Fathers and Sons

After the death of his father Pedro Berruguete, Alonso Berruguete questioned whether to follow in his father’s footsteps as a painter or pursue a career as a lawyer. Years later, when Berruguete died on September 25, 1561, many considered him the “Spanish Michelangelo,” the one artist more than any other who translated the Italian Renaissance into the Spanish Renaissance. Born around 1488, Berruguete’s rebirth and moment of epiphany came when he traveled to Florence and Rome in 1504 and saw the works of Michelangelo firsthand. Berruguete soon earned a place in Michelangelo’s workshop and learned at the feet of the master and befriended other young artists such as Andrea del Sarto and Bartolommeo Bandinelli. Berruguete trained as a painter with his father, but under his spiritual “father” Michelangelo, Alonso became a sculptor, creating years later works such as The Sacrifice of Isaac (above, from 1526-1532). Part of the San Benito altarpiece, The Sacrifice of Isaac shows the dramatic expressiveness of Michelangelo’s sculpture and painting that captivated the young Spaniard. Berruguete adds to the drama of the piece by painting the sculpture, adding to the liveliness and expression of the figures more than unadorned carved wood possibly could.

Berruguete brought Michelangelo-esque touches to his painting as well. In Salome (above, from 1512-1516), we see the young seductress looking down upon the severed head of John the Baptist. The bizarre calm with which she looks upon the head shows the influence of Mannerism upon Berruguete, who tried to amplify reality to the point of hyper-reality in pursuit of Michelangelo’s forcefulness of effect. Unable to match Michelangelo in technique, Berruguete resorted to other means to attract the same kind of religious fervor from viewers. Most of Berruguete’s works show episodes of great ecstasy or great agony, but Salome arrives on the scene after the fact—the calm after the storm of John’s martyrdom. Berruguete painted Salome at the end of his time in Italy, just before returning to Spain in 1517. In 1518, Charles V of Spain appointed Berruguete court painter and sculptor, positioning him to set the standards of taste for all of Spanish art.

It’s easy to see parallels between Michelangelo’s Dying Slave and figures such as Berruguete’s Saint Sebastian (above, from 1526-1532) from the same San Benito altarpiece that The Sacrifice of Isaac belongs to. Yet, Berruguete doesn’t just imitate Michelangelo’s art but extends certain elements of it, adjusting the settings on the drama just enough to create a difference but not set the entire work out of balance. With the official seal of approval of the Spanish court, Berruguete influenced an entire generation of Spanish artists who followed the example of Michelangelo and the other Italian Renaissance giants yet added their own subtle flavor. I look at this Saint Sebastian and imagine a young El Greco arriving years later from Greece, standing before this or some other work by Berruguete, and thinking, stretch the torso a bit here, extend the arms, lengthen the face… Alonso Berruguete’s wise career choice helped shape the direction of Spanish art for generations.

The Faultless Painter

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for? All is silver-grey,
Placid and perfect with my art: the worse!
I know both what I want and what might gain,
And yet how profitless to know, to sigh
"Had I been two, another and myself,
"Our head would have o'erlooked the world!" No doubt.

From “Andrea del Sarto” by Robert Browning


Andrea del Sarto, known as the painter “senza error” or the “faultless painter,” was born on July 16, 1486. Immortalized by Robert Browning’s dramatic monologue spoken in Andrea’s “voice,” del Sarto has become the poster child for the artist of great talent but scant ambition. del Sarto’s Birth of the Virgin (above), a fresco at the church of SS. Annunziata in Florence, Italy, shows the great promise of his talent. Dwarfed today by his contemporaries Michelangelo, Raphael, and da Vinci, Andrea nonetheless produced some of the finest Mannerist works of the High Renaissance in terms of technique if not power to enthrall. Sadly, to paraphrase Browning, del Sarto’s reach rarely exceeded his grasp, and he was more than content to have it that way.



In Madonna of the Harpies (above), del Sarto displays the sculptural approach he brought to his figures. In color and design, he clearly parallels Michelangelo and da Vinci, his more famous brethren. Unfortunately, del Sarto always plays the role of the boy among men, always coming up short in comparison, although Michelangelo himself praised Andrea’s work. Sadly, del Sarto invites direct comparison because of the similar themes of his work—his Last Supper might inspire, if you didn’t know of da Vinci’s version.



The sad eyes of Andrea’s self portrait above from after 1525 speak of his life of woes after his unfortunate marriage to Lucrezia, the silent villainess of both Browning’s poem and Giorgio Vasari’s account of del Sarto’s life in his Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects. Vasari, a student of del Sarto’s who was recommended to Andrea by Michelangelo, had little love for Lucrezia:

[F]alling in love with a young woman who was left a widow, he took her for his wife, and had enough to do all the rest of his life, and had to work harder than he had ever done before, for besides the duties and liabilities which belong to such a union, he took upon him many more troubles, being constantly vexed with jealousy and one thing and another. And all who knew his case felt compassion for him, and blamed the simplicity which had reduced him to such a condition. He had been much sought after by his friends before, but now he was avoided. For though his pupils stayed with him, hoping to learn something from him, there was not one, great or small, who did not suffer by her evil words or blows during the time he was there.

When King Francois I of France invited del Sarto to paint for him in 1518, it seemed to be his lucky break. Unfortunately, Lucrezia soon grew jealous and demanded that Andrea return to Florence. King Francois I gave Andrea a huge sum to be spent on artwork for his court. Prompted by Lucrezia, del Sarto unwisely spent the money on an extravagant new home for them in Florence. Fortunately for Andrea, the king didn’t prosecute him, but he did sever all ties with the artist. Andrea del Sarto stands as a great example of what could have been, perhaps the biggest “What If..” of the Renaissance.

[This belated birthday to Andrea Del Sarto is brought to you courtesy of the technical difficulties I experienced a while back.]

History in the Making

Giorgio Vasari, perhaps the father of art history with his Lives of the Painters, Sculptors, and Architects, was born on July 30, 1511. The cover of Vasari’s Lives appears above. Written in 1550 and revised and expanded in 1568, Vasari’s Lives may mark the first use of the term “Renaissance” in art to refer to that golden age of European painting. Although his own works of art may pale in comparison to the giants of his time, Vasari’s contributions to art history have kept their names, and his own, alive to today.

In works such as his Battle of Scannagallo (above), Vasari comes across as just another good, not great Renaissance painter. Friend of Michelangelo and student of Andrea del Sarto, Vasari never rose to their levels of brilliance. However, Vasari understood their greatness enough to want to capture that historical moment in all its fine detail. Reading Vasari’s Lives today often seems like flipping through a Renaissance version of today’s People Magazine. Between the nuggets of historical value lay moments of sheer gossip (such as his long harangue on the shrewishness of poor Andrea’s wife) and tall tales of long-dead painters’ magical feats (such as Giotto painting a fly on one work that fooled his master, Cimabue, into trying to brush it away). Overall, however, Vasari’s writings bring the painters back to life in all their genius and, often humorously, their humanity.

Vasari didn’t limit his conservationism to just words. Although he himself was a working painter and sometimes even an excellent painter of religious subjects, such as his Entombment (above), Vasari recognized that the common practice of painting new frescos over old ones was an unjust erasure of past masters. Recently, scientists believe that they have found Leonardo da Vinci’s legendary, lost 1505 fresco The Battle of Angiers behind a fresco done by Vasari in 1593. They believe that Vasari built a wall in front of Leonardo’s work to save it and then painted his own fresco on the new wall. Such an act shows not only Vasari’s humility before greatness but also a visionary gift the benefits of which we still reap today.