Painter of Time

by Matthew O'Connell

  “That is very true. It is a ridiculous standard to set for oneself. In fact, it is arrogant to even consider yourself in the same breath as Michelangelo. I have yet to see any artist who reached his level, either in painting or in sculpture. I guess it was less about comparing myself to that standard than realizing that I could never be a ‘truly great’ artist. I still feel that way. There have certainly been great artists since Michelangelo. Van Gogh and Monet, Picasso, Rembrandt, and a handful of others. They are all truly great. I would never put myself in their company. So if I did create a painting, I would know that it was destined to be something less than great, and that essentially took the winds out of my sails, so to speak.”

  Mackenzie understood what he was saying, more so than she cared to admit. But at the same time she felt that he was being way too hard on himself. “Five hundred years is a heck of a long time to let a great sailing ship sit in the harbor waiting for the right breeze. Being an artist isn’t about being the best and comparing your work to anyone else’s. It’s about creating something beautiful, of interpreting the world in a unique way, using light, shadow and color to tell a story that hasn’t been told before. You obviously have a God-given talent that few people possess. Students in art history classes throughout the world study your work. There are books written about Daddi and Fra Lippi. You have something inside you that few people possess. I can’t imagine that it doesn’t want to come out and stretch its wings, or test the wind, like you said.”

  Antonio leaned back and laughed quietly. He ran both hands through his hair and clasped his hands behind his head.

  “You would have been good in sales. Perhaps it is you who missed your calling.”

  “Are you saying I’m not a good restorer?”

  They both laughed and went on with their breakfast.

  Chapter 42

  Florence, Italy, June 1462

  Filippo Lippi, also known as Fra. Lippi, watched as his wealthy patron remained lost in thought, staring through the large windows of a drawing room in the Medici palace onto the courtyard below. After an extended period of silence and contemplation, he turned around and addressed Lippi.

  “Filippo, I want to commission two more paintings to place in the palace,” said Cosimo de Medici.

  Cosimo had always been an enthusiastic observer of Lippi’s work and had been a consistent patron, benefactor, and friend. He had also helped smooth things over with the church when Lippi had decided to renounce his vows after a not-so-secret affair with a nun, Lucrezia Buti. Lippi enjoyed the fact that Cosimo was able to effectively and gently prod him to reach greater heights while also turning a blind eye to Lippi’s playful indiscretions with the opposite sex. From Lippi’s perspective, it was a perfect partnership.

  Cosimo had inherited a thriving business from his father, Giovanni di Bicci de’ Medici, and turned it into a financial and political empire that had few rivals, but numerous enemies. Despite his enormous wealth and influence, Lippi saw that Cosimo, probably on the advice of his father, preferred to keep a low profile. He was always well-dressed, but not flamboyantly, unlike many wealthy merchants of his day. Lippi couldn’t help but think of the contrast between the subtly dressed but enormously wealthy and powerful Cosimo, and the flamboyant, colorfully dressed Giotto of his previous life. He imagined that the two of them would have gotten along well. Cosimo knew talent and Giotto certainly had plenty of it.

  Lippi admired Cosimo immensely. He was a steadfast supporter of the arts, and a more loyal friend you could not ask for. But he also knew that Cosimo’s support for paintings, sculptures, and buildings was not just for personal reasons. It had much more to do with demonstrating power than for enjoyment.

  While still a young priest in the monastery, Lippi had watched, almost a quarter of a century earlier, while Cosimo cemented his family’s position within Florence by sponsoring the architect Brunelleschi, who was able to complete the enormous dome of the cathedral of Florence. The cathedral had stood unfinished for almost a century, and served as a constant embarrassment to all of Florence. Cosimo steadfastly stood behind and funded the admittedly unconventional Brunelleschi, despite extreme criticism and ultimately treachery on the part of the Medici’s chief rivals, the Albizzi. In the end, the dome was completed in 1436, an achievement that Cosimo celebrated by hosting, and largely funding, the Council of Florence.

  Lippi nodded calmly as he stood with his hands clasped calmly behind him and peered out the windows onto the bustling streets of Florence.

  “Cosimo, you know that I am always happy to paint for you. It is an honor that I relish. Did you have a particular topic in mind for these paintings?”

  Unlike the other wealthy men that Lippi knew, Cosimo was a thoughtful, quiet man who rarely showed his true emotions in public. Cosimo paused and furrowed his brow slightly, which Lippi knew was the sign that he was thinking through the answer carefully before providing a response.

  “Perhaps something to do with the adoration of the child. I have always been drawn to people’s amazement at viewing the Christ Child. I thought this would be a subject that would interest you.”

  Lippi nodded. As usual, Cosimo’s taste was exceptional. This was a good topic that would indeed be interesting to paint.

  “You are right that this is an excellent topic. Please let me think this through and come up with some initial sketches for you to review.” Lippi hesitated slightly before continuing, “I will make two paintings for you, but only charge you for one.”

  Cosimo continued to look out the window with his hands casually crossed behind his back. A slight smirk appeared on his face. Still looking out the window he said, “Filippo, it has always been my experience that free ultimately tends to be the most expensive price of all. What is your reason for only charging me for one painting?”

  “This will actually cost you nothing. I ask only for a favor, and not one for me.”

  “The plot thickens, my friend,” said Cosimo warily. “What favor might you be looking for?”

  “I seek to set up my nephew and his family as special emissaries to the Medici to assist in the evaluation and acquisition of art. There are many wonderful artists in Rome and Naples, Siena, Venice, and even Brussels and Barcelona that you should know. You will need a trusted person to evaluate these artists and their work in person and decide whether they are worthy of the Medici family’s collection. You should also have someone that you can trust implicitly who can monitor the various projects that you have sponsored. As you know, artists can be easily distracted from their work and often need a gentle hand to get them on track.”

  “I know of such an artist myself. He has often needed more than a gentle hand, as I’m sure you would attest,” said Cosimo with a mischievous grin.

  “Indeed,” continued Filippo, ignoring Cosimo’s playful dig. “My nephew, although quite young, has a great eye for art, but lacks the skills to be an artist himself. I have seen flashes of brilliance in his insights regarding some of the finest paintings here in Florence. He has even given me recommendations on my own paintings that have proven to be surprisingly valuable for one so young. He has a keen eye that I am helping develop. I believe he could be of great use to you and your family as your fortunes and influence grow. After all, you of all people know the value of trusted friends.”

  “So you are asking me to appoint this young man as an artistic emissary to the Medici?”

  “That is exactly what I am asking. He still needs grooming and development, which I have committed to providing. After all, I am not a young man anymore. I will not be on this earth forever. As you have done, I feel an obligation to provide for my family when I am no longer here.”

  After an uncomfortable pause, Cosimo laughed heartily.

  “Filippo, I have known you for almost twenty years. You are a wonderful artist and a great teacher. I have also known you to be a man who can’t resist chasing every beautiful woman he sees, married or otherwise. However, I have rarely known you to be such a gene
rous and selfless individual. I am sure there is some angle to your offer but I am at a loss to find it. I will have papers drawn up to appoint this nephew of yours as an official art emissary to the Medici. What is the boy’s name?”

  “Alas, I feel that as I have aged, so have I felt the pangs of guilt for my selfish lifestyle. Perhaps after all these years the teachings of my Dominican masters are finally sinking in. I thank you for your support and trust. You will not be disappointed. The boy’s name is Antonio di Bernardi.”

  Chapter 43

  Florence, Italy, March 1488

  Antonio di Bernardi walked through the expansive Medici Ricardi palace alongside Lorenzo de’ Medici. Antonio was now thirty-four years old, five years younger than Lorenzo. He had just returned to Florence after spending ten years traveling throughout Italy, France, Belgium, Spain, Germany and other parts of Europe. As an emissary of the Medici family, he met with and ultimately secured numerous works of art from some of the finest artists in the world. He was particularly captivated by the work of Venetian artists like Giorgio La Castelfranco and his master Giovanni Bellini. Bellini in particular had been influenced by the work of Flemish artists who had started working in oil as opposed to tempera.

  While Antonio did not work as an artist himself, he was able to accurately sketch paintings by these Venetian masters along with providing detailed descriptions and recommendations, which he would send by courier to Lorenzo. In most cases, Lorenzo agreed with his suggestions and made numerous purchases to add to his ever-growing collection.

  Based on Bellini’s suggestion, Antonio made his way to Belgium, where he came to know the revolutionary work of Robert Campin, Rogier van der Weyden, Jan van Eyck and many others. He was impressed not only by the use of oils and the rich colors they provided, but also the minute details shown in the paintings. Intricate landscapes of the town center would appear in the background window of a portrait of a young woman sitting in her house.

  As he had seen in Venice as well, these artists had branched out from the traditional focus of biblical subject matter for their paintings. Campin’s simple yet elegant portraits of men and women, not kings and queens or princes and princesses, but of merchants and townspeople, and of course wealthy landowners, brought a new life and possibility to what was thought of as art. Antonio himself felt the liberating effect this had on the artists themselves. He enthusiastically shared his excitement with Lorenzo, who purchased many of these masterpieces for his palace.

  Antonio had returned to Florence a little over a month prior, after finishing his latest trip to Germany. While there, he had seen the work of a young man who, at thirteen had painted a self-portrait with so much power and striking realism that Antonio knew he was bound for fame. That young man, Albrecht Dürer, the son of a goldsmith, was apprenticing with an accomplished and successful woodcut illustrator named Michael Wohlgemut. Antonio was fascinated by the woodcut artist’s skill and came upon Dürer quite by accident while visiting Wohlgemut. He immediately knew that the apprentice would far outpace the master, if he hadn’t already. He promised to stay in close contact with the young Dürer and had plans to eventually sponsor a trip to Florence and Venice for the young artist.

  They stopped in the palace’s private chapel to admire one of Lorenzo’s proudest works. As they stood on the geometrically patterned tile floor filled with circles, triangles, and squares that Antonio had always found strangely out of place, they took in the beauty of Gozzoli’s exquisite fresco, The Journey of the Magi, which adorned every wall of the chapel. Benozzo Gozzoli was a well known artist who had worked with Fra Angelico on several frescoes for the chapel of Pope Nicholas V in the Vatican, as well a fresco cycle of The Life of St Francis in the church of San Francesco. Lorenzo’s father, Piero, had summoned Gozzoli to Florence in 1459 to create an elaborate fresco that portrayed key members of the Medici family in the procession of the Magi into Bethlehem. Of course, in this version of the procession, the countryside was the lush, rolling hills of Tuscany. The young King Caspar was none other than Lorenzo de’ Medici followed by Cosimo with his sons Piero, Giovanni and Carlo, prince Giuliani and even the painter himself. The entourages of each king were enormous and richly decorated with dozens of gold-gilded horses, pack animals loaded with gifts, camels, monkeys, rare felines and falcons, along with wild deer and hounds in the background engaged in an elaborate hunting party. The message was clear and unambiguous. The Medici family was powerful and clearly part of a greater plan. This painting was used by the Medici to help promote the myth and legend of their family’s greatness. This was always one of the first places Lorenzo brought important visitors to the palace. Of course, it was important to say a prayer in the chapel, but it was more important to see and feel the power that emanated from every wall.

  Antonio had been to the chapel many times. Nonetheless, it had been almost a decade since Antonio had stood in the chapel and seen this beautiful masterpiece. It was glorious. The vibrant color and richness and sheer pageantry of Gozzoli’s fresco was something he never tired of experiencing. They stood in silence while Antonio looked closer at the details of the various components of the painting. He thought that a person could look at this fresco a hundred times and still find something new and unique ever time you saw it.

  “Tell me,” said Lorenzo breaking the silence, “how does this fresco compare with those you have seen in Venice and Brussels?”

  Antonio paused and thought about the question.

  “It is more playful and not quite as dimensionally sound as many of the more recent paintings. The faces are not as well developed as the newer paintings. Remember, we are talking about a fresco that is almost thirty years old now. Painters now are reaching levels of realism and perspective that were unheard of even twenty years ago. However, those newer works, and especially those in Bruges and Brussels, lack the majesty of this painting. Look at the young king, for instance. The striking jewel encrusted gold medallions in his brilliant blue crown; his golden, flowing locks and the look of calm on his face as he looks at us from inside the painting. Those elements are found nowhere in greater richness than here in Florence, and indeed in this painting. As my uncle Lippi always told me, we are growing ever more realistic in our painting, but with every step we lose a bit of the nobility and magic of the old masters. I think that I agree with him.”

  “Hmm, interesting insights,” responded Lorenzo. “My father told me that your uncle, Fra. Lippi, mentioned on more than one occasion that you had a fine eye for art, and I certainly have found that to be the case. Come, I want you to see some of the most recent works and artists here in our academy. You can tell me how they compare to the other artists you have seen.” Lorenzo led Anthony through a number of wide hallways, elaborate sitting rooms, salons and finally out through a series of open-air walkways and into an enormous artist’s studio.

  “This,” exclaimed Lorenzo proudly, waving a hand in front of him to the expanse of the room, “is the surprise I wanted to show you. I have established an art school where artists from Tuscany and beyond can study, flourish and hone their skill without having to serve any single master. To my knowledge, it is the first of its kind.” They continued walking through the immense studio, which turned out to be a series of studios, each dedicated to different styles and techniques. Sculptors were hard at work in one room, painters in another, bronze gilders in another. There was a room neatly filled with pigments, powders, eggs for tempera and glair, gum Arabic, alumina, vermilion, red ochre, cinnabar, azurite, and dozens of other vegetable dyes and raw materials needed for painting. Neatly stacked cypress planks of various sizes stood at the ready, as well as parchment, both for painting and for boiling. There was a small workshop set aside for brush making with ermine tails and hog’s bristles, waxed linen, goose quills, and long straight pieces of chestnut, lark and maple for brush handles.

  This academy was at least ten times as large as the largest studio either Daddi or Giotto had at the height of their fame. He was amazed at
what Lorenzo had put together, but then again, Lorenzo de’ Medici never did anything on a small scale.

  “In all my travels I have never seen an academy of art as spectacular as this. I believe that there is nowhere in the world where such an academy exists. It is truly remarkable,” said Antonio in awe.

  “I wanted to have a place where artists could learn from and be inspired by each other. There is freedom here. But I only bring in the finest artists to study and develop here at the academy.”

  Lorenzo continued to lead Antonio through a series of studios, which seemed to go on without end. They turned right and entered a small room flooded with light from several large windows set high in the walls. There were three artists working on sculptures in various stages of completion. Lorenzo led him to a thin boy who was hard at work chipping away at a block of marble.

  “Michelangelo,” called Lorenzo. “Stop and meet a friend of mine.”

  The boy put down his chisel reluctantly and stood before Lorenzo.

  “Michelangelo, I want you to meet Antonio de Bernardi, my personal art consultant and buyer.”

  “A pleasure to meet you sir,” said the boy meekly.

  “The pleasure is mine, young man. What is it that you are working on?” asked Antonio.

  “I am just practicing my work on arms and hands right now. My master, Domenico Ghirlandaio, says that I must master the entire body before I focus on the face of my sculptures.”

  They moved closer to the block and Antonio was struck by the power that emanated from the unfinished sculpture. The arms were muscular yet sensual, and the hands seemed to reach out longingly to an unseen presence. Most of the sculpture itself was unfinished, but it seemed to Antonio that this young boy was releasing the body from its granite tomb. He wasn’t just carving it, he was giving it life. He could literally feel its presence. There was something special, magical even, about his young boy’s talent. He had personally met the greatest artists of the past two hundred years and yet they paled in comparison to this boy who was just honing his skills.