Renaissance

Artwork Of The Week: 5 August 2019

The Artwork Of The Week this week is the famous Mona Lisa, by Leonard da Vinci.

Mona Lisa, 1503. Leonardo da Vinci. Oil on canvas. Louvre. [Public domain] Wikimedia

Mona Lisa or Lisa del Gioconda, 1503. Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519). Oil paint on canvas, 2’6” by 1’9”. Currently housed in the Louvre Museum in Paris. 

The Mona Lisa is one of the most, if not the most, famous painting from the western world. Her likeness has achieved meme status through her presence in many cartoons and comedies, so the odds of someone not recognizing her is slim. The most famous details of the Mona Lisa are her coy smile and her missing eyebrows. The smile has an interesting explanation, while the eyebrows have a more…well, I guess it’s an interesting explanation as well.

Her smile is noteworthy in the context of Italian Renaissance portraiture. There were only so many reasons to commission a portrait: either you wanted something to symbolize your wealth and power, or you wanted something to celebrate your family. In the Italian Renaissance, most art patrons—that is, people who paid artists to make art—were men, so many portraits from the time period were of influential men and their families. Some men wanted portraits of them and their wives, so several pairs of partner portraits were commissioned by the upper class. 

For now, we’re going to ignore the intricacies of Italian renaissance portraiture depicting the men, and focus solely on portraits of singular women. When a portrait of a woman was painted, the lady was usually depicted looking off to the side and in lavishly decorated clothing. We can argue that the nature of the clothing was determined by her status in society, but considering that many paintings were commissioned by the wealthy elite, we can agree on the clothing demonstrating vast wealth and prestige. 

The looking-off-to-the-side part, though, is thought to be because a woman staring out at the viewer was needlessly confrontational. Men were always depicted looking directly out at the viewer, and since renaissance Italy was a patriarchal society, this made sense. The men were in charge and needed to command respect and establish themselves as the source of power, and their portraits reflected this idea. Women had to be more demure and deferent, thus the looking away. Nothing says, “I don’t know, you choose,” like lack of eye contact. 

Why is this important? The woman in the Mona Lisa is staring directly out at the viewer. Her eyes are not downcast, they’re soft and making eye contact. Her coy smile suggests that she knows how unusual this behavior is, and that she will not look away. It’s a test of social interaction. Will the viewer call her on this breach of social order or will they uncomfortably stare back, inevitably being the first to look away? 

 Of course, the viewer would have to be the first one to look away because she is a painting, forever frozen in time, with gentle but unblinking eyes. Eyes under seemingly nonexistent eyebrows.

The eyebrows are there. I promise, they exist. They are very faint, partly because of the nature of oil paint and partly because the painting is dirty. Oil paint dries very slowly, and Leonardo was known for continuously adding details to painting as they dried, so while the eyebrows may have been stark and present in the very first paint layer, the successive layers have muddled the view enough that they seem invisible. Oil paint also gives painting an almost luminescent look in the right light, so catch the Mona Lisa at the wrong angle and all definition disappears. The Louvre also does not clean their art, so the layers of dirt from the years the painting has existed are still covering all the details. And since Leonardo did not wait between coats to let the paint dry, the paint ended up holding onto dirt stronger than it should have. Thanks, Leonardo.

Paintings by Leonardo’s students who copied the Mona Lisa show definitive eyebrows, so art historians are confident that the original’s eyebrows do exist. X-rays and tests of the painting show the “cartoon” underneath the paint having eyebrows, so they even existed in Leonardo’s preliminary sketches. But, unless science figures out how to clean dirt out of oil paint layers and the Louvre decides to clean the painting, we may never see the Mona Lisa’s actual eyebrows.

But, like the old M&M commercial with Santa, “They do exist!”

There is a lot to say about the Mona Lisa, so much that people write senior theses and doctoral dissertations on it, but this is a crash course on the quirky history behind her smile and her eyebrows. If you want to see a beautiful and quintessential example of an Italian Renaissance portrait of a woman, go look up Ginevra de Benci, also by Leonardo da Vinci.

(One of the Many Reasons) Why Artemisia Gentileschi is Better Than Caravaggio

I have a lot of feelings about Renaissance and Baroque art (and the little sliver of Mannerism in the middle) However, one of the strongest of these feelings is about Artemisia Gentileschi and her version of the biblical story of Judith beheading Holofernes. 

The story goes like this (but I’ve never actually read the story I’ve only been told it in the traditional bardic fashion, and this is the version I’ve always been told): The Assyrian army is preparing to take over a town but they’ve stopped for the night, camping just outside the town and resting up for the battle planned for the following day. The townsfolk are nervous and preparing for the worst, and Judith and her lady-in-waiting concoct a plan.

A plan to masquerade as hookers in order to get into the general’s tent and kill him. They dressed up in sexy outfits, walked into the army camp, eyelashes fluttering and hips swinging just so, and soon, the general let them into his tent.

This general, Holofernes (you can see where this is going), gets absolutely wasted, and as he is on the verge of passing out, Judith grabs his sword and beheads him while her lady-in-waiting holds him in place. 

Evidently, the screams from the tent probably sounded like the right kind of screams, because Judith and her lady-in-waiting were able to leave the camp with his severed head by smiling coyly at the guards on duty. 

The following morning, when the army was ready to attack, the soldiers found the headless body of their general in his tent and, when they approached the villagers, found his head in Judith’s hands. Needless to say, the army accepted defeat and left, demonstrating that there are more tools in a person’s arsenal than traditional weaponry. 

Great story. Inspirational as hell. Right? 

Caravaggio would disagree. He painted the climactic scene of the beheading, but not the way most people would picture it these days. He showed Holofernes as asleep, Judith as a young maid holding the sword with a sour expression on her face, and her lady-in-waiting as an old crone directing Judith on what to do. It is decidedly not the powerful scene I would have pictured when hearing the story, but it was probably the scene Renaissance and Baroque people pictured. 

Judith Beheading Holofernes, 1598-1599. Caravaggio. Oil on canvas. [Public domain] Wikimedia

Except.

Except Artemisia painted the same scene. Holofernes is awake and screaming in agony, Judith has one hand holding his hair and the other holding the handle of the sword she’s using to cut off his head, and her lady-in-waiting is on top of Holofernes, trying to hold him down so Judith can do her thing. 

Judith Beheading Holofernes, 1614-1620. Artemisia Gentileschi. Oil on canvas. [Public domain] Wikimedia

Objectively, it’s a much more dynamic scene! If we look at just the figures, we have three characters: Judith, her lady-in-waiting, and Holofernes. In Caravaggio’s, Judith is young, practically a teenager, and wears an expression of disgust and confusion. She holds the sword at an arm’s length, which even an untrained eye would feel is going to make it hard to cut off someone’s head. In Artemisia’s, she’s older, using both her hands, elbows bent, holding Holofernes’ head in place as she viscerally carves with the sword. 

Judith’s lady-in-waiting has arguably the most stark differences. In Caravaggio’s, she’s an old crone, barely in frame on the far right side of the scene. She is not involved in the act and is instead directing Judith’s actions. In Artemisias’s, she’s young, strong, and straddling Holofernes, holding him down and in place so Judith can more easily behead him. She plays an active role in the scene. 

Even Holofernes is portrayed differently. In Caravaggio’s, Holofernes is almost unconscious, implying that Judith beheading him was more of a crime of opportunity than a premeditated and planned action. It cheapens the act and makes it feel like it was easier than the story leads us to believe. Conversely, Artemisia makes sure Holofernes is awake and still kicking when Judith beheads him. This allows her to involve both Judith AND her lady-in-waiting, and creates a fundamentally more dynamic scene. 

Both paintings demonstrate similar painting techniques such as tenebrism, so the main distinctions come down to how the figures in the paintings interact with the story depicted. And Artemisia simply painted a better depiction of the story.