity or by temperament.

66 Donatello and Assistant (Desiderio da Settignano), Boni Family Coat of Arms, c. 1454–7, pietra di macigno.

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Some of these extant works of the type mentioned by Vasari bear this out. Two beautiful examples of coats of arms belonged to the Martelli and the Boni families respectively.4 Modern critics generally accept that they may both be works of Donatello’s design executed by another sculptor. We lack precise definitions for these relationships and whether the carvers should be thought of as students, followers, assistants, subcontractors or simply collaborating colleagues. We know Donatello eventually formulated all of these relationships after his return to Florence, while period documents con­ sistently attribute the resulting work solely to the master from whom it was commissioned. The coats of arms present cases in point. Coats of arms normally included a shield with the family insignia, often presented by a spiritello, as seen on many tombs. The Boni and Martelli examples play upon these precedents but also break the mould of conformity. Both are carved in pietra di macigno, a popular stone choice for this type of object in Florence because it was an economical local product and made a positive civic statement by way of materiality. The Boni Family Coat of Arms shows a rampant lion on the shield (illus. 66). The lion in turn wears a smaller shield that originally bore the Angevin lily. What sets this work apart, in the end, is the unprecedented arrangement of the spiritello, who stands amid clouds and, with a wide grin, struggles to lift the large shield upward with the help of a strap that wraps around the back of his neck. Typical of Donatello, the putto is not a mere accoutrement but an active protagonist who animates what would normally be a rather staid display of heraldry. The carving of this element seems less in the style of Donatello, however, and more like

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that of one of the most talented carvers of the 1450s, a young man named Desiderio da Settignano, who entered the sculp­ tors’ guild in 1453. On Donatello’s return from Padua, Desiderio would not have been a student or workshop assis­ tant but a colleague and the only Florentine sculptor who might have rivalled Donatello in the carving of rilievo schiacciato. Unfortunately, Desiderio died in his thirties, two years before Donatello.5 The Martelli Family Coat of Arms displays similar composi­ tional and stylistic traits (illus. 67). In this case the shield features the Martelli gryphon. A spiritello struggles to support the shield via a strap around his neck and is partly obscured in the process. His face bears deep-set eyes and an open mouth, as if groaning, while his left fingers grip the shield tightly. These exaggerations are typical of Donatello and appropriate for a work that was to be seen out of doors and at a distance from below. The carving itself again re­ calls Desi­derio more than Donatello, suggesting another collaboration. Desiderio was a virtuoso stone carver and almost certainly executed the elaborate sarcophagus of Niccolò and Fioretta Martelli (illus. 69) found in San Lorenzo and attributed by Vasari to Donatello.6 Its lower portion displays a woven pat­ tern, as if the object were made of wicker rather than marble. This mimetic conceit, whereby one substance might be seen to magically transform into another, loomed central in Dona­ tello’s thinking. The carving of the work, however, presents more of a technical challenge than an expressive one and offered a perfect opportunity to let younger and more nimble hands complete the task.

67 Donatello and Assistant (Desiderio da Settignano), Martelli Family Coat of Arms, c. 1454–7, pietra di macigno.

68 Donatello and Assistant (Desiderio da Settignano), St John the Baptist (Martelli Baptist), c. 1454–7, marble.

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Various members of the Martelli family were close allies and business partners with the Medici, and Donatello had already received assistance from Roberto Martelli in Rome in the 1430s. One additional Martelli work from this period is a marble statue of St John the Baptist commissioned by Roberto Martelli (illus. 68).7 Though all the older sources attribute the work to Donatello, the visual evidence again suggests the ambivalent nature of a collaborative work initiated by Donatello and executed by Desiderio da Settignano. It is even possible that the Martelli Baptist was designed by Donatello while still in Padua but that its execution had to wait until he had the following elements in place: an expert carver to real­ ize the figure, high-quality marble as a worthy medium and a willing patron to finance its making. The figure has a nervous energy, with even the tufts on the camel-hair cloak bristling with excitement and conveying spiritual revelation. Once completed, the family so treasured the work that Roberto’s son included it in his will with the express desire that the statue never be alienated from Martelli possession.

69 Donatello and Assistant (Desiderio da Settignano), Martelli sarcophagus, c. 1454–7, marble.

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The role of Donatello as mentor and exemplar, both directly and indirectly, once he returned to Florence from Padua cannot be overstated. In 1454 Donatello was roughly 68 years old and certainly the elder statesman of his profession. What he may have lacked in manual dexterity he made up for with experience, reputation and unquestionable talent. And if 70 Donatello, Judith and Holofernes, c. 1456, bronze.

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only a fraction of the quips attributed to him are true, he must have been one of the most witty and colourful of characters with whom to associate. Florence in the 1450s boasted many promising young sculptors, but none of Donatello’s brilliance. The old guard consisted of figures like Lorenzo Ghiberti, who died in 1455, leaving a capable but less creative son named Vittorio in charge of the studio. Vittorio concentrated more on heavy bronze foundry work, such as making bells and cannon, rather than on statuary. Luca della Robbia still practised as a sculptor, but his most lasting innovations moving forward belonged to his family’s manufacturing of glazed terracotta. Michelozzo mostly confined his later activity to the field of architecture. A generation after the death of Donatello, Lorenzo de’ Medici (called Lorenzo the Magnificent) would mourn the dearth of great young sculptors and set in motion a course of corrective action through a Donatello assistant named Ber­ toldo di Giovanni, who taught the young Michelangelo and Pietro Torrigiano, among others. Bertoldo established the connection between Donatello and Michelangelo and the perception, however unfair, that between these two great fig­ ures lay much talent but little genius. Vasari lists some of these followers as Bertoldo, Nanni di Banco (clearly inaccurate), Antonio Rossellino, Desiderio da Settignano and Bar­­t­o­­lomeo Bellano. Many additional sculptors followed in Donatello’s footsteps – Verrocchio and Antonio Pollaiuolo deserve mention – but the fact was that in mid-century Florence Dona­tello’s influence was so powerful as to be inescapable, and no other sculptor rose to his level of prominence during the master’s lifetime.

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The younger generation witnessed Donatello bringing to complete fruition only one masterpiece in this late period: the bronze statue of Judith and Holofernes (illus. 70).8 Donatello’s pride in the artistry of this work led him to the rare act of signing his work, as he had done on the marble base of the Gattamelata statue. Beneath the limply hanging hands of Holofernes it reads: opvs donatelli·flo (work of Dona­ tello the Florentine). Probably initiated around 1456, Donatello finished the bronze either just before or just after he made a new sojourn to Siena. The commission is undocumented, and the work is first mentioned as residing in the garden of the Medici palace.9 A visitor to the palace in the mid-fifteenth century would have entered into its courtyard to find Dona­ tello’s bronze David (transferred from the former Medici palace), and invited guests would have proceeded into the garden to be greeted by the Judith and Holofernes. Of the many sculptures in these spaces, including antiquities restored by Donatello, these great bronzes stood out as the most conspicuous and prestigious objects. During the Renaissance, David and Judith were seen as counterparts. Both were willing to sacrifice themselves for their people and both defeated, even humili­ ated, their enemy through the act of decapitation. In the Renaissance context their acts represented justifiable and honourable tyrannicide. Donatello’s depiction of Judith and Holofernes is blatantly violent, provocatively sexual and implicitly political. In the biblical story the beautiful Jewish widow named Judith, from Bethulia, determines to rescue her town and people then under siege by the formidable Assyrian and pagan general Holofernes. She seduces the general though never actually

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delivers him sexual gratification. Instead, Judith encourages Holofernes to overindulge in food and wine and the antici­ pation of sex until he eventually passes out. She uses his own sword to strike his neck not once but twice in order to sever it. Her actions ultimately save her people. Donatello’s depiction shows Judith straddling Holofernes over his left shoulder, allowing his head to rest against her upper thigh. She plants her right leg firmly at his crotch and left leg at his back while she wields the sword to strike the second blow to sever the head. A gruesome gash on Holofernes’ neck shows where the first blow had struck, and Judith’s face carries the determination and purpose necessary to repeat the violent act. Donatello perches the two figures atop a soft pillow and this rests in turn upon a triangular pedestal pop­ ulated with spiritelli engaged in a bacchanalia featuring scenes of wine, drunkenness and even vomiting from excessive alco­ hol.10 Donatello thereby weaves together the themes of violence, indulgence, drink, sex and power. He makes much of contrasts, between the semi-nude male and demurely cov­ ered female, the active heroine and passive foe, and purposeful action and slothful indulgence. Possibilities to find meaningful difference among the main characters are almost limitless. The political dimension is implicit, but very real and pow­ erful. The statue embraces the idea of individual sacrifice for one’s people, of humbling oneself for the greater good, and of individual citizens standing up to tyrants and their lieutenants. Both Judith and David represent the irrepressible underdog and ultimately Florentine republicanism triumphing over tyranny; thus the symbolism of the two statues becomes easily intertwined.

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To make the domestic political associations more con­ crete, the Medici added two early inscriptions to the statue’s base. The first read, ‘Realms fall through luxury, cities rise through their virtues. You see the proud neck cut by humility’s hand.’11 By this means the Medici associated themselves with the humble Judith, willing to dispense justice, even a violent one, on those who fell into vice. A second inscription was added by Piero de’ Medici sometime after the death of his father Cosimo in 1464. It said: Public Health [Salus Publicus]. Piero de’ Medici, son of Cosimo, dedicated this statue of a woman to union of strength and liberty, so that the citizens might be led back via an invincible and constant spirit to the defence of the republic. ‘Medici’ literally means medical doctors, and Salus Publicus, or public health, was an often-used phrase.12 The explicit reference to this female figure as personifying the union of strength and liberty carries meaning that transcends the ages in Western art, from Donatello’s fifteenth-century liberator in Florence, who wields a sword, to nineteenth-century France where Delacroix’s painted Liberty leads with a flag, and to the United States of America where Bartholdi’s colossal statue in New York Harbor promises liberty with her torch. Ultimately, the Medici wished to be seen as defenders of Florentine liberty at a time when they might have been alternatively judged as looming closer to tyrants. Though a private rather than a government building, the Palazzo Medici was the real centre of political power. The ostensible

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seat of government, the Palazzo della Signoria, had housed Donatello’s marble statue of David since 1416, which by the sixteenth century carried an inscription celebrating patriot­ ism while invoking divine intervention. By identifying with Judith and David, the Medici created their own iconography as liberators rather than oppressors and moulded public per­ ception to their liking. The disingenuousness of the statue was not lost on the Florentines. To many, the Medici came to be seen as despotic and their palace a den of luxury. Once the Medici were expelled from the city in 1494 the state confiscated the Judith and Holofernes statue, setting it the following year in front of the Palazzo della Signoria with a newly inscribed pedestal. The new words read: ‘An example of public health, placed by the citizens, 1495’.13 Donatello’s bronze David was also moved to the courtyard of the same palazzo. At this point the Medici came to be identified with Holo­fernes and Goliath rather than with Judith and David, thus inverting the original intentions of both statues. r ejuvenation in siena As proud as he was to be a Florentine, and as well ensconced as he was with the city’s leading citizens, Donatello left Flo­ rence in September 1457 with no intention to return. He moved to Siena, where he reportedly ‘wished to live and die . . . and make something singular’.14 Commissions for Siena had been instrumental in Donatello’s early career though he had never actually lived there. For Siena’s cathedral bap­ tistery he had created the moving figures of Faith and Hope, developed the first true Renaissance spiritelli and established

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a masterpiece of bronze relief with the Feast of Herod. He had also sculpted the bronze tomb slab of Bishop Giovanni Pecci. Donatello hoped this second phase of work for Siena would prove to be as productive, and he had ample opportunity to make it so. The Sienese documents continually stress the desire for Donatello to live and work there until the end of his life. The Sienese generously accommodated the sculptor and the cath­ edral Operai provided for his living expenses. Unfortunately for them, the relationship proved too volatile to be sustained and only a few years later Donatello returned to Florence with little of significance accomplished. A work that exempli­ fies the ambivalence of his Sienese sojourn is the bronze statue of St John the Baptist commissioned for Siena Cathedral (illus. 71).15 In 1457 the work arrived from Florence in three pieces: the head and upper body, the rest of the torso down to the knees and the knees down to the base. The right arm, however, was missing. Our earliest sources explain this by claiming a dispute over payment: [Donatello] said he did not finish it because he had not received the rest of his pay. And when he left Siena he said that if they wanted him to finish the statue they would have to pay him as much as they had paid for the rest of the figure. Thus he left it incomplete.16 Donatello was certainly not above spite, nor did he readily accept being underpaid for his services. The fact remains that during Donatello’s lifetime the statue remained in storage, probably because of the missing piece.

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The present arm, an addition of unknown date, probably mimics the position originally intended, which would have been known from drawings or models.17 Compared to the wooden statue of St John that Donatello sent to Venice, the Siena version depicts a slightly older and more rugged interpre­ tation of the saint. The figure bears an awkward construction, and it is pieced together such that the cloak seems stiffly draped over the figure rather than conforming organically to a body beneath. The face, though, bears much raw emotion, as psychological investigation became ever more paramount for Donatello in this final phase of his career. This moving work in Siena describes suffering but not despair, and a spiritual assuredness in the face of adversity. Since the bronze St John the Baptist was cast in Florence, it did not yet require Donatello to relocate from Florence, but a larger commission beckoned and did just that. This was the opportunity to cast a set of bronze doors for Siena Cathedral. A major challenge, the doors would inevitably be compared to those of the Florence Baptistery – both Ghiberti’s north set, for which Donatello witnessed the competition between Brunelleschi and Ghiberti, and Ghiberti’s east doors, which are now known as the Gates of Paradise. Donatello had previously completed two sets of bronze doors for the Old Sacristy in San Lorenzo and still had a pending commission to finish one of the two sets of sacristy doors for the interior of Florence Cathedral, but none of these commanded the same imposing scale or the added prominence of exterior public viewing as would be the case in Siena. The Siena doors could truly be works of singular accomplishment if that is what he desired. The prestige of such a commission is hard to

71 Donatello, St John the Baptist, c. 1457, bronze.

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exaggerate. In 1458 a letter by the Sienese statesman Leonardo Benvoglienti calls the sculptor ‘Donatello, master of the doors’, despite the sculptor’s many other claims to fame.18 Donatello’s competitive spirit must have been piqued by the fact that Siena and Florence saw themselves as rivals in every way, and this work would adorn the most important building in Siena – its magnificent cathedral. Donatello threw himself into the work with enthusiasm, and documents mention the making of wax panels that may have served as demonstration pieces or as works in progress being readied for casting. Heartbreakingly, these designs have been lost forever, and Donatello left the city with nothing from the doors having come to final fruition. The only extant work that might be a remnant of relevant ideas is a relief of the Lamentation now in the Victoria & Albert Museum in London (illus. 72).19 Though dated to various periods of Dona­tello’s career, the relief seems most consistent with Donatello’s post-Paduan use of bronze. It is oddly constructed, with its background intentionally excised so the piece could be mounted to a complementary surface. It bears an experi­ mental quality, perhaps being a test piece since Donatello was compelled to use a new foundry in Siena. In the Lamentation Donatello created a moving and mysterious work, showing a central Pietà consisting of Christ and the Virgin Mary, with four surrounding figures. Again he explores the human psyche with an emphasis on psychological pain and emotional suf­ fering. One mourner wrenches her hair and screams, another holds his hands against his face, obliterating our view but conveying emotion through theatrical body language. The Virgin Mary displays unquenchable sorrow for the loss of her

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son while his once powerful body slumps in death. It is a tour de force of art that captures the complexity of human anguish. Though only hypothetically connected to the cathedral door project, the tone of this relief is consistent with Donatello’s darker themes during his later years and it remains a tanta­ lizing suggestion of what these doors might have revealed. The only other work brought to fruition in Siena is a large round relief of the Virgin and Child sculpted in marble for the chapel of the Madonna delle Grazie in Siena Cath­edral (illus. 73).20 It did not begin as Donatello’s commission. In 1451 Urbano da Cortona and his brother, Bartolomeo, had con­ tracted to construct an ornate architectural framework for

72 Donatello, Lamentation, c. 1458–9, bronze.

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the chapel’s entrance that was to include a sculpted Madonna and Child. Urbano had previously worked with Donatello in Padua and proved to be a trusted collaborator throughout the Sienese years, especially with activity in bronze.21 By 1457, with work in the chapel still incomplete, the Sienese dangled a piece of this commission to Donatello as one of the entice­ ments for him to relocate from Florence to Siena. Donatello’s involvement did come at some expense to Urbano, who had to alter his structure and displace his own, vastly inferior, Madonna and Child relief, but he ended up well compensated 73 Donatello and Assistant, Madonna delle Grazie, 1457–9, marble with blue glass inlay.

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for his troubles. The artists completed the work in 1459, giving us a rare surviving and datable object from this period in Donatello’s career, even if much of the work was executed by collaborators. Donatello’s relief, called the Madonna delle Grazie, includes lovely details in the faces of the main figures, while work on the bodies and four angel heads in low relief do not live up to the brilliant rilievo schiacciato effects the artist pioneered. Thus Donatello received some carving assistance, perhaps much of it from Urbano. The design of the Madonna relief, however, is pure Donatello, as seen for example in the way the Christ Child clutches the Virgin’s left shoulder in a manner so natural and precious that it could only be derived from direct obser­ vation of such acts. The relief boasts a compelling perspective, as if the viewer peers obliquely through an oculus from far below. Its side coffers feature an inlay of dark green marble, further enhancing the spatial effects, as does the placement of the Virgin’s head, which overlaps the relief’s border and emphasizes her forward projection into the viewer’s space. The stylistic incongruities in the Madonna delle Grazie give us valuable evidence that during his Sienese sojourn Donatello continued his practice of substantial collaboration. This was always nec­ essary for work in bronze, but carving was probably taking an ever greater toll on the determined but aged sculptor.22 Donatello needed the help of others in part because after Chellini’s cures took full effect, interest in Donatello’s services started to surge. Ludovico Gonzaga tried hard to bring the sculptor to Mantua, prompting a flurry of correspondence in 1458 in which Donatello seems teasingly willing to go and finish the ill-fated Arca di Sant’Anselmo. Meanwhile, from

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1456 until 1458 Donatello was collaborating with the art dealer Bartolomeo di Paolo Serragli, who had an impressive business sending Florentine art to Naples and shipping classical art from the Italian south up to Florence. Serragli acted as an agent and intermediary between Alfonso v of Aragon, King of Naples, and Donatello regarding the commissioning of a bronze equestrian statue of the king. Both the king and Serragli died in 1458, however, thus ending the project. The only remnant of this scheme is a bronze horse’s head that ended up with the Medici until being sent by Lorenzo the Magnificent as a gift to an important dignitary in Naples.23 The Sienese initiated still more commissions, including a marble statue of San Bernardino planned for the Loggia di San Paolo, a prominent site that fronted the palace of the powerful merchant’s guild. Donatello thus found himself with no shortage of potential work and had purposely chosen Siena when he relocated in 1457. His sudden departure after two years therefore seems suspicious but, considering his past behaviour, is perhaps not surprising. the r eturn to san lor enzo Always one to do the unanticipated, in 1459 Donatello abruptly left Siena with the cathedral’s bronze doors still pend­ ing. The reasons for his departure remain murky. In April the cathedral officials of Siena called Donatello ‘maker of the bronze doors’ and gave him a bed and other objects for his use as long as he was working there, yet on 1 June the cathe­ dral officials of Florence call him ‘carver and maker of the sacristy doors’ while paying his rent due for a house on via

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del Cocomero in Florence. The theme of doors had evidently become a bone of civic contention. There are various thoughts as to why Donatello aban­ doned Siena and returned to Florence. One account, from Renaissance sources, has civic pride as the impetus, when an emissary from Florence convinced Donatello that work as consequential as cathedral doors belonged in Florence rather than Siena and he should not so honour the Sienese. Patriot­ ism is often a convenient cover for self-interest, however. More modern hypotheses argue that the reasons had to do with money and ego. Each served as a constant Achilles heel for Donatello, and documents do suggest that the Sienese were having trouble funding the doors project in the midst of eco­ nomic difficulties.24 Donatello seems habitually unhappy with his circumstances later in life, criticizing Florentines to the Sienese, and vice versa, and even taking a swipe at Padua when he told a Sienese patron in 1458 that he wanted to return to Tuscany rather than die among Paduan frogs.25 The reasons for leaving Siena may simply have been as straightforward as homesickness or persistent health issues, as noted in letters. The most likely impetus for Donatello’s departure, though, is a summons from Cosimo de’ Medici. Like Donatello, Cosimo was at an advanced age and may have realized that the two of them had little time left to collaborate on another major project. Cosimo had a spectacular one in mind. Donatello thus headed home. When Donatello made his final return to Florence he did so under the full protection and sponsorship of Cosimo de’ Medici. The book merchant and biographer Vespasiano da Bisticci wrote that ‘Cosimo, in order not to have Donatello

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be idle, commissioned him to do some bronze pulpits for San Lorenzo and some doors which were in the sacristy. He ordered the bank to pay every week enough money for the master and his four assistants, and in this way supported him.’26 The story seems to be essentially correct, except that the San Lorenzo doors had been done earlier, and Vasari adds further details, writing: [Donatello] passed his old age most joyously, and, having become decrepit, he had to be succoured by Cosimo and by others of his friends, being no longer able to work. It is said that Cosimo, being at the point of death, recommended him to the care of his son Piero, who, as a most diligent executor of his father’s wishes, gave him a farm at Cafaggiuolo, which pro­ duced enough to enable him to live in comfort. True to character, Donatello returned the farm because it involved too many mundane cares, saying he would rather die of hunger. Vasari continues: Piero laughed at the simplicity of Donato; and in order to deliver him from this torment, he accepted the farm (for on this Donato insisted), and assigned him an allowance of the same value or more from his own bank, to be paid in cash, which was handed over to him every week in the due proportion owing to him; whereby he was greatly contented. Thus, as a servant and friend of the house of Medici, he lived happily and free from care for the rest of his life.27

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Vasari contrasts Donatello’s situation with that of his old friend Michelozzo, who was always the more prudent of the two and lived a more traditional family and financial life. The San Lorenzo pulpits comprise the only major extant sculptures undertaken by Donatello during his final years. It is somehow fitting that they became a final artistic statement in the same church where previous works (for the Old Sacristy) had suffered such intense criticism that they may have contributed to the artist once leaving Florence. The pulpits are among the most difficult of Donatello’s works to analyse, not least because it remains unclear whether they were even intended to be pulpits at all. They achieved their pres­ent form only at the beginning of the sixteenth century. It is also quite possible that at least one of the present pulpits was cobbled together from reliefs originally intended to form part of an elaborate altar and tomb at the heart of this church, which served as a Medici family mausoleum. Some scenes clearly work better when seen from above rather than below, and Donatello always kept viewpoint in mind.28 Vasari indi­ cates that Donatello had made a ‘model of the high altar with the tomb of Cosimo at its foot’.29 These ambitions may have proved too grand even for Cosimo, who on his death in 1464 was eventually buried in the crypt beneath the high altar.30 In an unprecedented fashion, Donatello was buried next to Cosimo two years later. In understanding the art of Donatello, the panels that make up the present pulpits are best considered as a series of reliefs that demonstrate intriguing tendencies and artistic choices made at the end of the sculptor’s career (illus. 74). The scenes show great stylistic variety, and more disparity

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than homogeneity. We find moments of rapture and moments of banality inexplicable but for the fact that Donatello had many assistants who contributed to the reliefs and ultimately brought them to fruition. The scenes show episodes from the Passion of Christ with the addition of a compelling Martyrdom of St Lawrence. The finely crafted scene of St Lawrence is the only relief to bear a date (1465), which probably records when the moulds for this relief were ready for casting (illus. 75). The martyrdom takes place in a well-defined architectural space and possesses a narrative clarity reminiscent of Donatello’s Paduan altar reliefs. The calming architecture and rational perspective stand in contrast to the perverse central action, whereby a torturer mercilessly thrusts a forked lance to pin Lawrence’s neck and prevent any escape from the searing grill on which the saint is being roasted alive. An angel rushes from the opposite side to confer the palm of martyrdom. Both the drama and accent on enduring pain typify this last stage of Donatello’s creative output. The debt to religious theatre also accelerates from his earlier explorations seen in the Padua altar.31 Unfortunately, sources indicate the pulpits were unfinished on Donatello’s death and assembled posthumously. Donatello must have left preliminary designs and models in progress and there are moments that cause one to wonder about mar­ vels that could have been. Some panels disappoint. The scene of the Crucifixion is so jumbled that the lower portion is almost unreadable; the Christ in Gethsemane relief lacks the proper narrative energy to contrast the lethargy of its many sleeping figures; and the crude execution of the Pentecost fails to con­ vince the viewer in the reality of its space or interpretive action

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despite the originality of its composition. Other scenes point to new possible directions for sculpture and reveal sensibil­ ities more expressionistically modern than typical of the fifteenth century. Donatello’s assistants must be credited for retaining these suggestive hints of artistic direction rather than finishing them as final statements. For example, the grand 74 Donatello and Assistants, south pulpit, San Lorenzo, Florence, c. 1459–66, finished posthumously by assistants, bronze.

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and imposing scene of Christ’s Resurrection features a huge figure of Christ bursting through the scene’s confines and whose outsized scale seems purposely composed to emphasize the greater power of the spirit over the materiality of the mundane world. One could argue that it harks back to medi­ eval hierarchies of scale or looks forward to modern distortions of form for dramatic effect. Christ’s Descent into Limbo works similarly, and the foreground characters practically fall off the relief surface, implicitly obliterating the distance between viewer and viewed. The rough sensibility and unfinished character of some reliefs, cast with their designs only sketched into the wax and then barely worked after translation to bronze, seem more similar to Rodin’s work than to that of any fifteenth-century sculptor. This may have been unplanned and unanticipated,

75 Donatello and Assistants, detail of north pulpit with Martyrdom of St Lawrence, c. 1465, bronze.

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but it became the reality of these late works, thus engendering both praise and criticism. Baccio Bandinelli, a remarkably unperceptive critic for a leading artist of the sixteenth cen­ tury, sums up one prevailing view: When he did the pulpits and doors of bronze in S. Lorenzo for Cosimo il Vecchio, Donatello was so old that his eyesight no longer permitted him to judge them properly and to give them a beautiful finish; and although their conception is good, Donatello never did coarser work.32 Vasari, in 1550, offers generous praise for their concep­ tion and an excuse for their final appearance by way of using assistants: These have design, force, invention, and an abundance of figures and buildings. As he could no longer work on them because of his age, his pupil Bertoldo finished them and added the final touches.33 No matter one’s judgement of the ‘coarse’ quality, the pronounced participation of assistants and collaborators tells us much about Donatello’s character and condition in his final years. His drive to work at all costs and through all circum­ stances emerges as paramount. He needed to continue making art. It also shows the devotion of his followers to bring his final outpourings of genius to some sort of fruition. These assistants included Bellano, a young sculptor from Padua who had followed Donatello to Florence, and Bertoldo, who carried

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on Donatello’s legacy so his lessons did not end when the great sculptor died. With the death of Cosimo de’ Medici in 1464, Donatello continued to be supported by Cosimo’s son, Piero. Donatello in turn gave an artistic thank you to his prior patron, if the elderly couple in the Pietà panel who look down at the holy figures are none other than Cosimo de’ Medici and his wife Contessina de’ Bardi (illus. 76), as has been suggested.34 If so, it is also possible that we see the image of Donatello himself, perhaps subconsciously manifested in the figure of the dead Christ, with the high cheekbones and full facial hair as in the Louvre portrait.35 The coarseness of the work, as articulated by Bandinelli, elicits a certain reflection on what historians in various fields often term the ‘old age style’.36 The idea is that what we per­ ceive as a less precise technique in artists of older age without cognitive impairment might in part express a greater harmony of ideas or an inner awareness that only time confers and the ageing body can only obliquely demonstrate. To the modern viewer the late work of an artist often speaks differently and more profoundly than the earlier work – less literally and more poetically.37 Well-known artists regularly studied in this context include individuals from the Renaissance to the pres­ ent, such as Michelangelo, Titian, Rembrandt, Goya, Monet and Picasso.38 The art historian Kenneth Clark credited Dona­ tello as the first artist to develop an old age style, describing the modelling of the San Lorenzo pulpits ‘as free and expres­ sive as the stroke of a pen in an impassioned drawing’.39 In fact, many of the reliefs display lines only scratched into the wax and cast into bronze without further finishing. A better

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way to look at it, especially with an artist such as Donatello who always adapted to circumstance, is that he continued to experiment with expressive effects with whatever physical faculties still allowed in a quickly deteriorating body. He used a resourcefulness that defies age. Picasso, when he was eighty years old, and in supposed imitation of the elderly Michelangelo, wrote on a drawing, ‘I’m still learning.’40 Donatello’s pulpit reliefs declare the same.

76 Donatello and Assistants, detail of south pulpit with Pietà, c. 1465, bronze.

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death and after life Vasari vividly describes Donatello’s final days as follows: When he had reached the age of eighty-three, however, he was so palsied that he could no longer work in any fashion, and took to spending all his time in bed in a poor little house that he had in the Via del Cocomero, near the Nunnery of San Niccolo; where, growing worse from day to day and wasting away little by little, he died on December 13, 1466.41 As often occurs with eccentrics who disrupt and go their own way, Donatello was more formally celebrated in death than while alive. Vasari, though writing a century after the fact, seems to have been well informed about Donatello’s passing and offers several epigrams composed in the sculptor’s honour, including the following: What many skilled hands once did for sculpture, Dona­ tello has accomplished alone. To the marble he has given life, emotion, movement. What more can nature give, save speech?42 Pomponio Gaurico offered unqualified praise for the artist in 1504, writing, ‘Donatello is most esteemed for his work in bronze, in wood, in marble; there exist more works by him than of all the other artists of his time up until the present day.’43 No other sculptor achieved such high acclaim until Michel­­ angelo. Despite the considerable talent of followers, no sculptor

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rivalled the innovations and virtuosity of Donatello and no artist was again as prolific or so sought after in the fifteenth century. Desiderio da Settignano might have successfully continued Donatello’s exploration of rilievo schiacciato, but he predeceased Donatello in 1464 at approximately 34 years of age. In Florence, other stonecarvers who followed closely included Antonio Rossellino, Mino da Fiesole and Bene­detto da Maiano; all contributed to the development of themes Dona­tello had introduced, but none were as transformative. In bronze, the followers were even fewer, with Bertoldo carry­ing on Donatello’s legacy and Verrocchio and Antonio Pol­­lai­­uolo offering works that pushed the medium, albeit without the same prolific output. Only Leonardo da Vinci offered compa­ rable daring and innovation in this field, but there are no confirmed surviving works by him in sculpture.44 The della Robbia family, immensely prolific artistically, largely remained in their own speciality niche of glazed terra­cotta. Their admir­ ation for Donatello, however, was acknowledged by Andrea della Robbia (nephew of Luca), who considered it an honour to have been one of Donatello’s pall bearers.45 Donatello’s accomplishments were never again seriously questioned and in fact became more legendary owing to the difficulty of finding comparable peers. The list of famous Western sculptors is rather small compared to the list of painters and includes names such as Michelangelo, Bernini, Canova, Rodin and Brancusi, all of whom unequivocally looked to Donatello for inspiration. Donatello’s death therefore does not end his story, and one example in particular illustrates this nicely. Though the pulpits are normally considered Donatello’s final works, since

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he died with them still in progress, they were not the only commission that concerned him at the end of his life. Another project in progress brought him back to the beginning of his career and provided a link to the future. 46 This project traces its roots to Donatello’s youth when the Operai of Florence Cathedral decided to create twelve prophets to grace the cath­­ edral’s spurs. In 1408 Nanni di Banco carved his figure of Isaiah and Donatello began a companion figure of David. Neither statue ended up residing atop the cathedral. In 1410 Donatello began his giant figure of Joshua, an innovative statue of whitewashed clay, and this successful work did achieve installation on a spur and remained in place until the eighteenth century. The solitary figure called for his eleven companions but remained alone despite an attempt by Dona­ tello and Brunelleschi to create an experimental statue in stone and lead. Donatello made some progress but was never able to bring even one companion figure to fruition. For about fifty years little more transpired in this decorative scheme until Donatello’s return from Siena to Florence. At that point activity suddenly resumed, and this can be no coincidence. In 1459 the cathedral Operai agreed to pay Donatello’s rent. They called him master of the sac­ risty doors, though there was no activity on them and little chance that Donatello would bring the project to fruition; it was a way to snub the Sienese. Instead, the Operai had other reasons to pay Donatello, certainly with the approval and even encouragement of Cosimo de’ Medici. Donatello must have been working on something special. The prophet scheme revived in 1463 when a gifted but troubled and itinerant sculptor returned to Florence, from

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where he had been expelled for stealing silver objects from the church of Santissima Annunciata. His name was Agos­tino di Duccio. Agostino quickly matriculated into the sculptors’ guild and then received the most prestigious commission in the entire city: it was for a companion to Donatello’s Joshua. The contract specified that the resulting statue was to be the same shape, style, height and size as Donatello’s existing work, and it was probably meant to represent Daniel. 47 Agos­­tino was certainly a brilliant stone carver but the medium for this new work was terracotta, for which we have no prior evidence of Agostino’s experience. He finished it in the remark­ably short time of seven months and we have evidence of its appearance from later prints. Giovanni Chellini con­ firms Dona­tello’s involvement in the project, when the doctor in 1456 records Donatello as already working on another giant figure for the cathedral. 48 The sculptor may have pro­ vided models and expertise, given that he could no longer work the medium with precision, especially on such a scale as a figure measuring over 5 m (17 ft) in height. Donatello had always been a collaborator, and seeing the buttress project revived must have given him great satisfaction. Revelling in their success, the Operai immediately com­ missioned Agostino to create another figure, this time in marble. It was to be a statue of David. Agostino agreed to a contract that specified the quarrying of four blocks of stone to be joined together to create the desired scale. Instead, he obtained one giant block – the largest quarried since antiquity – from which to make his colossal figure. He would challenge the ancients. The stone, somewhat compromised, arrived in Florence and caused a sensation. Expectations could not have

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been higher. And then on 13 December 1466 Donatello died. A week later Agostino received payment for his quarrying work, and ten days after that accounts were settled and he was relieved of the project entirely. It seems clear that Dona­ tello had been orchestrating the daring project of a colossal marble David and without his presence the commission faltered. A document of 1525 informs that Donatello did not want to carve the block when it came to Florence and claims that there was not another master who ‘had enough spirit’ to work on it. 49 In truth, the commission was inherently political, especially given the theme. With Donatello’s marble David in the Palazzo della Signoria and his bronze version in the Palazzo Medici, a third and colossal demonstration on the cathedral would have united the three most powerful entities of the city through sculptures by Donatello. The project was bound to falter without Donatello or Cosimo de’ Medici to shepherd it through. Piero de’ Medici exerted a more perilous grip on power than had his father, and earlier in 1466 he had just escaped a coup attempt. The David project stalled just when a statue should have begun emerging from the giant block of marble. Instead, the block remained in the cathedral workshop, largely neglected, until 1501, when a precocious young sculp­ tor returned from Rome to Florence. Having been trained by Donatello’s pupil Bertoldo, the young man from the Buona­­ rroti family proceeded to carve the stone until it became the statue known today as Michelangelo’s David. In both spirit and substance Michelangelo’s David is an ode and a challenge to Donatello. Through its aesthetic ideal and virtuoso technique

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it shows respect for both the immediate and the ancient past while offering a new way forward in the course of sculpture. Indeed this David gives final testament to the Renaissance dictum that Donatello’s legacy continued to prosper through Michelangelo: ‘Either the spirit of Donatello works in Buona­ rroti, or that of Buonarroti began by working in Donatello.’50

Chronology

1386

Donatello’s probable birth date, as derived from his later tax declarations 1401 Earliest extant document concerning Donatello locates him in Pistoia, accused of assault. Brunelleschi is also in Pistoia. Later that year, in Florence, the Arte di Calimala initiates a competition for bronze doors for the Cathedral Baptistery. The finalists are Ghiberti and Brunelleschi, both of whom play formative roles in Donatello’s early career 1402–4 Periodically joins Brunelleschi in Rome 1404–7 During an unspecified period between these years Donatello works for Ghiberti 1406 Begins work in marble for Florence Cathedral and will intermittently participate on various sculptural projects for this building for the rest of his career. Sculptures for the cathedral from this earliest period will include the seated John the Evangelist 1409–10 Participates in an elaborate social ruse, with Brunelleschi and others, immortalized by Antonio Manetti as the story of the Fat Woodworker 1411 Receives commission for the marble figure of St Mark to be placed in a niche at Orsanmichele. For the same building he will also complete a marble figure of St George and a later gilded bronze statue of St Louis of Toulouse 1412 Joins the Company of St Luke as a goldsmith and stone carver. Guild membership is probably a co-requisite 1415 Receives the first of several commissions to produce figures for the campanile (bell tower) of Florence

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Cathedral. They will number four individual prophets (including the famous Zuccone) and a two-figure group of Abraham and Isaac completed with the help of Nanni di Bartolo Florentine senate requisitions Donatello’s marble figure 1416 of David from the cathedral workshop. Donatello modifies the sculpture for its new setting in the Palazzo della Signoria Death of Baldassare Cossa, which precipitates the 1419 manufacture of his tomb by Donatello and Michelozzo for the Florence Baptistery Death of Nanni di Banco, leaving the cathedral’s Porta 1421 della Mandorla project unfinished. Donatello will complete some elements Begins bronze work intended for the Siena baptistery 1423 font. Donatello will eventually contribute a relief of the Feast of Herod, figures of Faith and Hope, and three spiritelli statues In or near this year Donatello forms a partnership with 1425 Michelozzo, lasting for nine years Michelozzo compiles Donatello’s tax declaration, noting 1427 Donatello is caring for his mother, widowed sister and an eighteen-year-old nephew. Among works mentioned is the bust of San Rossore for the church of Ognissanti 1428 Donatello and Michelozzo receive the commission for the exterior pulpit of Prato Cathedral. Donatello delays finishing his work until 1438 Donatello spends time in Rome. Remaining works there 1430 include a tomb slab for Giovanni Crivelli in Santa Maria in Aracoeli and a tabernacle in St Peter’s Receives commission for a cantoria in Florence Cathedral as 1433 a complement to another under way by Luca della Robbia begun two years earlier. Cosimo de’ Medici exiled from Florence only to return the following year. Michelozzo joins him in exile for some time 1434–43 In these poorly documented years Donatello probably works on several overlapping commissions including

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1434–6

1436

1438

1444

1446 1447 1450

1453 1454 1456

1457

Chronology

the Cavalcanti altarpiece, bronze David, various reliefs, and works in diverse media for the Old Sacristy of San Lorenzo Leon Battista Alberti resides in Florence and completes De pictura. The Latin text is subsequently translated into Italian Consecration of Florence Cathedral in March. Paolo Uccello executes the John Hawkwood fresco inside the building Date found on the wooden figure of St John the Baptist that Donatello ships from Florence to Venice. Close in time the artist probably creates the wooden Mary Magdalene and later a wooden crucifix now in Padua Donatello in Padua by January and will principally reside in this city until 1454. He immediately begins work on a bronze crucifix for San Antonio Death of Brunelleschi in April. Donatello at work on the high altar of San Antonio Casting under way for the Gattamelata statue, finished in 1453 Ludovico Gonzaga, in Mantua, orders Madonna and Child reliefs in different media, indicating Donatello’s considerable and diverse production of these objects while in Padua. The Chellini Madonna probably comes from this period. Other foreign clients vie for his services Donatello settles accounts for the Gattamelata, probably in preparation for leaving Padua By November Donatello has left Padua and is domiciled in Florence The Florentine doctor Giovanni Chellini records in his diary that he has treated Donatello for illness and has received as a gift a Madonna and Child roundel (the Chellini Madonna) in bronze. The bronze Judith and Holofernes statue is probably under way at this time Donatello moves to Siena with no intention of returning to Florence. The bronze St John the Baptist is shipped from Florence to Siena missing the right arm. The artist begins

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1459

1464 1465 1466

250

work on bronze doors for Siena Cathedral, a project that never comes to fruition. With assistance he completes a marble Madonna and Child relief for the chapel of the Madonna delle Grazie before leaving the city Donatello returns to Florence from Siena. He will be supported henceforth by the Medici family. Commissions include various works for Florence Cathedral and bronzes for San Lorenzo, resulting in two pulpits assembled posthumously Death of Cosimo de’ Medici. Donatello continues to be supported by his son, Piero de’ Medici Date found on the Martyrdom of St Lawrence relief on the north pulpit in San Lorenzo Donatello dies on 13 December. He is buried near Cosimo de’ Medici in the crypt of San Lorenzo

references

1 Artistic Formation 1 Pomponio Gaurico, De sculptura, ed. Paolo Cutolo (Naples, 1999), pp. 134–5. Vasari copies Gaurico. Comprehensive compilation of literary references to Donatello 1424–1556 (excluding Vasari) in original languages appears in Ulrich Pfisterer, Donatello und die Entdeckung der Stile, 1430–1445 (Munich, 2002), pp. 488–529. 2 Ludovico Domenichi, Facetiae, motti e burle di diversi Signori e persone private (Florence, 1548). John Pope-Hennessy, Donatello (New York, 1993), pp. 12–13, 319 n.5. Pfisterer, Donatello, p. 502. 3 Translation in Creighton Gilbert, Italian Art, 1400–1500 (Englewood Cliffs, nj, 1980); and Bonnie A. Bennett and David G. Wilkins, Donatello (Mt Kisco, ny, 1984), p. 31. The patriarch in question is assumed to be Giovanni Vitelleschi, for whom see John E. Law, ‘Giovanni Vitelleschi: “prelate guerriero”’, Renaissance Studies, xii/1 (1998), pp. 40–66. 4 Vespasiano da Bisticci, Vite di uomini illustri, ed. Ludovico Frati (Bologna, 1893), vol. iii, p. 57. The phrase used is ‘Gli pareva essere dilegiato’, which is difficult to translate but implies discomfort with his appearance. 5 Full translation in Bennett and Wilkins, Donatello, p. 55. 6 Vasari attributed it to Masaccio in 1550 and to Uccello in 1568. Previous bibliography appears in Hugh Hudson, Paolo Uccello: Artist of the Florentine Renaissance Republic (Saarbrücken, 2008), cat. 64. 7 A convenient map appears in Bennett and Wilkins, Donatello, p. 30. 8 Gaurico, De sculptura, p. 253. 9 Original text in Pfisterer, Donatello, p. 499; translation in E. H. Gombrich, Norm and Form (London, 1966), p. 2. The quote

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continues, ‘Still, Luca Della Robbia and Lorenzo di Bartoluccio [Ghiberti] were not to be despised either, as the great renowned of their works bears witness.’ 10 Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de’ più eccellente pittori, scultori ed architettori, ed. Gaetano Milanesi, 9 vols (Florence, 1878–85), vol. ii, pp. 395–6. 11 Ibid. 12 Gaetano Milanesi, Catalogo delle opere di Donatello e bibliografia degli autori che ne hanno scritto (Florence, 1887), p. 46. 13 Perugino’s St Michael from the Certosa of Pavia essentially copies Donatello’s St George. On Raphael, see Carmen C. Bambach, ‘A New Drawing by the Young Raphael and its Source in Donatello’, Burlington Magazine, clxix/1256 (November 2007), pp. 772–8. 14 This transpired in Pisa in 1380. The victim was Matteo Corbizzi and the account is narrated in the diary of Bunaccorso Pitti. 15 I thank Amy Bloch for clarification of Donatello’s family background. 16 Volker Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, iii/2 (1979), pp. 169–228, doc. 99. Original transcription in Rufus Graves Mather, ‘Donatello debitore oltre la tomba’, Rivista d’arte, xix/2 (1937), pp. 181–92; trans. Creighton Gilbert, as in Bennett and Wilkins, Donatello, pp. 35, 52–3. 17 Giorgio Vasari, Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, trans. Gaston du C. de Vere, 10 vols (London, 1912–15), vol. ii, p. 197. 18 Ibid., p. 199. 19 The name refers both to heaven and to the space between the Baptistery and cathedral, which was called the paradiso. For the east doors see Amy R. Bloch, Lorenzo Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise: Humanism, History and Artistic Philosophy in the Italian Renaissance (Cambridge, 2016). On the south doors see Amy R. Bloch, ‘Baptism and the Frame of the South Door of the Baptistery, Florence’, and A. Victor Coonin, ‘Vittorio Ghiberti and the Frame of the South Doors of the Florence Baptistery’, Sculpture Journal, xviii/1 (2009), pp. 24–51.

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References

20 Antonio di Tuccio Manetti, The Life of Brunelleschi, trans. Catherine Enggass, ed. Howard Saalman (University Park, pa, and London, 1970). 21 De Vere, vol. ii, p. 201. 22 The precise dates are no more specific than c. 1404–7. 23 Summary discussion and essential bibliography are provided in Sculpture in the Age of Donatello, ed. Timothy Verdon and Daniel M. Zolli (New York, 2015), cat. v; and The Springtime of the Renaissance, ed. Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi and Marc Bormand (Florence, 2013), cat. iii.10. Doubts are raised in H. W. Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello (Princeton, nj, 1963), pp. 219–22. Other contributions to the Porta della Mandorla are more speculative. The figures of Hercules and Christ as the Man of Sorrows are more likely by Nanni di Banco. 24 For a fuller discussion see A. Victor Coonin, From Marble to Flesh: The Biography of Michelangelo’s David (Florence, 2014). 25 Pope-Hennessy (Donatello, pp. 17–20) reasonably suggests one such prophet and is generally convincing. 26 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 12–16; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 20–27; Sculpture in the Age of Donatello, cat. 10. Note that the right hand probably originally held a quill pen. 27 See discussion of optics by Daniel M. Zolli in Sculpture in the Age of Donatello, pp. 53–61, and Robert Munman, Optical Corrections in the Sculpture of Donatello (Philadelphia, pa, 1985). The side view shows the extreme shallowness of the stone. 28 Coonin, From Marble to Flesh, pp. 27–31. 29 Antonio Manetti, The Fat Woodworker, trans. Robert L. Martone and Valerie Martone (New York, 1991). Excellent discussion appears in Mary Bergstein, The Sculpture of Nanni di Banco (Princeton, nj, 2000), pp. 11–13. 30 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 7–12; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 27–8; Aldo Galli provides a good catalogue entry with bibliography in ‘Fece di scoltura di legname e colorì’: scultura del Quattrocento in legno dipinto a Firenze, exh. cat., Galleria degli Uffizi (Florence, 2016), cat. 1. Also see Giovanni Giura, ‘Il Crocifisso di Donatello e la cappella del Beato Gherardo da Villamagna in Santa Croce: indagini per una ricostruzione’, in Santa Croce: oltre le apparenze, ed.

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Andrea De Marchi and Giocomo Piraz (Pistoia, 2011), pp. 73–111; and a forthcoming study by Geraldine Johnson which should provide new perspectives. 31 An early dating is preferred, c. 1408–9. 32 Vasari claims Donatello worked for both Lorenzo di Bicci and Dello Delli, neither of whom is likely to have been a formative teacher. 33 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 16–21; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 34–40. 34 Vasari, Le Vite, ed. Milanesi, vol. viii, p. 278. 35 Bergstein, The Sculpture of Nanni di Banco, pp. 125–31. 36 Ibid., pp. 115–23. 37 There is no record of Donatello’s guild matriculation. However, in 1412 he joined the Company of St Luke as goldsmith and stone carver, for which guild membership was almost always a co-requisite. Nanni joined the Maestri di Pietra e Legname in 1405. Goldsmiths, including Brunelleschi, normally belonged to the Arte della Seta (Arte di Por Santa Maria) and painters to the Arte dei Medici e Speziali, but there was some fluidity and it is possible that Donatello even belonged to multiple guilds. It is extremely unlikely that he belonged to no guild. See Rufus Graves Mather, ‘Documents Mostly New Relating to Florentine Painters and Sculptors of the Fifteenth Century’, Art Bulletin, xxx/1 (1948), pp. 20–65. 38 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 23–32; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 46–8, 116–18. 39 ‘Ottima e perfetta’ as in Filarete, Treatise on Architecture, ed. John R. Spencer (New Haven, ct, 1965), vol. i, p. 306. 40 Translation in Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 47–8. 41 Ibid., pp. 48, 324 n. 12. 42 Ibid. 43 Stuart W. Pyhrr and José-A. Godoy, Heroic Armor of the Italian Renaissance: Filippo Negroli and his Contemporaries, exh. cat., Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, 1998), pp. 9–10. 44 This includes St Peter, St Mark and assistance in the design of niches. 45 The guild purchased the block in February 1417 and Donatello’s relief may be dated to the months following. Basic discussion and bibliography appear in The Springtime, cat. vii.2.

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46 Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, p. 116. 47 The Tuscan variant stiacciato is also widely used. See Michael Godby, ‘A Note on Schiacciato’, Art Bulletin, lxii/4 (1980), pp. 635–7. On relief sculpture, see Depth of Field: Relief Sculpture in Renaissance Italy, ed. Donal Cooper and Marika Leino (Bern, 2007); and Depth of Field: The Place of Relief in the Time of Donatello (Leeds, 2004). 48 Ludwig Goldscheider, Donatello (London, 1941), pp. 12–13. He also notes that nineteenth-century copies better show some of its details since the original has deteriorated greatly and was probably gilded as well. To be sure, some of the manufacture is imperfect and improvised. For a critique, see Arjan R. De Koomen, ‘Predella and Prontezza: On the Expressionism of Donatello’s Saint George’, in Orsanmichele and the History and Preservation of the Civic Monument, ed. Carl Brandon Strehlke (Washington, dc, 2012), pp. 259–78.

2 The Business of Art 1 Volker Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, iii/2 (1979), doc. 42. 2 Lorenz Böninger, ‘Brunelleschi, Donatello e la Mercanzia’, Archivio storico italiano, clxxiv/648 (2016), pp. 317–26, 416. 3 Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, doc. 58. 4 H. W. Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello (Princeton, nj, 1963), pp. 3–7; John Pope-Hennessy, Donatello (New York, 1993), pp. 40–46. A good overview of the primary issues is found in Edward J. Olszewski, ‘Prophecy and Prolepsis in Donatello’s Marble “David”’, Artibus et Historiae, xviii/36 (1997), pp. 63–79. The document of 1412 is found in Volker Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, doc. 30. 5 Translation in Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 4. The inscription was added sometime between 1416 and 1592. 6 A. Victor Coonin, From Marble to Flesh: The Biography of Michelangelo’s David (Florence, 2014). 7 Sarah Blake McHam, ‘Public Sculpture in Renaissance Florence’, in Looking at Italian Renaissance Sculpture, ed. Sarah Blake McHam (Cambridge, 1998), p. 160.

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8 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 41–3; and Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 61–2. 9 Anne Markham Schulz, Nanni di Bartolo e il portale di San Nicola a Tolentino (Florence, 1997), esp. pp. 21–33. 10 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 33–41; and Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 62–70. 11 Catalogue entry with bibliography appears in Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi and Marc Bormand, eds, The Springtime of the Renaissance (Florence, 2013), cat. iii.20. 12 Mary Bergstein, The Sculpture of Nanni di Banco (Princeton, nj, 2000), pp. 153–63. 13 Ibid., pp. 160–62. 14 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 45–56; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 48–55; catalogue entry with other bibliography in The Springtime, cat. iii.19; and especially David Boffa, ‘Divine Illumination and the Portrayal of the Miraculous in Donatello’s St Louis of Toulouse’, Simiolus: Netherlands Quarterly for the History of Art, xxxi/4 (2004–5), pp. 279–91. 15 Photo of original installation (from 1946) appears in Boffa. 16 Translation in Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 47. 17 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 56–9; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 71–3; catalogue entry in The Springtime, cat. iii.23; and especially Anita Moskowitz, ‘Donatello’s Reliquary Bust of Saint Rossore’, Art Bulletin, lxiii/1 (1981), pp. 41–8. 18 There is some disagreement over the originality of the collar, and a brooch was added later. 19 Moskowitz (‘Donatello’s Reliquary Bust’, pp. 46–7) suggests this may be a self-portrait. 20 Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, p. 65. 21 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 36–7 n.1. 22 For example, documents from 1423 discuss a gilded bronze statue of St John the Baptist commissioned for the cathedral of Orvieto. This never came to fruition. 23 Rufus G. Mather, ‘Donatello: debitore oltre la tomba’, Rivista d’arte, xix/2 (1937), pp. 181–92. 24 Richard Krautheimer, Lorenzo Ghiberti (Princeton, nj, 1982), pp. 7–8. Ghiberti became unusually wealthy for an artist of his time.

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25 Partnerships are well explained by Harriet McNeal Caplow, ‘Sculptors’ Partnerships in Michelozzo’s Florence’, Studies in the Renaissance, xxi (1974), pp. 145–75; and Ronald Lightbown, Donatello and Michelozzo: An Artistic Partnership and its Patrons in the Early Renaissance, 2 vols (London, 1980). 26 Krautheimer, Lorenzo Ghiberti, pp. 164–7 and doc. 155. 27 Exceptions were made for those born sick and for other extenuating circumstances. 28 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 59–65; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 73–7; and Lightbown, Donatello and Michelozzo, vol. i, pp. 4–51. 29 John T. Paoletti, The Siena Baptistery Font: A Study of an Early Renaissance Collaborative Program (York, 1979). For Donatello’s individual contributions see Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 65–75; and Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 77–87. 30 Multiple narrative moments were common in the art of the Middle Ages, but not as employed by Donatello. 31 She has lost a piece of her left thumb. 32 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 72. 33 Giovanni Turini took just a few months to deliver a stylish if uninspiring relief of the Madonna and Child between 1434 and 1435. 34 See especially Charles Dempsey, Inventing the Renaissance Putto (Chapel Hill, nc, and London, 2001); Arnold Victor Coonin, ‘The Spirit of Water: Reconsidering the Putto Mictans Sculpture in Renaissance Florence’, in A Scarlett Renaissance: Essays in Honor of Sarah McHam, ed. A. Victor Coonin (New York, 2013), pp. 81–110; Francesco Caglioti, ‘Donatello e il Fonte Battesimale di Siena. Per una rivalutazione dello “Spiritello danzante” nel Museo Nazionale di Firenze’, Prospettiva, no. 110–11 (2003), pp. 18–29; and Caglioti, ‘A Spiritello Rediscovered’, in Donatello in Motion: A Spiritello Rediscovered, ed. Andrew Butterfield (Minneapolis, mn, 2015), pp. 14–43. 35 See especially Coonin, ‘The Spirit of Water’. Other plausible attributions to Donatello or his circle appear in, Donatello in Motion; The Springtime, ed. Butterfield, cat. iv.8, iv.9; Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, ‘Sprite’, www.metmuseum.org; Victoria & Albert

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Museum, London, ‘Winged Putto with a Fantastic Fish’, http:// collections.vam.ac.uk, accessed 15 November 2018. 36 Dempsey, Inventing, p. 18. The tiny figures on the crozier of St Louis are of a different magnitude. 37 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 66. Also see Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, doc. 117. 38 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 75–7; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 90–91. 39 Geraldine A. Johnson, ‘Activating the Effigy: Donatello’s Pecci Tomb in Siena Cathedral’, Art Bulletin, lxxvii/3 (1995), pp. 445– 59. I follow Janson’s reasoning for the dating. 40 Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, doc. 100. 41 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 88–92; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 91, 118–23. 42 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 92–5; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 123–9; Victoria & Albert Museum, London, ‘The Ascension with Christ giving the Keys to St Peter’, http://collections.vam. ac.uk, accessed 15 November 2018. 43 James Beck, Masaccio: The Documents (New York, 1978), p. 19, doc. 19; and Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, doc. 91. 44 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 86–8; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 256–9. Though with hypothetical conclusions, see Paola Barocchi, ed., Il giardino di San Marco (Florence, 1992), no. 13, pp. 69–82. 45 Neville Rowley, ‘Madonna und Kind (die Pazzi Madonna) / The Virgin and Child (The Pazzi Madonna)’, www.smb-digital.de, 10 February 2016; Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 44–5; and Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 254–6. 46 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 108–18; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 92–103. 47 Coonin, ‘Donatello, Desiderio da Settignano and the Martelli’. 48 Ibid. 49 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 95–101; Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 129–32.

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3 Adorning the City of Florence 1 In 1434 Luca and Donatello were each commissioned to submit a model for a terracotta head intended for the cathedral dome. See Volker Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, iii/2 (1979), doc. 172. 2 Luisa Becherucci and Giulia Brunetti, Il Museo dell’Opera del Duomo a Firenze (Milan, 1969–70), vol. i, pp. 277–82. 3 Catalogue entry in Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi and Marc Bormand, eds, The Springtime of the Renaissance: Sculpture and the Arts in Florence, 1400–1600 (Florence, 2013), cat. iv.7; and especially Francesco Caglioti, ‘Tra dispersion e ricomparse: gli “Spiritelli” bronzei di Donatello sul pergamo di Luca della Robbia’, in Santa Maria del Fiore: The Cathedral and its Sculpture, ed. Margaret Haines (Fiesole, 2001), pp. 263–87. 4 These are probably the heads now in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo. See Timothy Verdon and Daniel M. Zolli, eds, Sculpture in the Age of Donatello: Renaissance Masterpieces from Florence Cathedral (New York, 2015), cat. 13–14; and Stefania Agnoletti et al., ‘Le teste in bronzo della Cantoria di Donatello: aspetti conoscitivi e conservativi’, opd Restauro, xxv (2013), pp. 201–12. 5 Catalogue entry in Paolozzi Strozzi and Bormand, The Springtime, iv.2. 6 John Pope-Hennessy, Donatello (New York, 1993), p. 95. 7 Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, doc. 350; translation in PopeHennessy, Donatello, p. 103. 8 Pope-Hennessy, Luca della Robbia (Oxford, 1980), pp. 31–2, 258–61; Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, docs 236–8; Paolozzi Strozzi and Bormand, The Springtime, vii.5. 9 Catalogue entry appears in Verdon and Zolli, Sculpture in the Age of Donatello, pp. 152–4. 10 Gelli also claimed that Donatello based his statue of Jeremiah on Cherichini’s ally, Francesco Soderini. 11 Translation in H. W. Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello (Princeton, nj, 1963), p. 35. 12 The term is cacasangue.

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13 Translation in Michael Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators (Oxford, 1971), p. 109. Latin transcription is found in Ulrich Pfisterer, Donatello und die Entdeckung der Stile, 1430–1445 (Munich, 2002), p. 492. 14 Translation in Creighton Gilbert, Italian Art, 1400–1500 (Englewood Cliffs, nj, 1980), p. 171. The story is repeated by Poliziano, who calls the property Lepriano. Original transcriptions in Pfisterer, Donatello, pp. 500–502. 15 Pomponio Gaurico, De sculptura, ed. Paolo Cutolo (Naples, 1999), pp. 148–51. 16 Michael Cole, ed., Donatello, Michelangelo, Cellini: Sculptors’ Drawings from Renaissance Italy (Boston, ma, 2014). Vasari’s writing on the one sheet attributed to Donatello more likely refers to authorship of the source image. 17 Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, docs 165, 166. 18 Ibid., doc. 177. 19 On the artist generally and the painting in particular see Hugh Hudson, Paolo Uccello: Artist of the Florentine Renaissance Republic (Saarbrücken, 2008), cat. 90. 20 David G. Wilkins, ‘Donatello’s Lost Dovizia for the Mercato Vecchio: Wealth and Charity as Florentine Civic Virtues’, Art Bulletin, lxv/3 (1983), pp. 401–23; Sarah Blake Wilk, ‘Donatello’s Dovizia as an Image of Florentine Political Propaganda’, Artibus et Historiae, vii/14 (1986), pp. 9–28; and Adrian W. B. Randolph, Engaging Symbols: Gender, Politics and Public Art in Fifteenth-century Florence (New Haven, ct, and London, 2002), pp. 19–75. 21 Wilkins, ‘Donatello’s Lost Dovizia’. 22 Transcribed and translated in Janson, Donatello, pp. 111–12. Also see Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 143–4. 23 Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, ‘Dovizia’, www.metmuseum.org/toah, accessed 15 November 2018. In such works a child was commonly added aside Dovizia’s left leg and in this case it has broken off. An alternative view of the relative dating of the Latin and Tuscan editions is found in Leon Battista Alberti, On Painting: A New Translation and Critical Edition, ed. and trans. Rocco Sinisgalli (Cambridge, 2011).

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24 Sarah Blake McHam, Pliny and the Artistic Culture of the Italian Renaissance (New Haven, ct, and London, 2013), p. 104. An alternative view of the relative dating of the Latin and Tuscan editions is found in Leon Battista Alberti, ­Leon Battista Alberti: On Painting. A New Translation and Critical Edition, ed. and trans. Rocco Sinisgalli (Cambridge, 2011). 25 Leon Battista Alberti, On Painting, trans. John R. Spencer (New Haven, ct, 1970), p. 8. 26 Ibid. 27 The relief in Lille is often dated earlier but must be c. 1436 owing to its response to Alberti. See Masterworks from the Musée Des Beauxarts, Lille, exh. cat., Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (New York, 1992), pp. 180–83; and Paolozzi Strozzi and Bormand, The Springtime, cat. vii.6. 28 Diane Finiello Zervas and Brenda Preyer, ‘Donatello’s “Nunziata del Sasso”: The Cavalcanti Chapel at S. Croce and its Patrons’, Burlington Magazine, cl/1260 (2008), pp. 152–65. 29 Isaiah 7:14 and 29:11–12, respectively. 30 For example, see Kenneth Clark, Leonardo da Vinci (London, 1989). 31 Translated from Vasari, Le Vite, ed. Milanesi, vol. ii, p. 406. 32 See discussion and prior bibliography in Andrea Ciaroni, Dai Medici al Bargello, vol. ii: i Bronzi del Rinascimento Il Quattrocento (Bologna, 2007), pp. 30–53; Francesco Caglioti, Donatello e i Medici: storia del ‘David’ e della ‘Giuditta’ (Florence, 2000); and Randolph, Engaging Symbols, pp. 139–92. 33 A. Victor Coonin, From Marble to Flesh: The Biography of Michelangelo’s David (Florence, 2014). 34 Michael Greenhalgh, Donatello and his Sources (New York, 1982), pp. 166–7. 35 Frederick Hartt, History of Italian Renaissance Art, 3rd edn (Upper Saddle River, nj, 1987) p. 237. This was expunged by David Wilkins in the fourth and subsequent editions. 36 A good overview appears in Peter Weller, ‘A Reassessment in Historiography and Gender: Donatello’s Bronze “David” in the Twenty-first Century’, Artibus et Historiae, xxxiii/65 (2012), pp. 43–77; and Robert Williams, ‘“Virtus perficitur”: On the Meaning of Donatello’s Bronze David’, Mitteilungen des

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Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, liii/2–3 (2009), pp. 217–28; and Randolph, Engaging Symbols, pp. 139–92. 37 Coonin, From Marble to Flesh. 38 Janson, Donatello, p. 85; Pfisterer, Donatello, pp. 500–502. 39 On male same-sex desire in Florence, see Michael Rocke, Forbidden Friendships: Homosexuality and Male Culture in Renaissance Florence (New York and Oxford, 1996). 40 This is well expressed by Christopher Fulton, ‘The Boy Stripped Bare by his Elders: Art and Adolescence in Renaissance Florence’, Art Journal, lvi/2 (1997), pp. 31–40. 41 An apt reference is Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, which is also about transformation, as matter is fertilized by divinity, which gives rise to the goddess of love. 42 The hat might even refer to a sexualized game involving an older male stealing the hat of a younger male and returning it after being granted sexual favours, but David’s hat remains in place. See Rocke, Forbidden Friendships, pp. 155–61; and Randolph, Engaging Symbols, pp. 188–90. 43 Related aspects of gender fluidity are discussed in L. Stephanie Cobb, Dying to Be Men (New York, 2008). 44 John Shearman, Only Connect . . . : Art and the Spectator in the Italian Renaissance (Princeton, nj, 1989), pp. 17–27. 45 John Shearman, acknowledging he is not the first to propose this, presents a clear and reasonable argument in Only Connect, pp. 17–27. Also see Adrian Randolph, review of Ulrich Pfisterer, Donatello und die Entdeckung der Stile, 1430–1445 (Munich, 2002), caa Reviews, 24 September 2004, CrossRef doi 10.3202/caa. reviews.2004.82. 46 Other proposed self-portraits are offered in discussions of the San Lorenzo Pulpits and San Rossore. 47 Francesco Caglioti, Donatello e i Medici, pp. 1–12; translation, with slight modifications, from Williams, ‘“Virtus perficitur”’, p. 218. 48 The statue was later moved to the courtyard of the Palazzo Vecchio in 1495 when the Medici were expelled from the city. See Francesco Caglioti, ‘Il David bronzeo di Donatello’, in Donatello: il David restaurato, ed. Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi (Florence, 2008), pp. 26–85.

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49 Caglioti in Donatello in Motion: A Spiritello Rediscovered, ed. Andrew Butterfield (Minneapolis, mn, 2015), pp. 14–43. 50 Beatrice Paolozzi-Strozzi, Il ritorno d’Amore, l’Attis di Donatello restaurato (Florence, 2004). Catalogue entry in Ciaroni, I Bronzi del Rinascimento: Il Quattrogento (Bologna, 2007), pp. 54–79. 51 Francesco Caglioti, ‘L’Amore-Attis di Donatello, caso esemplare di un’iconografia “d’autore”’, in Paolozzi-Strozzi, Il ritorno d’Amore, pp. 31–74. 52 Translation in Janson, Donatello, p. 143. 53 Another spiritello, holding two snakes, that has been attributed to Donatello or a follower appears in Davide Banzato, Donatello e il suo tempo: il bronzetto a Padova nel Quattrocento e nel Cinquecento (Padua, 2001), cat. i, pp. 48–9. 54 National Gallery, London, ‘Venus and Mars’, www.nationalgallery. org.uk/paintings, accessed 14 November 2018. 55 Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, ‘Paintings of Love and Marriage in the Italian Renaissance’, www.metmuseum.org/toah, accessed 14 November 2018. 56 Anne Markham Schulz, Woodcarving and Woodcarvers in Venice, 1350–1550 (Florence, 2011), pp. 253–9; and ‘Fece di scoltura di legname e colorì’: scultura del Quattrocento in legno dipinto a Firenze, exh. cat., Uffizi, Florence (Florence, 2016), cat. ii. A notable wooden sculpture disputed as a work by Donatello is a wooden figure of St Jerome in Faenza. It is unlikely to have been carved by the master. See ibid., cat. iii. The confraternity in Venice likely had Medici support. 57 ‘mccccxxx viii opus donati de flo rentia’ (1438 work of Donato of Florence). 58 Schulz adds that the figure’s back has been mutilated, half of the right index finger is lost, and he may have originally held an object in the left hand. 59 I thank David Wilkins for this observation and Drs Bradford Pendley and Jeffrey Warren for their medical consultation. 0 Fece di scoltura . . ., p. 264; Deborah Phyl Strom, ‘A New Chronology 6 for Donatello’s Wooden Sculpture’, Pantheon, 38 (1980), pp. 239–47; Giovan Battista Fidanza, ‘Donatellos Maria Magdalena: Technik und Theologie einer Holzfigur’, Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte,

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61 62 63 64

65 66

67

68

69

70 71 72 73

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62 (2014), pp. 127–44; Kelly Barnes Oliver, ‘Legendary Penance: Donatello’s Wooden Magdalen’, Athanor, 17 (1999), pp. 25–33; and Martha Levine Dunkelman, ‘Donatello’s Mary Magdalen: A Model of Courage and Survival’, Woman’s Art Journal, xxvi/2 (2005–6), pp. 10–13. Recent conservation insights appear in Elisabetta Francescutti, ed., Il restauro del Crocifisso ligneo di Donatello della Chiesa dei Servi di Padova (Padua, 2016). Il Libro di Antonio Billi, ed. Fabio Benedettucci (Anzio, 1991), p. 32. Translation in Janson, Donatello, p. 190. For example, see Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 2nd edn (Princeton, nj, 1968). Giovanni di Bicci was the original patron and on his death in 1429 work continued under his sons, Cosimo and Lorenzo. Lorenzo died in 1440. Richard Krautheimer, Lorenzo Ghiberti (Princeton, nj, 1982), p. 43. The following historical references and translations are culled from Janson, Donatello, pp. 132–3. Relevant excerpts from Filarete are found in Pfisterer, Donatello, pp. 494–6. John Pope-Hennessy, Luca della Robbia (Ithaca, ny, 1980); and Marietta Cambareri, Della Robbia: Sculpting with Color in Renaissance Florence (Boston, ma, 2016). Fabrizio Bandini, ed., Donatello at Close Range: An Initial View of the Restoration of the Stuccoes in the Old Sacristy, S. Lorenzo, Florence (New York, 1987). Roger J. Crum, ‘Donatello’s “Ascension of St John the Evangelist” and the Old Sacristy as Sepulchre’, Artibus et Historiae, xvi/32 (1995), pp. 141–61. Bandini, Donatello at Close Range, pp. 48–9. John T. Paoletti, ‘Donatello’s Bronze Doors for the Old Sacristy of San Lorenzo’, Artibus et Historiae, xi/21 (1990), pp. 39–69. Alberti, On Painting, p. 73. I have changed ‘throw’ to ‘lunge with’ to better reflect the fencing analogy. The original term is gittare. See Janson, Donatello, pp. 139–40; Pfisterer, Donatello, p. 490; and Eugenio Battisti, Filippo Brunelleschi: The Complete Work (Milan, 1981), p. 325. On 15 October 1443 Donatello received money from Fra Filippo Lippi, who was then working on the Coronation altarpiece for

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Sant’Ambrogio. See Keith Christiansen, ed., From Filippo Lippi to Piero Della Francesca: Fra Carnevale and the Making of a Renaissance Master, exh. cat., Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (New York, 2005), pp. 290–98. For Donatello’s relationship with the organ-maker Matteo degli Organi, see Cesare Guasti, ‘Di un maestro d’organi del secolo xv nato in Prato e vissuto in Firenze’, Archivio storico italiano, iii/2 (1865), pp. 53–5. 75 Vasari-Milanese, vol. ii, p. 413.

4 The Paduan Journey 1 H. W. Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello (Princeton, nj, 1963), pp. 151–61; John Pope-Hennessy, Donatello (New York, 1993), pp. 199–210; Michael Greenhalgh, Donatello and his Sources (New York, 1982), pp. 132–47; and Mary Bergstein, ‘Donatello’s “Gattamelata” and its Humanist Audience’, Renaissance Quarterly, lv/3 (2002), pp. 833–68. Gattamelata was a pun based on his mother’s family name. 2 Apparently, Lorenzo de’ Medici kept a Venetian portrait of Gattamelata in his bedchamber in the Palazzo Medici, as in Bergstein, ‘Donatello’s “Gattamelata”’, p. 858 n.81. 3 Gattamelata was also survived by a son, underage at the time of the general’s death and who died in 1455. 4 Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, p. 339 n.17. 5 Uccello’s Paduan activity is undocumented but referenced in at least two literary sources. Discussion appears in Hugh Hudson, Paolo Uccello: Artist of the Florentine Renaissance Republic (Saarbrücken, 2008), p. 195 n.1 and cat. 89. 6 Aldo Galli, ‘Vocazione e prime esperienze di Antonio di Cristoforo e Niccolò Baroncelli, scultori fiorentini a Ferrara’, Prospettiva, no. 139–40 (2010), pp. 35–57. 7 Leon Battista Alberti, De equo animante (Il cavallo vivo), trans. Antonio Videtta (Naples, 1991). 8 Translation in Greenhalgh, Donatello and his Sources, p. 132. 9 There must have been painted or sculpted portraits of Gattamelata for Donatello to consult. He also had many witnesses, including the general’s widow and young son.

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10 It is best viewed from its profile with the observer facing the church facade and it is principally photographed from this angle. 11 The present tomb inside the basilica, by Gregorio d’Allegretto, is generally dated 1456–8. 12 The earlier 1470 version is translated in Bonnie A. Bennett and David G. Wilkins, Donatello (Mt Kisco, ny, 1984), p. 31. Other translated sources are found in Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, pp. 153–5. 13 Volker Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, iii/2 (1979), doc. 345b. We do not know how much of that sum was net profit to the artist. 14 Bennett and Wilkins, Donatello, p. 30. 15 Geraldine A. Johnson, ‘The Original Placement of Donatello’s Bronze Crucifix in the Santo in Padua’, Burlington Magazine, cxxxix/1137 (1997), p. 862. 16 Charles M. Rosenberg, ‘Some New Documents Concerning Donatello’s Unexecuted Monument to Borso d’Este in Modena’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, xvii/1 (1973), pp. 149–52. 17 Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, doc. 340. 18 Both the bronze and wood crucifixes are well treated, including previous bibliography, in Donatello Svelato: Capolavori a confront, ed. M. Mercalli and A. Nante (Padua, 2015). See especially Francesco Caglioti, ‘Il Crocifisso ligneo di Donatello’, in La Chiesa di Santa Maria dei Servi in Padova, ed. Girolamo Zampieri (Rome, 2012), pp. 153–70. 19 Johnson, ‘The Original Placement’, pp. 860–62. 20 A good biography of Niccolò Pizzolo is Mattia Vinco, ‘Pizzolo Nicolò di Pietro di Giovanni, detto Nicolò Pizzolo o Pizolo’, Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, vol. lxxxiv (2015), www.treccani.it, accessed 15 November 2018. 21 Elisabetta Francescutti, ed., Il restauro del Crocifisso ligneo di Donatello della Chiesa dei Servi di Padova (Padua, 2016); and Donatello Svelato. 22 The loincloth on the bronze is probably original. The wooden example was once painted to appear as bronze. 23 The vast literature on the Paduan altar is supplemented most recently by Geraldine A. Johnson, ‘Approaching the Altar:

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26

27

28

29

30 31

References

Donatello’s Sculpture in the Santo’, Renaissance Quarterly, lii/3 (1999), pp. 627–66; Creighton E. Gilbert, ‘The Original Assembly of Donatello’s Padua Altar’, Artibus et Historiae, xxviii/55, Part 1 (2007), pp. 11–22; and Sarah Blake McHam, ‘Visualizing the Immaculate Conception: Donatello, Francesco della Rovere, and the High Altar and Choir Screen at the Church of the Santo in Padua’, Renaissance Quarterly, lxix/3 (2016), pp. 831–64. John White, Art and Architecture in Italy, 1250–1400 (Harmondsworth, 1987), p. 294. A good summary and bibliography (updated 2010) appears in Nigel Gauk-Roger, ‘Sacra conversazione’, Grove Art Online, 14 December 2017, www.oxfordartonline.com. The influence of Donatello on Mantegna is well acknowledged and his Padua altar may be the model for Mantegna’s fictive architecture as seen in the San Zeno work. See Keith Christiansen, ‘The Genius of Andrea Mantegna’, Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, n.s. lxvii/2 (2009), pp. 4–64. Donatello and theatre in the context of the San Lorenzo pulpits is discussed by Timothy Verdon, ‘Donatello and the Theater: Stage Space and Projected Space in the San Lorenzo Pulpits’, Artibus et Historiae, vii/14 (1986), pp. 29–55. His essential argument is also relevant here. Reconstructions of the original altar are discussed most recently and with previous bibliography by Gilbert, ‘The Original Assembly’. It is tempting to speculate a family tie between Antonio Chellini and Giovanni Chellini, though there is as yet no evidence. I thank Alison Luchs for bringing this to my attention. Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 223, 342 n.33. On the manuscripts, dating and bibliography see Alison Knowles Frazier, Possible Lives: Authors and Saints in Renaissance Italy (New York, 2005), pp. 454–5. The miracles are well introduced by Cesìra Gasparotto, ‘Iconografia antoniana: i “miracoli” dell’altare di Donatello’, Il Santo, n.s. 8 (1968), pp. 79–91. Summarized in Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 244–7. Documents in Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, docs 323 and 324. Verdon, ‘Donatello and the Theater’, p. 49.

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32 McHam, ‘Visualizing the Immaculate Conception’ and ‘Donatello’s High Altar in the Santo, Padua’, Verrocchio and Late Quattrocento Italian Sculpture, ed. S. Bule et al. (Florence, 1992), pp. 259–69. 33 Johnson, ‘Approaching the Altar’. 34 Janson (The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 187) writes, ‘What has happened here seems so utterly beyond the ordinary scope of the Quattrocento, so prophetic of the High Renaissance, that it can be described only as a “mutation” . . . incalculable in its consequences’. 35 Now in the Musée Jacquemart-André, Paris: Cristina Giannini, ed., Donatello e una ‘casa’ del Rinascimento: Capolavori dal JacquemartAndré (Florence, 2007), p. 110; Musée Jacquemart-André, ‘The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian’, www.musee-jacquemart-andre. com/en, accessed 15 November 2018. 36 Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, p. 211, doc. 326. 37 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, ‘Madonna and Child’, www.metmuseum.org/art/collection, accessed 15 November 2018; John Pope-Hennessy, ‘The Madonna Reliefs of Donatello’, in The Study and Criticism of Italian Sculpture (New York and Princeton, nj, 1980), pp. 71–105, especially p. 80; and John Pope-Hennessy, assisted by Ronald Lightbown, Catalogue of Italian Sculpture in the Victoria and Albert Museum, no. 69, pp. 84–5. The Victoria & Albert Museum example can be found as ‘The Virgin and Child’, museum number a.1-1932, at http://collections.vam.ac.uk, accessed 15 November 2018. 38 Due caution with ample discussion is provided by Lynn Catterson, ‘Stefano Bardini and the Taxonomic Branding of Marketplace Style: From the Gallery of a Dealer to the Institutional Canon’, in Images of the Art Museum, ed. Eva-Maria Troelenberg and Melania Savino (Berlin and Boston, ma, 2017), pp. 41–63. Some of these examples seem to have been manufactured for the art market starting in the nineteenth century. 39 Victoria & Albert Museum , ‘The Virgin and Child with Four Angels’, https://collections.vam.ac.uk, accessed 15 November 2018; The Springtime of the Renaissance, ed. Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi and Marc Bormand (Florence, 2013), cat. viii.7; and Amy R. Bloch, ‘Donatello’s “Chellini Madonna”: Light and Vision’, in Renaissance

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References

Theories of Vision, ed. John Hendrix and Charles Carman (FarnhamBurlington, vt, 2010), pp. 63–87. Also see Pope-Hennessy, ‘The Madonna Reliefs’. 40 Anthony Radcliffe and Charles Avery, ‘The “Chellini Madonna” by Donatello’, Burlington Magazine, cxviii/879 (1976), pp. 377–87. 41 Translation slightly modernized from Millard Meiss, ‘Light as Form and Symbol in Some Fifteenth-century Paintings’, Art Bulletin, xxviii/3 (1945), pp. 175–81; analogy based on Bloch, ‘Donatello’s “Chellini Madonna”’. 42 Marc Bormand, Donatello: La Vierge et l’Enfant, deux reliefs en terre cuite (Paris, 2008); and Pope-Hennessy, Donatello, pp. 267–9. It was heavily restored in 1959 and conserved more delicately in 2009. Other versions of the work exist in the Morgan Library (New York) and the Collection of Sir Harold Acton (Florence), now part of New York University. 43 Pope-Hennessy, ‘The Madonna Reliefs’, pp. 95–9. 44 For example, see Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, ‘Madonna and Child with Seraphim and Cherubim’, www.metmuseum.org, 15 November 2018, and discussion in Christiansen, ‘The Genius of Andrea Mantegna’. It compares favourably in concept and mood to a pigmented terracotta example in Berlin, heavily damaged, but still able to convey the affection of the holy figures in ways only Donatello produced at this time. 45 Colin Eisler, The Genius of Jacopo Bellini (New York, 1989). 46 Gaetano Milanesi, Documenti per la storia dell’arte senese, 3 vols (Siena, 1854), vol. ii, pp. 299–300, no. 210.

5 Homecoming 1 Philip Foster, ‘Donatello Notices in Medici Letters’, Art Bulletin, lxii/1 (1980), pp. 148–50. 2 Ibid. 3 Giorgio Vasari, Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, 10 vols, trans. Gaston du C. de Vere (London, 1912–15), vol. ii, p. 150; vol. iv, pp. 151–2. In his life of Fra Bartolommeo, Vasari also claims, ‘Piero del Pugliese had a little Madonna of marble, in very low relief, a very rare work by the hand of Donatello, for

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5

6 7 8

9

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which, in order to do it honour, he caused a wooden tabernacle to be made, with two little doors to enclose it.’ Donatello’s relief has yet to be identified definitively. Bonnie A. Bennett and David G. Wilkins, Donatello (Mt Kisco, ny, 1984), pp. 59–60; Alan Phipps Darr and Brenda Preyer, ‘Donatello, Desiderio da Settignano and his Brothers and “Macigno” Sculpture for a Boni Palace in Florence’, Burlington Magazine, cxli/1161 (1999), pp. 720–31; and Arnold Victor Coonin, ‘Donatello, Desiderio da Settignano, and the Martelli’, in Desiderio da Settignano, ed. J. Connors et al. (Venice, 2011), pp. 43–60. Arnold Victor Coonin, The Sculpture of Desiderio da Settignano, PhD thesis, Rutgers University, New Brunswick (Ann Arbor, mi, 1995); Darr and Preyer, ‘Donatello, Desiderio da Settignano’; and Desiderio da Settignano: Sculptor of Renaissance Florence, ed. Marc Bormand, Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi and Nicholas Penny (Washington, dc, 2007). Coonin, ‘Donatello, Desiderio da Settignano, and the Martelli’, pp. 45–7. Ibid., pp. 47–50. Francesco Caglioti, Donatello e i Medici: storia del David e della Giuditta (Florence, 2000); Sarah Blake McHam, ‘Donatello’s Bronze “David” and “Judith” as Metaphors of Medici Rule in Florence’, Art Bulletin, lxxxiii/1 (2001), pp. 32–47; Sarah Blake McHam, ‘Donatello’s Judith as the Emblem of God’s Chosen People’, in The Sword of Judith, ed. Kevin R. Brine et al. (Cambridge, 2010), pp. 307–24; Roger J. Crum, ‘Severing the Neck of Pride: Donatello’s “Judith and Holofernes” and the Recollection of Albizzi Shame in Medicean Florence’, Artibus et Historiae, xxii/44 (2001), pp. 23–9; and ‘Judith between the Private and Public Realms in Renaissance Florence’, in Kevin R. Brine et al., The Sword of Judith, pp. 291–306. Valuable context is provided by Adrian W. B. Randolph, Engaging Symbols (New Haven, ct, and London, 2002), esp. pp. 242–85. In September 1457 Donatello received money from the Siena Cathedral Operai for a ‘Guliatte’, which might have been a head of Goliath or possibly the initiation of the Judith and Holofernes, which never left Florence. See Volker Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte,

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References

iii/2 (1979), doc. 355; with correct spelling in Volker Herzner, ‘Donatello in Siena’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, xv/2 (1971), pp. 161–86. Also see H. W. Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello (Princeton, nj, 1963), pp. 198–205; and John Pope-Hennessy, Donatello (New York, 1993), pp. 277–88. 10 Though the base implies a fountain there is no evidence it ever served or could have served as such. 11 Translation of the inscriptions, especially into English, is notoriously difficult. I have followed those offered by Randolph, Engaging Symbols, p. 252. 12 Ibid. The phrase Salus Publicus was also used on the medal commemorating Lorenzo de’ Medici (son of Piero) after the Pazzi conspiracy of 1478. Salus Publicus is here translated literally but more broadly would imply public salvation or public deliverance. 13 ‘exemplum sal[us] pub[licae] cives pos[uerunt] mccccxcv’. 14 Herzner, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, doc. 356. 15 Essential documents and discussion are provided by Volker Herzner, ‘Donatello in Siena’. On the Baptist see Elinor M. Richter, ‘Donatello’s “Saint John the Baptist” in Siena’, Source: Notes in the History of Art, v/3 (1986), pp. 21–6. 16 Billi, as translated in Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 196. 17 Arguments have been made that the present arm is in fact by Donatello but it is not conclusively referenced until 1474 and thus unlikely to be by the master. 18 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 206. 19 A good overview with sources is found online at the Victoria & Albert Museum: ‘Lamentation of the Dead Christ’, http:// collections.vam.ac.uk, accessed 15 November 2018. 20 Monika Butzek, ‘The Donatello Tondo and its Original Location’, in Donatello: Maria mater gratiae, mater misericordiae (Siena, 2015), pp. 10–21. Butzek clarifies the original destination of the work. 21 Robert Munman, ‘Urbano da Cortona: Corrections and Contributions’, in Verrocchio, pp. 225–41. 22 It is possible, as noted by Butzek, that the Madonna was begun in Florence. Stylistically, the Virgin’s face compares favourably to the face of the bronze Judith, thus linking them to the same period.

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23 Discussion appears in The Springtime of the Renaissance, ed. Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi and Marc Bormand (Florence, 2013), cat. v.2; and Francesco Caglioti in In the Light of Apollo: Italian Renaissance and Greece, ed. Mina Gregori (Milan, 2003), pp. 198–200. 24 Herzner, ‘Donatello in Siena’. 25 Herzner, Regesti, doc. 371. 26 Translation in Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 209. 27 Vasari, Lives, trans. de Vere, vol. ii, pp. 251–2. 28 Bennett and Wilkins, Donatello, p. 14. 29 ‘e le cere da far gittare di bronzo I pergami di San Lorenzo, e il modello dell’altar maggiore, con la sepoltura di Cosimo a’ piedi’. Giorgio Vasari, Ragionamenti (Pisa, 1863), pp. 105–6. 30 The architectural development of San Lorenzo is covered by Marvin Trachtenberg, ‘Building and Writing S. Lorenzo in Florence: Architect, Biographer, Patron and Prior’, Art Bulletin, xcvii/2 (2015), pp. 140–72. On the pulpit and tomb issue see Luisa Beccherucci, I pergami di S. Lorenzo (Florence, 1979); and Janis Clearfield, ‘The Tomb of Cosimo de’ Medici in San Lorenzo’, Rutgers Art Review, 2 (1981), pp. 13–30. 31 Timothy Verdon, ‘Donatello and the Theater: Stage Space and Projected Space in the San Lorenzo Pulpits’, Artibus et Historiae, vii/14 (1986), pp. 29–55. 32 Janson, The Sculpture of Donatello, p. 209. 33 Ibid., p. 210. 34 Howard Saalman, ‘The San Lorenzo Pulpits: A Cosimo Portrait?’, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Institutes in Florenz, xxx/3 (1986), pp. 587–9. 35 This is also similar to the head of Goliath at the feet of the bronze David. It would not have been appropriate, however, for the artist to deliberately render his own features as Christ. The Bust of San Rossore as a self-portrait is found in Moskowitz, ‘Donatello’s Reliquary Bust of Saint Rossore’, Art Bulletin, lxiii/1 (1981), pp. 46–7. Ludwig Goldscheider in Donatello (London, 1941) suggests a self-portrait in the Pentecost scene in the figure of Peter, due to sculptor’s tools on the floor in front of him (p. 39). 36 Philip Sohn, The Artist Grows Old: The Aging of Art and Artists in Italy, 1500–1800 (New Haven, ct, and London, 2007); David Rosand,

273

References

‘Style and the Aging Artist’, Art Journal, xlvi/2 (1987), pp. 91–3; Kenneth Clark, ‘The Artist Grows Old’, Daedalus, cxxxv/1 (2006), pp. 77–90; and Rudolph Arnheim, New Essays on the Psychology of Art (Berkeley, ca, 1986), pp. 285–94. 37 Sohn, The Artist Grows Old, p. 8. 38 Interviews on the subject with contemporary artists appear in Art Journal, liii/1 (1994). 39 Clark, ‘The Artist Grows Old’, p. 81. 40 Rosand, ‘Style and the Aging Artist’, p. 93 n.5. The ascription of the phrase to Michelangelo is probably apocryphal, though still highly cited, and Picasso would have been following popular belief. 41 Vasari, Lives, trans. DeVere, vol. ii, p. 252. 42 Giorgio Vasari, Lives of the Artists, trans. George Bull (New York, 1965), p. 189. 43 Pomponio Gaurico, De sculptura, ed. Paolo Cutolo (Naples, 1999), p. 253. 44 See Gary M. Radke, ed., Leonardo da Vinci and the Art of Sculpture (New Haven, ct, and London, 2009). 45 As recounted by Vasari in his life of Luca della Robbia. 46 A. Victor Coonin, From Marble to Flesh: The Biography of Michelangelo’s David (Florence, 2014); and with rich documentation in John T. Paoletti, Michelangelo’s David: Florentine History and Civic Identity (Cambridge, 2015). The thesis is first explored in Charles Seymour, Michelangelo’s David: A Search for Identity (New York, 1967). 47 Another document offers Hercules, which is less likely but certainly possible. 48 Document transcribed with discussion in H. W. Janson, ‘Giovanni Chellini’s “libro” and Donatello’, Studien zur Toskanischen Kunst (Munich, 1964), pp. 131–8. 49 Giovanni Gaye, Carteggio inedito d’artisti dei secoli xiv, xv, xvi (Florence, 1839–40), vol. ii, p. 465. Discussion in Coonin, From Marble to Flesh, pp. 32–48; and Seymour, Michelangelo’s David, pp. 36–8. 50 Vasari, Lives, trans. de Vere, vol. ii, p. 255. Vasari gives the source as a notation in a book of drawings owned by Vincenzo Borghini where examples of the two artists were shown side by side. For clarity I have modernized the spelling of the artists’ names.

select bibliography

Alberti, Leon Battista, On Painting, trans. John R. Spencer (New Haven, ct, 1970) Avery, Charles, Donatello: An Introduction (New York, 1994) Becherucci, Luisa, and Giulia Brunetti, eds, Il Museo dell’Opera del Duomo a Firenze, 2 vols (Milan, 1969–70) Bennett, Bonnie A., and David G. Wilkins, Donatello (Mt Kisco, ny, 1984) Bergstein, Mary, The Sculpture of Nanni di Banco (Princeton, nj, 2000) Bormand, Marc, Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi and Nicholas Penny, eds, Desiderio da Settignano: Sculptor of Renaissance Florence (Washington, dc, 2007) Butterfield, Andrew, ed., Donatello in Motion: A Spiritello Rediscovered (Minneapolis, mn, 2015) Caglioti, Francesco, Donatello e i Medici: storia del ‘David’ e della ‘Giuditta’ (Florence, 2000) Connors, J., A. Nova, B. Paolozzi Strozzi and G. Wolf, eds, Desiderio da Settignano (Venice, 2011) Coonin, A. Victor, From Marble to Flesh: The Biography of Michelangelo’s David (Florence, 2014) —, ‘Donatello, Desiderio da Settignano, and the Martelli’, in Desiderio da Settignano, ed. J. Connors, A. Nova, B. Paolozzi Strozzi and G. Wolf (Venice, 2011), pp. 43–60 —, ‘The Sculpture of Desiderio da Settignano’, PhD thesis, Rutgers, New Brunswick (Ann Arbor, mi, 1995) —, ‘The Spirit of Water: Reconsidering the Putto Mictans Sculpture in Renaissance Florence’, in A Scarlett Renaissance: Essays in Honor of Sarah McHam, ed. A. Victor Coonin (New York, 2013), pp. 81–110

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Select Bibliography

Dempsey, Charles, Inventing the Renaissance Putto (Chapel Hill, nc, and London, 2001) Donatello e i suoi: Scultura fiorentina del primo Rinascimento, ed. Alan Phipps Darr and Giorgio Bonsanti (Milan, 1986) Donatello e il suo tempo: atti del viii Convegno Internazionale di Studi sul Rinascimento (Florence, 1968) Donatello e il suo tempo: il bronzetto a Padova nel Quattrocento e nel Cinquecento (Padua, 2001) Donatello-Studien (Munich, 1989) Fece di scoltura di legname e colorì’: scultura del Quattrocento in legno dipinto a Firenze, exh. cat., Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence (Florence, 2016) Goldscheider, Ludwig, Donatello (London, 1941) Greenhalgh, Michael, Donatello and his Sources (New York, 1982) Hartt, Frederick, Donatello: Prophet of Modern Vision (New York, 1973) Herzner, Volker, ‘Regesti donatelliani’, Rivista dell’Istituto Nazionale d’Archeologia e Storia dell’Arte, iii/2 (1979), pp. 169–228 Hudson, Hugh, Paolo Uccello: Artist of the Florentine Renaissance Republic (Saarbrücken, 2008) Italian Renaissance Sculpture in the Time of Donatello (Detroit, mi, 1985) Janson, H. W., The Sculpture of Donatello (Princeton, nj, 1963) ––, ‘Giovanni Chellini’s “libro” and Donatello’, Studien zur Toskanischen Kunst (Munich, 1964), pp. 131–8 Jolly, Anna, Madonnas by Donatello and His Circle (Frankfurt am Main, 1998) Krautheimer, Richard, Lorenzo Ghiberti (Princeton, nj, 1982) Lightbown, Ronald, Donatello and Michelozzo: An Artistic Partnership and its Patrons in the Early Renaissance, 2 vols (London, 1980) Manetti, Antonio di Tuccio, The Fat Woodworker, trans. Robert L. Martone and Valerie Martone (New York, 1991) ––, The Life of Brunelleschi, trans. Catherine Enggass, ed. Howard Saalman (University Park, pa, and London, 1970) Mercalli, M., and A. Nante, Donatello Svelato: Capolavori a confronto (Padua, 2015) Munman, Robert, Optical Corrections in the Sculpture of Donatello (Philadelphia, pa, 1985) Paoletti, John T., Michelangelo’s David: Florentine History and Civic Identity (Cambridge, 2015)

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Paolozzi Strozzi, Beatrice, ed., Donatello: Il David Restaurato (Florence, 2008) Parronchi, Alessandro, Donatello: saggi e studi, 1962–1997 (Vicenza, 1998) Pfisterer, Ulrich, Donatello und die Entdeckung der Stile, 1430–1445 (Munich, 2002) Pope-Hennessy, John, Donatello (New York, 1993) ––, Italian Renaissance Sculpture (London, 1996) ––, The Study and Criticism of Italian Sculpture (New York and Princeton, nj, 1980) Randolph, Adrian W. B., Engaging Symbols: Gender, Politics, and Public Art in Fifteenth-century Florence (New Haven, ct, and London, 2002) Rosenauer, Artur, Donatello (Milan, 1993) Rowley, Neville, ‘Donatello Forgotten and Rediscovered: On Five Works of Art Formerly in the Berlin Museums’, Jahrbuch Preußischer Kulturbesitz, 51 (2015), pp. 140–63 The Springtime of the Renaissance, ed. Beatrice Paolozzi Strozzi and Marc Bormand (Florence, 2013) Vasari, Giorgio, Le vite de’ più eccellente pittori, scultori ed architettori, ed. Gaetano Milanesi, 9 vols (Florence, 1878–85) ––, Lives of the Most Eminent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, 10 vols, trans. Gaston du C. de Vere (London, 1912–15) Verdon, Timothy, and Daniel M. Zolli, eds, Sculpture in the Age of Donatello (New York, 2015)

acknowledgements

Many people deserve thanks for helping to make this long-gestating book a reality. I first thank Michael Leaman and the staff at Reaktion Books for fortuitously encouraging a monograph of Donatello after many years of my preparing for just such an opportunity. I hope to have made the artist more human and his contributions more understand­ able in the process. My academic readers have been indispensable and all went well beyond the call of collegiality to save me from pitfalls, offer suggestions and better inform me about the artist and his times. For their forthright edits, heartfelt appreciation goes to Amy Bloch, Alison Luchs, John Paoletti and David Wilkins. Gary Radke, as always, offered enthu­ si­astic encouragement at crucial moments. As a group that has always spurred my thinking about Donatello, I thank the participants in the quad­­­rennial Italian Renaissance Sculpture Confer­ence. Behind the scenes I thank Kenan Padgett for her superla­tive and ever cheerful help procuring source materials, and Emily Wehby and Clare Misko for some last-minute proofreading. Rhodes College generously funded my research, especially through the James F. Ruffin Professorship of Art. My family, as usual, indulged me heroically. My friends encouraged me unconditionally, especially those not in the field. A special note of appre­ ciation goes to the photographer known as Sailko for generously donating his innumerable images of sculpture into the public domain and to all those who have done similarly. Finally, my stu­dents never cease to prove that there are always new questions to be asked and new ways to consider art. I hope to have given back to them as much as I have received.

photo acknowledgements

The author and publishers wish to express their thanks to the below sources of illustrative material and/or permission to reproduce it. Some locations of artworks are also given below, in the interests of brevity: Photo A. Victor Coonin: 15; akg-images/Rabatti & Domingie: 1; Archive Timothy McCarthy/Art Resource, ny: 11; bpk Bildagentur/ Skulpturensammlung und Museum für Byzantinische Kunst, Berlin, photo Jörg P. Anders/Art Resource, ny: 29; photo David Lown: 23; © dea/g nimatallah/De Agostini Editore/age fotostock: 76; Detroit Institute of Arts, Gift of Mr and Mrs Edsel B. Ford: 66; Erich Lessing/ Art Resource, ny: 2, 68; © Institut de France/Musée Jacquemart André: 62; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York/Rogers Fund, 1912: 63; Ministero dei beni e delle attività culturali e del turismo per il Veneto: 57; The Minneapolis Institute of Art, The William Hood Dunwoody Fund: 44; Museo dell’Opera del Duomo, Florence: 6, 17, 18, 19, 20, 42, 53; Museum of Fine Arts, Boston: 33; © Hans Ollermann: 67; Palais des Beaux-Arts, Lille: 46; Scala/Art Resource, ny: 10, 14, 31, 36, 49, 50, 51, 56, 60, 61, 70, 71, 75; Scala/Ministero per i Beni e le Attività culturali/ Art Resource, ny: 13; photo Scala, Florence: 9; © Victoria and Albert Museum, London: 32, 64, 72; Volkova Natalia/Shutterstock.com: 58.

MattiasKabel, the copyright holder of image 25; Richardfabi, the copy­ right holder of images 4, 7; and Sailko, the copyright holder of images 3, 5, 8, 21, 24, 26, 27, 28, 30, 34, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43, 45, 47, 48, 54, 65, 69, 74 have published them online under conditions imposed by a

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Photo Acknowledgements

Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License; Andrzej Otrębski, the copy­­­right holder of image 35; Chris Light, the copyright holder of image 55; Didier Descouens, the copyright holder of image 52; Jordi­ ferrer, the copyright holder of image 12; José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro, the copyright holder of image 59; and Miguel Hermoso Cuesta, the copyright holder of images 16, 22, 73; have published them online under conditions imposed by a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 Interna­ tional License. Readers are free: to share – to copy and redistribute the material in any medium or format. to adapt – remix, transform, and build upon the material for any purpose, even commercially. Under the following conditions: attribution – You must give appropriate credit, provide a link to the license, and indicate if changes were made. You may do so in any reasonable manner, but not in any way that suggests the licensor endorses you or your use. share alike – If you remix, transform, or build upon the material, you must distribute your contributions under the same license as the original.

index

Illustration numbers are indicated by italics. Abraham and Isaac 66–7, 69, 19 abstraction 72, 74, 75–7 Agostino di Duccio 242 David commission 243 Joshua companion figure 242 Alberti, Leon Battista 130–31, 165–6, 173–4 On Painting 12–13, 130–33, 187 Alfonso v of Aragon commission 229 Andrea del Caldiere 172, 175, 181 androgyny and ambiguity 139–46 Antonio di Cristoforo 173 Aragazzi, Barolomeo tomb 97 architectural designs 191–2 Ascension with Christ Giving the Keys to St Peter 98–101, 32 Assumption of the Virgin 98, 99, 31 Assumption of the Virgin (Nanni) 70 Atys-Amorino (Spiritello) 148, 149–51, 51 Bandinelli, Baccio 161, 172, 236, 237 Bardi, Niccolò di Betto (Donatello’s father) 17–18

Baroncelli, Niccolò 173, 179 Bearded Prophet 64–6, 17 Beardless Prophet 66, 68, 71, 18 Bellano, Bartolomeo 217, 236 Bellini, Jacopo 204–5 Benedetto da Maiano 104, 240 Bertoldo di Giovanni 12, 217, 236–7, 240, 243 Boni Family Coat of Arms 210, 211–12, 66 Botticelli 93, 146, 151 Brancacci, Rainaldo tomb 97–8, 99, 31 bronze roundel, reverse as mould 199–202, 64 Brunelleschi, Filippo 12, 13, 18–20, 25–6, 35–7, 72 Crucifix 36, 38–9, 40, 8 death 172 Donatello friendship 18–20, 22, 24–5, 166 experimental figure in gilded lead 59–60 Florence Cathedral dome 59, 106, 131

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Index

Manetto prank 35–8 Mary Magdalene 154–5 perspective 18, 19, 25, 41, 54, 100, 130, 131 Prato Cathedral pulpit 104–5 Sacrifice of Isaac 20–22, 23, 159, 3 San Lorenzo church, Old Sacristy 158, 159, 161, 166

Cavalcanti Annunciation 136–9, 149, 48 Chellini, Giovanni 207, 209, 242 Chellini Madonna 199–202, 203, 64 Ciuffagni, Bernardo di Piero 28–9, 33, 34, 64 classicism 25–6, 89, 106, 127, 141 collaborations 59–85, 113, 123–4, 128–31, 166, 172–3, 180–82, 211–15, 227–9 Coronation Window 123, 124–5, 126, 43 Cosimo de’ Medici 11, 74, 110, 111–12, 144, 146, 167, 171, 230–31, 241 death 220, 232, 237 exile 169 urban revitalization 158 Cossa, Baldassare 62–3, 64 tomb 81–5, 89, 97, 105, 23 Crivelli, Giovanni, tomb slab 109 Crucifix bronze 180–83, 56 wooden 37, 38–40, 182, 183, 9, 57 Crucifix (Brunelleschi) 36, 38–9, 40, 8

Dati tomb slab (Ghiberti) 94 David bronze 16–17, 39, 139–49, 218–19, 49–50 marble 29, 58, 60–61, 106–7, 243, 15 David (Michelangelo) 16, 61, 143, 243–4 Della Robbia family 240 Della Robbia, Giovanni, Dovizia 128, 129, 44 Della Robbia, Luca 12, 13, 70, 80, 120, 162, 173, 217 Florence Cathedral, organ (choir) lofts 112–13, 114, 37 Desiderio da Settignano 12, 104, 149, 217, 240 Boni Family Coat of Arms 210, 212, 66 Martelli Family Coat of Arms 212, 213, 67 Martelli sarcophagus 212, 215, 69 St John the Baptist (Martelli Baptist) 214, 68 design, art of 124–36 Donatello artistic identity, fashioning 26–41 birth and birth name 18 Brunelleschi friendship 18–20, 22, 24–5, 59 classicism 25–6, 89, 106, 127, 141 collaborations 59–85, 113, 123–4, 128–31, 166, 172–3, 180–82, 211–15, 227–9

donatello



death 17, 239, 243 eccentricities 9–11 financial situation 78–9, 178–9, 191, 207, 208, 209, 230, 241 Florence homecoming 207–44 Florence, reasons for leaving 166–8 generosity 9, 10, 11 goldsmithing 18, 19, 25, 72 as Goliath 146–7, 50 health concerns 205, 207, 208, 209, 230 imprisonment 59 legacy 16–17, 216–17, 236–7, 239–41, 243–4 old age 231, 237–8 portrait 11–12, 14–15, 2 sexuality 143–5 unreliability 117–20, 178–80 volatile temperament 17–18 Donatello, works of art Abraham and Isaac 66–7, 69, 19 Ascension with Christ Giving the Keys to St Peter 98–101, 32 Assumption of the Virgin 98, 99, 31 Atys-Amorino (Spiritello) 148, 149–51, 51 Bearded Prophet 64–6, 17 Beardless Prophet 66, 68, 71, 18 Boni Family Coat of Arms 210, 211–12, 66 Cavalcanti Annunciation 136–9, 149, 48 Chellini Madonna 199–202, 203, 64

282





Coronation Window 123, 124–5, 126, 43 Crucifix, bronze 180–83, 56 Crucifix, wooden 37, 38–40, 182, 183, 9, 57 David, bronze 16–17, 39, 139– 49, 218–19, 49–50 David, marble 29, 58, 60–61, 106–7, 243, 15 Dovizia 127–8, 138 Entombment 196 Faith 88–9, 90, 221, 25 Feast of Herod 86–7, 222, 24 Feast of Herod, Lille relief 133–6, 139, 46 Gattamelata 130, 170–72, 173–9, 180, 55 Habakkuk (Zuccone) 71, 77, 120–23, 138, 143, 42 Hope 88–9, 91, 221, 26 Jeremiah 71, 73, 20 Joshua 34–5, 59, 241 Judith and Holofernes 143, 216, 218–21, 70 Lamentation 225, 226, 72 Madonna and Child with St Anthony and St Francis 188, 189, 60 Madonna of the Clouds 101, 102, 33 Madonna delle Grazie 226–8, 73 Madonna Piot 202–3, 204, 65 Martelli Baptist 214, 215, 68 Martelli Family Coat of Arms 211, 212, 213, 67 Martyrdom of St Lawrence 233, 235, 75

283



Martyrdom of St Sebastian 197, 198, 62 Mary Magdalene 39, 143, 154–7, 53 Marzocco 61–4, 138, 16 Miracle of the Miser’s Heart 194 Miracle of the Mule 193–4 Miracle of the New-born Child 194 Miracle of the Repentant Son 192–3, 194–5, 61 Pazzi Madonna 101–2, 103, 34 Primavera 93 Prophet 29, 31, 6 The Raising of Drusiana 163 St George 29, 49–53, 54–5, 60, 133, 161, 13–14 St John the Baptist, bronze 222–3, 224, 71 St John the Baptist (Martelli Baptist) 214, 215, 68 St John the Baptist, wooden 152, 153–4, 155, 52 St John the Evangelist 32, 33–4, 59, 7 St John on Patmos 163 St Louis of Toulouse 71–5, 76, 84, 89, 149, 21 St Mark 16, 43–7, 60, 66, 143, 11 San Rossore 75–7, 22 Spiritello (Atys-Amorino) 148, 149–51, 51 Tabernacle 108, 109, 36 Verona Madonna 199, 200, 63 Zuccone 71, 77, 120–23, 138, 143, 42 Dovizia 127–8, 138 Dovizia (Della Robbia) 128, 129, 44

Index

Entombment 196 equestrian monument revival 14, 17, 130, 170–75 Faith 88–9, 90, 221, 25 Feast of Herod 86–7, 222, 24 Lille relief 133–6, 139, 46 Filarete 49 Five Florentine Men 11–12, 14–15, 2 Florence Brancacci chapel 98–9 Donatello’s homecoming 207–44 Donatello’s reasons for leaving 166–8 government palace, Sala dell’Orologio 60, 61 Medici palace 10, 141, 145, 147–8, 158, 218, 220–21 Medici palace, Judith and Holofernes 216, 218–21, 70 Mercato Vecchio mural (Uccello) 125–7 Ognissanti church 75, 79 Orsanmichele 41–53, 54–6, 60, 64, 66, 71–4, 84 Florence, Baptistery Cossa tomb 81–5, 89, 97, 105, 23 doors 20–24, 26, 164–5, 3–4 Mary Magdalene 154–7, 53 Florence Cathedral buttress spurs commissions 30, 35, 59, 60, 241 campanile (bell tower) 59, 64–7, 71, 120–21 chapel reliefs 120

donatello



consecration 131 dome (Brunelleschi) 59, 106, 131 Hawkwood fresco (Uccello) 128–30, 132, 173, 175, 45 Opera del Duomo workshop 27–33, 59, 61 organ (choir) lofts 112–17, 118–19, 149, 37–9 Porta della Mandorla 27, 28, 29, 31, 70, 5–6 sacristy doors 120 seated evangelists on facade 33 stained-glass window 123–5, 126, 43 Florence, San Lorenzo church, Old Sacristy 157–66, 167, 54 bronze doors 165–6, 223 bronze pulpits 231, 232–8, 240–41, 74–6 Florence, Santa Croce church 74 Cavalcanti Annunciation altarpiece 136–9, 149, 48 Crucifix 37, 38–40, 182, 183, 9 Florence, Santa Maria Novella church crucifix (Brunelleschi) 36, 38–9, 8 Dati tomb slab (Ghiberti) 94 Marzocco 61–4, 16 Trinity fresco (Masaccio) 40–41, 54 Gates of Paradise (Ghiberti) 164–5

284

Gattamelata 130, 170–72, 173–9, 180, 55 Gaurico, Pomponio 9, 13, 239 Ghiberti, Lorenzo 12, 13, 42, 62, 80, 85, 89 Dati tomb slab 94 death 217 Donatello, working with 26–7 financial situation 79 Florence Baptistry doors 22–4, 26, 223, 4 Florence Cathedral stained-glass window 123–4, 125 Gates of Paradise 164–5 Sacrifice of Isaac 20, 22–3, 4 St John the Baptist 43, 44, 71, 10 St Matthew 72 Ghiberti, Vittorio 217 goldsmithing 18, 19, 25, 72 Habakkuk (Zuccone) 71, 77, 120–23, 138, 143, 42 Hawkwood, Sir John, fresco (Uccello) 128–30, 132, 173, 175, 45 Hope 88–9, 91, 221, 26 Isaiah (Nanni) 30, 241 Jacopo della Quercia 79, 86, 93 Jeremiah 71, 73, 20 Joshua 34–5, 59, 241 companion figure 242 Judith and Holofernes 143, 216, 218–21, 70

285

Lamberti, Niccolò di Piero 28–9, 34 St Luke 42 St Mark 33 Lamentation 225, 226, 72 legacy 16–17, 216–17, 236–7, 239–41, 243–4 Lille relief, Feast of Herod 133–6, 139, 46 Lotto, Lorenzo, Venus and Cupid 151 Madonna and Child with St Anthony and St Francis 188, 189, 60 Madonna of the Clouds 101, 102, 33 Madonna delle Grazie 226–8, 73 Madonna Piot 202–3, 204, 65 Madonna of the Stairs (Michelangelo) 135, 136, 47 Manetti, Antonio 12, 24–5, 35–7, 161, 166 Manetto prank 35–8 Mantegna, Andrea 170, 180, 203–5 San Zeno Altarpiece 186, 187, 59 Mantua, Arca di Sant’ Anselmo commission 179, 228 Martelli, Roberto 106–7, 109, 215 Martelli Baptist 214, 215, 68 Martelli Family Coat of Arms 211, 212, 213, 67 Martelli sarcophagus 212, 215, 69 Martin v 62–4 Martyrdom of St Lawrence 233, 235, 75 Martyrdom of St Sebastian 197, 198, 62 Mary Magdalene 39, 143, 154–7, 53

Index

Mary Magdalene (Brunelleschi) 154–5 Marzocco 61–4, 138, 16 Masaccio 12, 13, 98–9 Tribute Money 99 Trinity fresco 40–41, 54 Maso di Bartolomeo 80, 105, 120 Michelangelo 47, 217 David 16, 61, 143, 243–4 Madonna of the Stairs 135, 136, 47 Michelozzo di Bartolomeo 12, 64, 111, 113, 120, 164, 167, 217, 232 Donatello partnership 78, 79–85, 88–9, 97, 208 Prato Cathedral pulpit 104–6, 107, 110, 112, 117–19, 149, 35, 40–41 Miracle of the Miser’s Heart 194 Miracle of the Mule 193–4 Miracle of the New-born Child 194 Miracle of the Repentant Son 192–3, 194–5, 61 Modena, Borso d’Este commission 179–80, 205 Nanni di Banco 12, 28–9, 59, 64, 71, 113, 217 Assumption of the Virgin 70 death 67–70 Isaiah 30, 241 legacy 70 Porta della Mandorla 70 Quattro Santi Coronati 48–9, 50, 54, 67, 12 St Luke 33–4 St Philip 47–8

donatello

Nanni di Bartolo (il Rosso) 64, 78 Abraham and Isaac 66–7, 69, 19 Obadiah 67, 78 Naples, Sant’Angelo a Nilo church, Brancacci tomb 97–8, 99, 31 nudes 39, 141–2, 143, 183 nudity 141–2, 150–51, 183 Obadiah (Nanni (il Rosso)) 67, 78 optical corrections, use of 34, 40, 45–7, 54–5, 66 see also perspective Padua 169–70, 205–6 Ferrarese horse 173, 174 Santa Maria dei Servi church, Crucifix 183, 57 Santo church, Crucifix 180–83, 56 Santo church, Gattamelata 130, 170–72, 173–9, 55 Padua, St Anthony church altar 184–5, 187–96, 58 Entombment 196 Madonna and Child with St Anthony and St Francis 188, 189, 60 Miracle of the Miser’s Heart 194 Miracle of the Mule 193–4 Miracle of the New-born Child 194 Miracle of the Repentant Son 192– 3, 194–5, 61 textual source 191 Pagno di Lapo di Portigiani 84, 105, 109 painted stucco 161–4

286

Pazzi Madonna 101–2, 103, 34 Pecci, Giovanni, tomb slab 93–6, 222, 30 perspective 13, 54–6, 88, 131, 133–4, 162–3, 228 atmospheric 55–6 Brunelleschi 18, 19, 25, 41, 54, 100, 130, 131 Uccello 125, 130 see also optical corrections, use of perspective (Brunelleschi) 54, 100, 130, 131 Perugino 17 Petrini, Francesco and Raffaello, Chain Map 6, 1 Pistoia 17, 18–19 Pizzolo, Niccolò 180–81, 190, 205 Pollaiuolo, Antonio 217, 240 Prato Cathedral pulpit 104–6, 107, 110, 112, 117–19, 149, 35, 40–41 Primavera 93 Prophet 29, 31, 6 Quattro Santi Coronati (Nanni) 48–9, 50, 54, 67, 12 The Raising of Drusiana 163 Raphael 17 relief sculpture (schiacciato) 13, 53–5, 97–104, 133–6, 162, 165 Renaissance art, dawn of 41–56 Rinuccini, Alamanno 14–15, 16 Rome 24–5 St Peter’s tabernacle 108, 109, 36

287



Santa Maria in Aracoeli, Crivelli tomb slab 109 Rossellino, Antonio 12, 70, 104, 199, 217, 240 Sacrifice of Isaac (Brunelleschi) 20–22, 23, 159, 3 Sacrifice of Isaac (Ghiberti) 20, 22–3, 4 St George 29, 49–53, 54–5, 60, 133, 161, 13–14 St John the Baptist bronze 222–3, 224, 71 wooden 152, 153–4, 155, 52 St John the Baptist (Ghiberti) 43, 44, 71, 10 St John the Baptist (Martelli Baptist) 214, 215, 68 St John the Evangelist 32, 33–4, 59, 7 St John on Patmos 163 St Louis of Toulouse 71–5, 76, 84, 89, 149, 21 St Luke (Lamberti) 42 St Luke (Nanni) 33–4 St Mark 16, 43–7, 60, 66, 143, 11 St Mark (Lamberti) 33 St Matthew (Ghiberti) 72 St Philip (Nanni) 47–8 San Rossore 75–7, 22 San Zeno Altarpiece (Mantegna) 186, 187, 59 schiacciato (relief sculpture) 13, 53–5, 98–102, 133–6, 162, 165 sculpture as theatre 184–96 Serragli, Bartolomeo di Paolo 229 Siena 221–2, 229–30 Siena Cathedral 79

Index



bronze doors 223–6, 229–30, 72 font 85–93, 133, 221–2, 24–9 Madonna delle Grazie chapel 226–8, 73 Pecci tomb slab 93–6, 222, 30 St John the Baptist 222–3, 224, 71 small-scale objects 196–206, 209 speaking sculptures 112–24 spiritelli 39, 92–3, 94, 95, 141, 27–8 Boni Family Coat of Arms 210, 211, 66 Cavalcanti Annunciation 137, 138, 149, 48 choir lofts 113 Gattamelata 176 Judith and Holofernes 216, 219, 70 Martelli Family Coat of Arms 212, 213, 67 Prato Cathedral 117–18, 119, 40–41 Siena Cathedral 221 Spiritello (Atys-Amorino) 148, 149–51, 51 Tabernacle 108, 109, 36 Tribute Money (Masaccio) 99 Trinity fresco (Masaccio) 40–41, 54 Turini, Giovanni 80, 86, 89, 92, 93 Uccello, Paolo 11–12, 163, 167 Mercato Vecchio mural 125–7 in Padua 172–3 perspective 125, 130

donatello



Sir John Hawkwood fresco 128–30, 132, 173, 175, 45 Urbano da Cortona 190, 226–8 Vasari, Giorgio observations Atys-Amorino 149–50 Brunelleschi friendship 19, 24–5 Chellini Madonna 203 David 139–41 Donatello as force of nature 15–16 Donatello’s character 9, 10 Donatello’s legacy 217 Donatello’s old age 231–2, 236, 239 Donatello’s portrait 12 Donatello’s return to Florence 167, 172, 205 Manetto prank 38 Martelli sarcophagus 212 Nanni di Banco 30, 48, 67 Paduan works 197 Pizzolo, Niccolò 180–81 St George 49–50 St Louis 74–5 St Mark 45–6, 47–8 small objects, production of 209, 211 Uccello, Paolo 125 Zuccone 121 Venice, Frari church, St John the Baptist 152, 153–4, 52 Venus and Cupid (Lotto) 151 Verona Madonna 199, 200, 63 verre églomisé technique 203 Verrocchio 70, 104, 217, 240

288

Vespasiano da Bisticci 11 Vitelleschi, Giovanni 10 youth theme 139–52 Zuccone 71, 77, 120–23, 138, 143, 42