A Baby Genius

While this article may not act as a guide to raising a baby genius, it will give you an idea of the early years of one of the greatest geniuses of the modern age, who, being human, was undoubtedly once a baby and then a child before assuming the appearance of the bearded old man in the iconic portrait. Our main character is none other then the legendary Leonardo da Vinci, born on the 15th of April, 1452, in the middle of the night in the small town of Vinci or, more precisely, the hamlet of Anchiano, halfway between Florence and Pisa.

We’ve chosen to feature Leonardo because the year 2019 marks the 500-year anniversary of his death on the 2nd of May, 1519, at Clos Lucé, a castle in the city of Amboise, France. On that day, as Francis I was holding his head and lamenting the loss of that great man, Leonardo whispered his last words: “I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have.” It was the perfect farewell of a genius – or so the legend goes.

This year, a number of cultural institutions will be celebrating the anniversary of the death of that astounding polymath. The most eagerly anticipated event will be the mega-exhibition at the Louvre, scheduled for the autumn of 2019 and likely to be one of the greatest cultural events in recent decades.

And so, as Whatevr #7 celebrates childhood, we’ll be focusing on the mysterious early years of the man of the year. But before we begin, we have to warn you that the little we know about those years is based on scant historical records and lots of wild conjecture.

Not surprisingly for the time and place, Leonardo was born out of wedlock. From his DNA, we know that Leo was the illegitimate son of the Florentine notary Piero di Antonio da Vinci and the orphan girl Caterina di Meo Lippi, so while Leo’s father came from a wealthy family, his mother was considered a nobody. Also a notary, Leonardo’s grandfather Antonio made a record of his grandson’s baptism, including all witnesses who attended the event – and what instantly stands out is that Leo’s mother was not there. It was clear that this would not be a happy family and that the baby was not wanted – at least, not at first.

Baby Leonardo may have lived with his mother during the first years of his life, but by 1457, at the age of five, we find him staying in the house of his grandfather, Ser Antonio, in Vinci. Living in the same house was Leonardo’s grandmother Lucia, the descendant of a Majolica artist-craftsman family, and Leonardo’s young uncle Francesco, who was a member of the silk guild of Florence . Leonardo’s father, who married another woman several months after the child’s birth soon moved to Florence, where he served as a notary for the Medici family, married three more times and had thirteen children.

And what about Leo’s mother, Caterina? We know that she married a farmer and that they had four children together. Beyond that, we know next to nothing. She and Leonardo may have met years later in Milan, a few months before Caterina’s death, and we know that Leonardo paid her funeral expenses.

With so little solid information, the road was wide open for a string of speculative theories on Caterina’s origins. A perfect example is the story of a Chinese girl captured by Mongol raiders and sold as a slave: first in the Crimea, then in Constantinople and finally in Venice. Having arrived in the Italian Maritime Republic she was bought by a wealthy Florentine businessman, Ser Vanni, and brought to his house in Tuscany to help his wife with the chores. Vanni happened to be one of Piero Vinci’s clients, and it was there in the Vanni household that the sexual assault on Caterina took place and where she conceived Leonardo. The book that sets forth this theory is now a bestseller in China – no surprises there.

The story is certainly a spectacular fantasy, but it’s not completely unrealistic. In Renaissance Italy, domestic slaves were often referred to as Tartars or Orientals. According to Italian university researchers who have been reconstructing Leonardo’s fingerprints from those found on his drawings and paintings, the central whorl, a common fingerprint pattern found in the Middle East, suggests that Leonardo’s mother may have come from that area. Approximately 60 percent of the Middle Eastern population evidently have the same pattern, which leads us to ask: did Leonardo da Vinci have Turkish, Arab, Tartar or even Chinese origins?

Whether that’s true or not, it makes for a great story. But the best is yet to come. The theory goes on to suggest that the scenery behind the Mona Lisa resembles a typical Oriental landscape such as Leonardo might have seen on a Chinese fan in his mother’s possession. Furthermore, the Mona Lisa herself is apparently not the image of Francesco di Giocondo’s wife, Madama Lisa Gherardini, but a disguised portrait of Leonardo’s mother Caterina. Yes, the most famous European portrait of all time is now thought to be the likeness of ... (drum roll) ... a Chinese slave in Europe, 500 years ago – the mother of a genius. It just goes to show the power of globalization is nothing new.

But let’s go back to the small town of Vinci and the house of Leonardo’s grandfather Antonio. How did Leonardo spend his time? Later in his life, the artist would record only two childhood episodes in his codices. The most famous one reads as follows:

“It seems that it had been destined before that I should occupy myself so thoroughly with the vulture, for it comes to my mind as a very early memory, when I was still in the cradle, a vulture came down to me, he opened my mouth with his tail and struck me a few times with his tail against my lips.”

Sigmund Freud used this quote, which is incorrectly translated into English from the Codex Atlanticus (the “vulture” is actually a kite), in his highly debated work Leonardo da Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood (1910). An interesting read. About sexuality. Guess you probably knew that.

The second incident occurred at a time when Leonardo was exploring the Tuscan mountains around Vinci and one day happened upon a mysterious cave. The darkness of the cave terrified young Leonardo, as did the unknown danger of what might be lurking inside. But his curiosity drove him to explore what was there in spite of his fear. Leonardo most likely wrote the story to illustrate the power of human curiosity. Then again, some pseudo-historians prefer to see the cave as, yes, a stargate or time machine that he could have used for time travel or close encounters of the third kind – no doubt the perfect explanation for Leonardo’s futuristic engineering projects.

The earliest record of Leonardo’s artistic talent is mentioned in a biography written by Giorgio Vasari a few decades after the artist’s death. In it, Vasari describes how a family friend asked Ser Piero if his talented son could embellish his new shield. Leonardo responded by painting some terrifying images of fire-breathing snakes on the round plaque. The monsters looked so real and frightening that Piero sold the shield to a Florentine art dealer and made a huge profit in the process.

Whether this story is true is unknown, but we do know that Ser Piero brought young Leonardo along to Florence to improve his artistic aptitudes. Perhaps Leonardo’s father thought that, as an illegitimate child, his son would not have the opportunity to become a notary like himself and the boy’s grandfather. Leonardo’s skills in arithmetic were also apparently inadequate. Florence, however, had a variety of successful artist studios where Leonardo could serve as an apprentice, and a career as an artist was considered a respectable position in the society of that time.

The decision was made: the young boy would become an artist. In 1466, Leonardo was documented as frequenting the workshop of the great master Andrea del Verrocchio (featured in a marvelous exhibit in Florence this year), with such immortal “schoolmates” as Botticelli, Perugino, Ghirlandaio and Lorenzo di Credi, all future great masters of the Florentine Renaissance. The situation could not have been better: Florence was one of the most advanced cultural centres in Europe at that time and Verrocchio’s “talent scout” atelier was the best place for a boy as gifted as Leonardo to grow and learn. Verrocchio was moreover not only a painter but also an architect, sculptor and goldsmith. The resulting exposure to a vast range of technical skills that included mechanics, chemistry and carpentry as well as painting, drawing and modeling enabled Leonardo to improve all his skills and gifts. As he learned how to use the different paintbrushes, colours and pencils, he developed an irresistible passion for the natural sciences and soon concluded that deduction was the only road to real knowledge: theory alone was no longer enough. Taking part in the atelier’s creations between 1466 and 1476 also helped to shape Leonardo into the man we know today, a man whose passion for observing and comprehending the laws of nature and physics was focused on improving his skill as a painter. This, then, was the learning environment of one of the greatest maestros of Italian art and culture.

The earliest work of art associated with Leonardo is The Baptism of Christ (1472), a painting attributed to Verrocchio and on display at the Uffizi. This painting was clearly the work of different hands, and as Ser Vasari documented once again, Leonardo was among them. But while Leonardo was only one of several apprentices who contributed to the work’s creation, his skill and style so surpassed the rest that Verrocchio himself – so goes the story – put down his brush, never to paint again. While that may be exaggerated, almost all art historians agree that Leonardo painted the more beautiful of the two angels as well as the backdrop to the scene. There is also no doubt that both the figures painted by Leonardo and that of John the Baptist, most likely the work of Botticelli, reveal a modern spirit unlike any prior Florentine creation. The golden generation was rising. Leonardo was now a fully fledged artist; and so, our story comes to an end.

But before we say “over and out”, let’s go back to the beginning to answer one more question: what did Leonardo look like in his younger years? What was his outward appearance before he assumed the look of a wise Greek philosopher? His biographers describe him as first, a nice-looking boy and later, a handsome man: tall and graceful, strong and valiant. According to tradition, he was the model for his master Verrocchio’s carving of the famous bronze David, now housed in the Bargello National Museum in Florence. If this is true, we can imagine the young Leonardo as a good-looking youth, slender and muscular with long, curly hair – and on his face, just a hint of an enigmatic smile.

by Christheguide

published on #7

on Whatevr #7 Leonardo da Vinci, a Baby Genius

Chris the Guide on Whatevr Fanzine #6: I paint my pictures with all the considerations

Chris the Guide on Whatevr Fanzine whatevr fanzine #6: I paint my pictures with all the considerations
“We painters have the same licence as poets and madmen.”

Venice. July, 1573. It’s a hot morning on the Venetian Lagoon as the sun casts its light upon the city, lending it an unsurpassed beauty. The Republic is experiencing a new and glorious age. Less than two years have passed since the Venetians, along with the other “crowns” of Europe, defeated the Ottomans in one of the greatest naval battles in history: the Battle of Lepanto. For a brief time, and also the last time, the Mediterranean Sea was once more known as the “Sea of Venice”. Meanwhile, Europe was back at war, with the Catholics and Protestants fighting in Flanders and at sea. War for Venice had always meant big business but also great danger. The Republic had usually been adept at maintaining enough political weight to tip the scales in its favour, but this time, things were getting out of control. The Catholic party had grown strong – too strong.

The champion of the Catholics was Philip II, King of Spain – the richest man on earth. Even in France, which had always been the traditional rival of Spain, the Catholic party was triumphing. King Charles IX and his Italian mother Catherine de’ Medici had slaughtered most of the Calvinist Protestants, the so-called Huguenots, in one night – the infamous St. Bartholomew’s Night of 24th August 1572. On that day, every bell tower in Rome rang, with Gregory XIII sitting on the Throne of Saint Peter. Now famous for the Gregorian Calendar, Pope Gregory was a great defender of papal supremacy and the Counter-Reformation. The Catholics had never been so strong, and even independent and “libertine” Venice was seeing the rapid growth of that powerful armed wing of the Church, the Inquisition.

Such was the political situation in July of 1573, when Paolo Veronese, the leading painter of the Venetian School, was called before the Court of the Inquisition. Paolo Caliari – better known as Veronese, after his place of birth – was an important man of the town. Respected and wealthy, his life was a great success – until now. To be called before the Inquisition was fraught with danger, and Veronese knew it. Venice’s Inquisition was less strict than those of other cities, but it was still the Inquisition; and an accusation of heresy, especially if proved, could destroy the artist’s career and potentially end his life. Yet on that day before the Court, Paolo Veronese – who was neither a hero nor a deliberate defender of human rights – transformed that dangerous inquiry into one of the brightest episodes in the cause of creative freedom.

The painting now hangs in a large room at the Gallerie dell’Accademia in Venice, under the title: The Feast in the House of Levi. It is perfect just as it is, uncorrected and uncensored; and the colourful collection of odd guests, of dogs, dwarfs and soldiers still remains – exactly as the artist painted them in 1573.

The casus belli was the content of one of Veronese’s paintings: the great and beautiful Last Supper, which he painted for the Dominican Monastery of Saints John and Paul. The painting remains in Venice and can still be viewed at the Gallerie dell’Accademia. It measures almost six metres long and portrays a feast, a joyful gathering of Jesus and the Apostles surrounded by jesters, dwarfs, dogs, weapons and – worst of all – drunken, heretic Germans.

This cannot be The Last Supper, argued the tribunal. Who are all these ridiculous characters? The accusation was correct and threatening: the painter had clearly not followed the guidelines. A religious painting was supposed to represent the content of the Gospels, while this rendition, even by our modern standards, looked more like a bachelor party than a religious sacrament. The situation could have taken a turn for the worse, had Veronese not managed to refute the charges with a sharp and courageous rebuttal.

The following excerpts are from a translation by the French writer and draughtsman Charles Yriarte (1832–1898):[GM1]

Q. “Did some person order you to paint Germans, buffoons, and other similar figures in this picture?”
A. “No, but I was commissioned to adorn it as I thought proper; [the canvas] is very large and can contain many figures.”

Veronese admitted that the monastery’s abbot suggested he insert the Magdalene in place of a dog to make the painting more in accordance with Holy Writ. But the painter considered it against his artistic sensibility, arguing that it would irreparably destroy the harmonious balance of the composition.

Q. “And the one who is dressed as a jester with a parrot on his wrist, why did you put him into the picture?”

A. “He is there as an ornament, as it is usual to insert such figures.”

Veronese was most likely afraid, yet though he respectfully acknowledged his mistakes with regard to the guidelines, he stubbornly defended his creative rights as an artist:

“I paint my pictures with all the considerations which are natural to my intelligence, and according as my intelligence understands them.

Veronese did nothing less than follow the leadings of his artistic eye. Is that a crime or a flaw? He painted halberdiers, drinking men and Venetian nobility because it seemed to him an accurate and appropriate portrayal of life in La Serenissima, as the Republic of Venice was known. And he was paid for it. Yet Veronese was simply doing his job, and in his view, he was doing it well. An artist creates art according to his imagination and personal taste, and for this he requires complete freedom, without the risk of censorship. This is his duty and role in society, for the job of the artist is not to preach but to entertain and inspire.

It was then that Veronese spoke the words that made this trial a legend: “Noi pittori ci pigliamo la licenza che si prendono i poeti e i matti.” Here he is citing the Latin poet Horace while adding an unmistakably modern touch: “We painters have the same licence as poets and madmen.” A wonderful, flawless defence – no further explanation required. It bears repeating: “We painters have the same licence as poets and madmen.” For in this single sentence, the sanctity of creation is set.

The Court of the Inquisition gave Veronese a lenient sentence. He had to change the title of the work to The Feast in the House of Levi, described in the Gospel of Luke as a banquet held by the tax collector Levi, who invited Jesus and the Apostles as special guests amongst a larger crowd of “publicans and sinners”. The story does not describe the guests in detail, nor does it possess the religious intensity of the Last Supper, thus giving the artist more space for creative ideas. For Veronese, the incident was a great victory. He would not be forced to make changes and could continue to paint in line with his taste and imagination. The painting now hangs in a large room at the Gallerie dell’Accademia in Venice, under the title mentioned above. It is perfect just as it is, uncorrected and uncensored; and the colourful collection of odd guests, of dogs, dwarfs and soldiers still remains – exactly as the artist painted them in 1573.

[GM1]Inserted to explain the slightly strange, old-fashioned language and also to give credit to the source.

The Sacred and the Sexual
Whatever Fanzine NR.3, May 2017
by Chris the Guide

Our Western culture is comfortable with such an image, it is full of such images. In the Neoclassic period Napoleon had himself portrayed heroically nude by Antonio Canova as Mars the Peacemaker. This was a virtuous nude and did not convey vulnerability or embarrassment, on the contrary, it denoted strength and power.

As to female nudity, the message is clearly different; large breasts and curved bellies suggest fertility, procreation and abundance. With Praxiteles and his Venus of Cnidus, seduction was added, paving the way to the countless nymphs and sexy Venuses of ancient art, of which the Roman museums abound. Once again nothing new for the reader, if you think of the famous Venus de Milo at the Louvre or the Callipigia - literally, with the a…. - of Naples (Google it, a real playmate, wow).

Even Renaissance adopts the representation of the "unveiled" Greek canon, both male and female. Michelangelo sculpts the ultra-nude David in Florence and depicts Adam naked in the Sistine Chapel ("the spark", the two fingers touching, yes, that one, you know it), and Raphael represents his woman, his wife, with uncovered breasts in a beautiful and sensual portrait known as "The Fornarina"…. So, tits, butts and genitals in abundance. It becomes normal to own and show works with sensual nudity that refer to famous biblical, mythological or literary stories, in a pseudo pornographic show ante-litteram, that is socially acceptable. Even Renaissance adopts the representation of the "unveiled" Greek canon, both male and female. Michelangelo sculpts the ultra-nude David in Florence and depicts Adam naked in the Sistine Chapel ("the spark", the two fingers touching, yes, that one, you know it), and Raphael represents his woman, his wife, with uncovered breasts in a beautiful and sensual portrait known as "The Fornarina"…. So, tits, butts and genitals in abundance. It becomes normal to own and show works with sensual nudity that refer to famous biblical, mythological or literary stories, in a pseudo pornographic show ante-litteram, that is socially acceptable.

But, as the reader would rightly think, "religion is something else", paintings for people’s homes… Well I can see that, but in works of sacred art, no way. Nevertheless, sometimes, walking through museums and churches, passing by chapels and altars, - almost without realizing it, perhaps because unexpected - all sorts of sensual nudes, images of "scandalous" naked limbs and orgasmic faces jump out at us as we wander by. All of a sudden we stop dead in our tracks thinking "Hey wait, but, what did I see?".

Naked flesh of the Saints and corporal ecstasy, the breasts of a Madonna nursing the Holy Baby, and curiously often even the " little thing", let’s say the groin of the child Jesus unveiled! Yes, it is there, in front us, clear and evident, free from any constriction[1]. Mary points it out, sometimes touches it. How is it possible? Is this Christian art, is this the Roman Catholic Church? Wasn’t nakedness sinful, embarrassing? Eroticism and sexuality in churches, how is it possible?

Often, what may appear strange to us now, was quite common in the past. If art generally always reflects the culture, the thought and the society of the time that produced it, religious art does so even more, being never just a decoration but having always intrinsically a liturgical and theological value. Therefore, in Christian art sexuality has necessarily a religious value. These works of art may not be there by mere chance.

The sense of it, although almost sunk into oblivion for centuries, exists and is connected to the innermost part of Christian faith. How handsome you are, my beloved! Oh, how charming! And our bed is verdant ... his left arm is under my head, and his right arm embraces me. (1,16; 2,6) Your graceful legs are like jewels, the work of an artist’s hands. Your navel is a rounded goblet that never lacks blended wine. (7,2) These are quotes from the Song of Songs, attributed to Solomon, Old Testament. The Song of Songs does not see the body as just sexuality or a vague heavenly metaphor, but it recognizes the body as the symbol that combines history to eternity, flesh and spirit, eros and love, skin and feelings, man and God (...). The beauty of man is total, circular, it ignores the distinction between body and spirit, the proclamation of the resurrection of Christ is the celebration of full harmony ... I quote Gianfranco Ravasi, Cardinal of San Giorgio in Velabro, President of the Pontifical Council for Culture, a distinguished biblical scholar and a man of great culture[2]. Beauty, aesthetics and love, quite simply man is beauty as created in the image and likeness of God and out of love he became man in Jesus. Therefore, love and humanity.

One can be Christian-Catholic or not, but certainly what is unique about this religious belief is the dual nature of Jesus, or rather the union of those two natures, divine and human, achieved perfectly in Mary's womb (Council of Ephesus 431 AD). It was not easy to accept that Jesus might be – equally - divine and human at the same time and this is one of the major and most debated mysteries of Christianity.

On the threshold of the Renaissance the divine nature of Jesus was generally accepted in Europe: he is represented in mosaics and altarpieces as the triumphant on the throne or alive and most divine on the cross, without any suffering. What was more difficult for the European culture of the time was to accept his human nature, his mortality, the fact that he truly could have died on the cross, that he had really agonized. Hence, in the nudity of Jesus there could be no shame because his human condition is truthfully perfect, without sin. His genitalia do not convey anymore virility but humanity. Similarly, being nursed by his mother indicates the human need to be fed, to appease hunger.

Leo Steinberg, an art-historian who first wanted to address these issues in our modern times, argues that the evidence of this deliberate exposure or ostensive unveiling of the genitalia of the Christ Child serves as a pledge of God’s humanation[3].

This is the reason why paintings and sculptures lavished particular care in representing Mary and the nude Child, Mary nursing Him, the Deposition and the Pietà – that is the corpse of Jesus - or the Circumcision.

The importance of human flesh and sensuality are also to be found in sublime Baroque works, both in the ecstasy of Mary Magdalene, where the beautiful “Santa” oppressed by sin and in ecstatic contemplation often appears very seductive, sensual and somehow erotic[4], or in famous sculptures by Bernini such as Saint Teresa[5] and the blessed Ludovica Albertoni[6], still displayed in two Roman churches, where the saints are theatrically portrayed in mystical ecstasy.

The limbs, lips and the clothes convey a carnal passion, waving unbelievably between sacred mysticism and orgasmic indecency. A cynical French, Renan, visiting Rome, and observing Saint Teresa commented: "Si c'est cela l'extase mystique, je connais bien des femmes qui l'ont éprouvée”. Perhaps he understood everything, or maybe nothing ...

Eroticism is certainly present, but its essence is dramatically religious and spiritual, the artist wants to show the divine love, enormously more powerful than human love, exploding in the body almost consumed by a rapture of uncontrollable euphoria. Art had the mission to declare solemnly these religious movements. Flesh and genitals, blood and nudity were there to represent the true humanity of Jesus, the image of Christ the Man-God. The manifested feminine sensuality of mystic women, through the evidence of a physical passion, wanted to highlight the drama taking place in their hearts, in their souls. The power of the images was to show God’s love and humanity, or better God's love for mankind. If sexuality in religious art was not taboo and had nothing frivolous, there had to be a reason. And this is the reason.

[1] Among the most famous: Madonna and Child by Antoniazzo Romano, 1487, Palazzo Barberini, Rome

[2] Ki Tob: "Dio vide che era bello, Biblia, 1992

[3] The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and in Modern Oblivion, 1983

[4] For example a famous Mary Magdalene by Guido Cagnacci, 1625-27, Barberini Palace, Rome

[5] in the Church of Santa Maria della Vittoria, Cornaro Chapel

[6] in the Church of San Francesco a Ripa, Altieri Chapel

In Italiano su Isidora

Rome is “amor”, Rome is art and art is undoubtedly “amor”, love, love for beauty. Strolling through the streets of downtown Rome literally means being surrounded by beauty. Streets, squares, churches, museums, sun, colors are an ode to beauty. The concept of beauty, theorized by the aesthetic philosophy in the 18th century, is a pillar of the classical Greek-Roman art and often shows sensuality and eroticism; just think of the various female and male nudes visible in the museums of the city, even in its sacred heart: the Vatican.