Renaissance_ A Short History, The - Johnson, Paul [60]
Botticelli was an eccentric too, and like Piero (who was thirty years older) a passionate humanist, though his interests were literary rather than scientific. Where as Piero was static, Botticelli was fluid, sinuous, dynamic, with a strong, elastic line, so that his figures are drawn onto the surface rather than built up out of it. They sway, they dance, they wreath themselves into undulating patterns, interwoven with flowers and trees, sea, sand and grass. Botticelli was the first great Renaissance artist to make full use of ancient mythology not merely for subject matter— The Birth of Venus, Primavera, et al.—but to give his works spiritual content. There is a daring whiff of paganism about his blond maidens and goddesses, an insouciance, a hedonism and a cool, bold, graceful sensuality— never lascivious or carnal—that is overwhelmingly attractive now as it undoubtedly was then. But Botticelli was also a prolific and efficient producer of Virgins and Baby Jesuses— some of them even better than those of his master, Filippo Lippi—and he was in constant employment for the churches, as well as the palaces of the Medici, who preferred the pagan work. He may, indeed, have been a man of strong religious bent at times, for when the fierce Dominican friar Girolamo Savonarola (1452–98) began to preach (initially at Lorenzo de’ Medici’s invitation) against worldly vanities, and begged the population to burn rich dresses, scandalous books and unholy pictures, Botticelli is said to have responded by burning some of his own works (it is true that some of those whose existence we know of from literary sources have vanished). When Sixtus IV, having built his Sistine Chapel, brought artists to Rome to decorate the lower part of its walls, Botticelli was one of those chosen (1481) and contributed The Temptation of Christ and episodes from the Life of Moses, not with any great success. Paganism was his forte and myth his inspiration. But artists do not always know what is good for them.
The second half of the fifteenth century was an exceptional period of busy activity and the nurturing of genius in Florence. There were those who pursued an individual path, like Piero di Cosimo (1462–1521); he loved painting animals, drew well from nature and made a speciality of depicting his own wild interpretations of mythology. He was one of the few Florentines who loved landscape, and his weird Death of Procris in London’s National Gallery, with its desolate estuary, magnificent dog (and other creatures) and long-eared faun, combines his obsessions. He made his living designing magnificent banners and other gear for public ceremonies, but he was by nature a loner who left the busy studio of Cosimo Rosselli, his guardian, as soon as he could work on his own. Vasari says he was a recluse who lived on hard-boiled eggs, preparing them fifty at a time while boiling glue for size. He loathed noise, especially crying children, church music, old men coughing and flies buzzing. But at one time or another he taught, and inspired, a number of remarkable painters, including Fra Bartolommeo (c. 1472–1517), Andrea del Sarto (1486–1530) and Jacopo da Pontormo (1494–1557).
Most Florentine art, however, revolved round the large workshops. There was that run by the Pollaiuolo family, chiefly Antonio (c. 1431–98) and his brother Piero (1441–96). Antonio was trained as a goldsmith and practiced the craft. He also made superb bronze statuettes, designed embroidery and produced stained glass. Both brothers painted. Together they created the gigantic Martyrdom of St. Sebastian, one of the glories of the National Gallery in London, which is really a brilliant exercise in the presentation