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Text originally published in 1958 under the same title.
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LEONARDO DA VINCI:
AN ACCOUNT OF HIS DEVELOPMENT AS AN ARTIST
BY
KENNETH CLARK
With 64 Plates
REVISED EDITION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Contents
TABLE OF CONTENTS 3
ABOUT THE AUTHOR 4
DEDICATION 5
LIST OF PLATES 6
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 8
PREFACE 9
INTRODUCTORY NOTE 10
CHAPTER ONE—1452-1482 13
CHAPTER TWO—1481-1490 26
CHAPTER THREE—THE NOTEBOOKS 43
CHAPTER FOUR—THE ‘TRATTATO DELLA PITTURA’ 52
CHAPTER FIVE—1485-1496 62
CHAPTER SIX—1497-1503 70
CHAPTER SEVEN—1503-1508 186
CHAPTER EIGHT—1508-1513 198
CHAPTER NINE—1513-1519 206
LIST OF DATES 217
A SHORT LIST OF BOOKS ON LEONARDO 219
REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 222
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sir Kenneth Clark was born in 1903. He was educated at Winchester and Oxford, and worked for two years with Bernard Berenson in Florence. He was appointed Director of the National Gallery at the age of 30 and remained there until 1945. During the war the organized the war artists’ scheme, and with Dame Myra Hess was responsible for the National Gallery Concerts. He was Slade Professor of Fine Art at Oxford from 1946 to 1950. Sir Kenneth has been Chairman of the Arts Council since May 1953, and was appointed Chairman on the setting up of the Independent Television Authority. His first publications, written at the age of 22, was The Gothic Revival. During the 1930s he worked on Leonardo da Vinci and laid the foundations of the present volume. His Landscape into Art (1949) was widely acclaimed and later republished as a Pelican. It was followed by a study of Piero della Francesca (1951) and The Nude (1955) which has been described as ‘a truly great book’.
DEDICATION
Dedicated to
DAVID BALNIEL
LIST OF PLATES
1. Detail from Verrocchio’s Baptism, c. 1472. Uffizi, Florence. (Photo Anderson)
2. The Val d’Arno, 1473. Uffizi, Florence
3. The Angel from the Annunciation, 1472-3. Uffizi, Florence. (Photo Brogi)
4. The Virgin from the Annunciation, 1472-3. Uffizi, Florence (Photo Anderson)
5. Ginevra de Benci, 1474. Liechtenstein Gallery, Vienna
6. Study of hands, 1474? Windsor
7. An Antique Warrior, ?Darius, c. 1475. British Museum
8. The Benois Madonna, 1478-80. Hermitage. (Photo Giraudon)
9. Study for the Benois Madonna, 1478-80. Louvre. (Photo Giraudon)
10. Study for the Madonna with the Cat, 1478-80. British Museum
11. Study for the Adoration of the Shepherds, 1478-80. Musée Bonnat, Bayonne. (Photo Giraudon)
12. Study for the Adoration of the Kings, 1481. Uffizi, Florence
13. Study for the Adoration of the Kings, 1481. Clarke Collection, Cambridge
14. The Adoration of the Kings, 1481-2. Uffizi, Florence
15. Detail from the Adoration of the Kings, 1481-2. Uffizi, Florence
16. Detail from the Adoration of the Kings, 1481-2. Uffizi, Florence
17. Guns and machines of war, c. 1485. Windsor
18. St. Jerome, c. 1483. Vatican Gallery. (Photo Anderson)
19. Study for the Madonna Litta, c. 1480. Louvre. (Photo Giraudon)
20. Studies for the Virgin and Holy Children, 1482-3. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1917
21. The Virgin of the Rocks, 1482-3. Louvre
22. Study for the Angel’s head in the Virgin of the Rocks, c. 1480. Royal Library, Turin. (Photo Anderson)
23. St. John from the Virgin of the Rocks. Louvre. (Photo Alinari)
24. Portrait of Cecilia Gallerani, c. 1483. Czartoryski Gallery, Kraków
25. Detail of the portrait of a musician, c. 1485. Ambrosiana, Milan. (Photo Brogi)
26. Studies of a domed church, 1485-90. MS. B., Bibliothèque de l’Institut, Paris
27. Grotesque heads, 1485-90. Windsor
28. Anatomical studies of skulls, 1489. Windsor
29. Study for the Sforza Monument, 1488. Windsor
30. Study from nature for the Sforza Monument, 1490. Windsor
31. The Last Supper, 1497. Sta Maria delle Grazie, Milan. (Photo Anderson)
32. Study for the head of St. James Major, c. 1496. Windsor
33. Study for the head of St. Philip, c. 1496. Windsor
34. The Virgin and Child with St. Anne and St. John Baptist, c. 1498. Burlington House, London. (Photo Anderson)
35. Portrait of Mona Lisa, 1503. Louvre. (Copyright W. F. Mansell)
36. Landscape with a storm in the Alps, c. 1503. Windsor
37. Study of acorns and Dyers Greenweed, c. 1506. Windsor
38. Study of a plant, c. 1506. Windsor
39. Study of a Star of Bethlehem, Spurge, and other plants, c. 1506. Windsor
40. Cesare da Sesto after Leonardo: Leda. Wilton House. (Photo A. C. Cooper)
41. Study for the Leda, c. 1506. Windsor
42. Study for Neptune in his Chariot, 1504. Windsor
43. Rubens after Leonardo: part of the Battle of Anghiari, 1505. Louvre. (Photo Giraudon)
44. Studies of horses for the Battle of Anghiari, c. 1504. Windsor
45. Anatomical studies of the nude, connected with Anghiari, c. 1504. Windsor
46. Studies for a St. George and the Dragon, c. 1507-8. Windsor
47. The Angel’s head from the Virgin of the Rocks, c. 1506-8. National Gallery, London
48. Study of stratification, c. 1508. Windsor
49. The Virgin and Child and St. Anne, 1508-10. Louvre. (Archives Photographiques)
50. Study for the Virgin and St. Anne, c. 1508-10. Louvre. (Archives Photographiques)
51. Head of St. Anne from the Virgin and Child and St. Anne, 1508-10. Louvre. (Laboratoire du Musée du Louvre)
52. Study for head of St. Anne, c. 1508-10. Windsor
53. Study for the Trivulzio Monument, 1511-12. Windsor
54. Studies for the Trivulzio Monument, 1511-12. Windsor
55. Masquerader, c. 1512. Windsor
56. A Nymph, c. 1512. Windsor
57. An embryo in the womb, c. 1512. Windsor
58. Anatomical study, 1513. Windsor
59. An old man meditating and studies of water, c. 1513. Windsor
60. Studies of water, c. 1510. Windsor
61. The beginning of the Deluge, c. 1514. Windsor
62. A mountain falling on a town, c. 1514. Windsor
63. The Deluge at its height, c. 1514. Windsor
64.
The Deluge formalized, c. 1514. Windsor
65. St. John the Baptist, c. 1515. Louvre. (Photo Giraudon)
66. An old man, after 1515. Windsor
67. Self-portrait, c. 1512. Turin. (Photo Anderson)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
His Majesty King George V graciously permitted me to reproduce drawings from the Windsor Castle Collection.
I am indebted to the Earl of Pembroke for permission to reproduce the copy of Leda by Cesare da Sesto at Wilton and to the Prince of Liechtenstein for permission to use the photograph of the Ginevra de Benci taken in the National Gallery.
K. C.
PREFACE
THIS book grew out of a number of lectures I gave between 1933 and 1936, culminating in the Ryerson Lectures, at Yale. It was first published in 1939, and a second edition with a few changes appeared in 1952. My thanks are due to the Cambridge University Press for allowing me to reprint it as a Pelican. I have made a number of alterations and additions to the text in order to include the results of recent Leonardo studies, and some changes in my own opinions.
For the drawings mentioned but not illustrated I have inserted a reference to Popham’s Drawings of Leonardo da Vinci, London, 1946, thus (P. 123); but references to sources and learned publications seemed out of place in a pocket edition, and have been omitted.
K. C.
September 1957
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
THE defects of this book are not such as can be cured by revision, and my first thought on rereading it was to write a new one. Other commitments make this impossible, but I may take this opportunity of outlining, in a few sentences, the theme which I would develop were I able to start again from the beginning. It would depend upon changing my first paragraph, in which I draw a distinction between Leonardo’s art and his thought, and say that I am concerned with the first alone. There was a valid reason for this distinction, but it was a dangerous one, because it suggests the early twentieth-century belief that art is an activity which can be studied in isolation. In the fifteenth century art aspired to be a branch of knowledge, in which a permanent record of natural appearances was valuable both for its own sake and because it could furnish men’s imaginations with credible images of God, his Mother, and his Saints. Leonardo was concerned, as an artist, to increase his knowledge of the physical world by observation, comparison, and analysis. It is true that at a certain point he preferred to perpetuate this knowledge through notes and diagrams rather than through drawings and paintings, but the two forms of record are really inseparable and react on one another at every stage of his life.
Leonardo began as an observer of surfaces. He was content to be so because he accepted, without question, the Florentine idea of harmony expressed through numbers. Although a professed adversary of neoplatonism, he did not doubt this unchallenged assumption, and wrote, for example, in Manuscript K, that ‘proportion is not only to be found in number and measure, but also in sounds, weights, times and places, and in every power that exists’. This belief is the perfect basis for a clear, formal style. Natural objects do not need to be analysed or recreated with a suggestion of their vital complexity, but reduced to their simplest and most measurable elements, and arranged in harmonious relationship with one another. But Euclidean order could not satisfy Leonardo for long, for it conflicted with his sense of life. He was more in sympathy with that other aim which had occupied Florentine artists in the preceding fifty years, the rendering of movement through style; and like them, he felt that movement, to be perpetuated in art, must be of a special kind. It must be the visible expression of grace.
Although Renaissance writers left no formal definition of that word, they would all have agreed that it implied a series of smooth transitions. It was to be found, perfectly exemplified, in flowing gestures, floating draperies, curling or rippling hair. An abrupt transition was brutal; the graceful was continuous. Leonardo inherited this tradition of movement and grace in the parts, and extended it to the whole. There is no more complete and complex demonstration of continuous flow than the Virgin and St. Anne in the Louvre. But his striving for continuity had far more profound results than Hogarth’s Line of Beauty; for it was not simply a maniera, but part of his search for the true facts of vision. His diagrams of light striking a sphere are attempts at continuous modelling, which were to be carried a stage further in the Mona Lisa, and furthest of all in the Louvre St. John.
The connexion between continuity and the scientific rendering of appearances fixes a point at which the demands of grace and truth are one.
The whole movement of Leonardo’s mind was from mechanism to organism. In anatomy, for instance, he starts with structure, the skeleton and the skull, and proceeds to the study of generation and the action of the heart. The most revealing example is that of geology. He begins, in the Vierge aux Rochers, to give the fantastic rocks of Hellenistic and medieval tradition the character of observed truth. Next he takes a scientific interest in landscape as a whole and sees rock forms as part of the earth’s structure. Finally he turns his attention to geology, and observes that marine fossils can be found in the rock and rubble of mountains. And what is his conclusion? That the earth, like man and plants and light, is in a state of continual change. What blood is to the body, water is to the earth. L’acqua è il vetturale della natura. This explains the immense, and, to the student of Leonardo, discouraging amount of space occupied in his notebooks by descriptions and diagrams of the movement of water. They are studies, and symbols, of that continuous energy which Leonardo’s observations had led him to place at the centre of his cosmic system.
On p. 148 I recognize the fundamental connexion between flowing hair (grace) and flowing water (continuous energy). But I do not sufficiently emphasize what a serious matter for Leonardo was this discovery of universal flux. For if everything was continually in movement it could not be controlled by that mathematical system in which Leonardo had placed his faith. The passage quoted on p. 64 leaves us in no doubt of the real fervour of his belief in mathematics in the 1490s, and its gradual annihilation must have been a shattering blow to him. No wonder he became more and more disheartened by the mass of his recorded observations, which, not only by their bulk, but by the nature of their evidence, had passed tragically out of his control. This state of mind is symbolized in the Deluge drawings, where flux and continuous energy are represented as being the destroyers of human contrivance. And complementary to the Deluges are the hundreds of geometrical diagrams drawn in his last years, which are the doodles of disillusion. His beloved mathematics are no longer employed in the search for truth, but cynically, as a mere intellectual pastime.
Continuous change, which threatened the intellectual foundations of Leonardo’s thought, developed one of his deepest instincts: his sense of mystery. The pointing finger and the smile—the one indicating a power outside our field of vision, the other reflecting an inner process which is equally beyond our comprehension—had a symbolic importance to him even in his early work. And as his sense of mystery was intensified and confirmed by his researches, the use of these symbols became more conscious. The Mona Lisa has been irreverently described as ‘the cat that’s eaten the canary’: which expresses well enough the smile of one who has attained complete possession of what she loved, and is enjoying the process of absorption. And Leonardo has discovered that this mysterious, continuous process has the same rhythm as that in which rain pours from the clouds, wears away the earth, flows to the sea, and is sucked up into the clouds again. In the Louvre St. John these two symbols of mystery are united and concentrated, and this gives the image its obsessive power. Attributes of grace, the smile and the turning movement, become extremely sinister, because they are now indistinguishable from attributes of continuous energy; and these, being beyond human reason, are felt as hostile to human security. Yet just as Leonardo, in his intellectual pursuit of natural forces, hung on with a kind of inspired tenacity, so in the St. John we feel him pressing closer round the form, penetrating f
urther and further into the mystery, till at last he seems to become a part of it, so that, like his contemporaries, we no longer think of him as a scientist, a seeker for measurable truth, but as a magician, a man who, from his close familiarity with the processes of nature, has learnt a disturbing secret of creation.
CHAPTER ONE—1452-1482
THIS book is concerned with the development of Leonardo da Vinci as an artist. His scientific and theoretical writings can be studied intelligently only by those who have a specialized knowledge of medieval and Renaissance thought. His art, and the personality it reveals, is of universal interest, and like all great art should be reinterpreted for each generation.
There are several reasons why such a new interpretation is worth attempting. In the last century the popular idea of Leonardo’s work was still vague. Many of the pictures on which it was based, and practically all the drawings, were far from being authentic and gave a false notion of his character. It thus became the first duty of criticism to clear away the parasitic growths which obscured the true shape of his genius; and while this process continued, it absorbed the best energies of all considerable students of Italian art, and left no time for criticism in a more humane sense. But after fifty years of research and stylistic analysis, we have at last reached some sort of general agreement as to which pictures and drawings are really by Leonardo. Great problems of attribution remain to be solved, but we can no longer hope to settle them by comparison of morphological details. We must look at pictures as creations not simply of the human hand, but of the human spirit. And so we can take up the history and criticism of art where it was left, shall we say, by Pater, with the difference that Pater in his beautiful essay on Leonardo writes, in large part, about work which Leonardo did not execute. He is not concerned with Leonardo, but with the Leonardesque, and his essay suffers from some of the unreality which affects any study of an abstraction. Had he known the full range of Leonardo’s own work, how much deeper and more living it would have become!
Leonardo da Vinci Page 1