Rome's Artistic Treasures .... Hidden in Banks

Dome of the chapel of Palazzo del Monte di Pietà

As if Rome didn't possess enough spectacular sights to satisfy the greedy eyes of her art-loving visitors and residents, today we'll get a chance to see even more, like the eye-popping gold-leaf and stuccoed chapel at Palazzo del Monte di Pietà above, near Campo de' Fiori.

Since even the wealthiest of Rome's old noble families can no longer afford the upkeep on their ancestral palaces, the ones that haven't been turned into museums, embassies, or cultural associations, are mostly in the hands of the banks. While I cringe to think that there are so many works of art hidden away and out of sight for the average Roman, at least one day a year, we get a chance to see them. The event is called Invito a Palazzo, and it's not just happening in Rome. All across the Italian peninsula financial institutions are opening their doors to reveal their treasures today, 4 October 2014, and the best part is, it's free!

One measly day a year is a pittance, but I don't know about you, I'll take what I can get. I have participated in Invito a Palazzo in previous years, and one of the most spectacular Roman institutions participating has its headquarters in Palazzo Altieri near the Chiesa del Gesù. This baroque wonder, closed to the public 364 days a year, is packed to the gills with glorious frescoes, paintings, and tapestries by the likes of Guido Reni, Carlo Maratta, Giulio Romano, Domenico Maria Canuti, Domenichino, Paolo Veronese, Coreggio, and many more.

If you only have time to visit one site today, this should be it!

The Allegory of Mercy, Carlo Maratta, Palazzo Altieri

Pompeian Salon, Palazzo Altieri

Apotheosis of Romulus, Domenico Maria Canuti, Palazzo Altieri

Palazzo Altieri

Also opening its doors today is Palazzo de Carolis on Via del Corso. This early-18th-century palace features a gorgeous oval spiral staircase by Alessandro Specchi (of Spanish Steps fame), very similar to (and possibly inspired by) Borromini's staircase at Palazzo Barberini.

Spiral staircase by Alessandro Specchi, Palazzo de Carolis

Palazzo Ronadanini, near the Pantheon, will also be open to visitors. The most noteworthy aspect of this palace is the sublime courtyard, decorated with ancient busts and sculptures, as well as intricate stucco and bas-relief details. Also on display are the sumptuously appointed rooms of the piano nobile, that some lucky bankers out there get to use as their conference rooms.

Courtyard of Palazzo Rondanini

I will be visiting the Banca di Sassari, which occupies the site of a converted monastery of Santa Susanna Church (coincidentally the American national church in Rome), not far from Piazza della Repubblica.

Sardinian Tapestries (Banca di Sassari)

In addition to a collection of Sardinian tapestries above (who knew the Sardinians made tapestries?), visitors will be able to visit the underground Roman domus upon which the monastery was built, a site that has only recently been excavated.

Roman domus under the Monastery of Santa Susanna (Banca di Sassari)

If this event sounds like your cup of tea, hurry up, it's only on today! You can find more info here. 

All images provided courtesy of MiBACT

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Are you on Vine? The Pines of Rome is!

OK, my friends and bloglings, your humble correspondent, the one who extols the virtues of writing by hand and sending letters by post, is at risk of becoming a social media junkie. It probably all began around the time I succumbed to the irresistible allure of the iPhone (after swearing I would never own one, and deriding all my friends who were constantly glued to theirs--they're making fun of me right now, by the way).
 

But it got much, much worse when Vine happened.

What is Vine, you ask? Well, if you're not in the know (like moi), Vine is an iPhone app owned by Twitter, similar to Instagram, but instead of posting photos, you post videos. Teensy videos. Six seconds, max. But the twist is, with just the touch of your thumb--while you record--you can cut the video so that the result is a collage of several even teensier clips.





The thing about Vine is that once you starting using it, everywhere you look (especially if you live in a visually gorgeous place like Rome, what can I say), you see an opportunity to make a Vine. Strolling through a particularly picturesque piazza at twilight? Vine it. In St. Peter's Square while white smoke is pouring out of the Sistine Chapel chimney? Vine it. Waiting for the number 23 bus while wearing fabulous tights? Vine it. Cooking up a scrumptious meal? You get the idea.

They are tiny peeks into a friend or a stranger's world, and I am afraid that I'm addicted, both to making my own and to watching others'.

Just about anything, with a little practice, can be turned into an aesthetically pleasing Vine. Except maybe excessive use of pets and babies, and trust me, there are a lot of Vines like that out there. Not that I have anything against pets or babies; they're just not that interesting in videos unless they are yours. That is, of course, unless the pet is a cat who barks or the baby is shrieking with laughter at someone ripping paper. That would be OK.

The best part about Vine is its length. Six seconds. I mean, it's brilliant! You can watch anything for six seconds. And in that sense it's the video version of Twitter: six seconds instead of 140 characters, perfect for our generation's unprecedentedly short attention span.

I just learned how to embed my Vines on my blog [pats self on back], although for some reason I can't seem to get the audio to work. I'm still a complete beginner, so bear with me!

 Here are a few of my favorites. The star of these mini-videos? Rome, of course. Not that six seconds could ever do her justice.

Piazza Farnese by night

Piazza Navona at twilight

A walk from Trastevere to the Ghetto

If you too are on Vine, you can follow me at @ThePinesOfRome

Because Vine only works (for now) on the iPhone Vine app, this link will only work from an iPhone that has Vine installed on it. Hopefully that won't always be the case! In the meantime, you know I won't be able to resist posting my favorite Vines here, so stay tuned!

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The Borghese Gallery and the fate of an ill-gotten collection, part 1

Do you believe in karma?

What about when it comes to art?

Visiting the extraordinary new exhibit at the Galleria Borghese, which opens in Rome today, I couldn't help but be struck by the irony of situation. Sixty works of art, mostly antiquities, once part of the Borghese collection, have been temporarily returned from their current location at the Louvre in Paris back to their original home at the Boghese Gallery. But how did they get to Paris?

Would you be surprised if I told you Napoleon had something to do with it? But let me start from the beginning...

Rome, 16 May 1605. Camillo Borghese is elected Pope Paul V and immediately names his sister's son, Scipione Caffarella, as Cardinal-Nephew. Not content with being a pope's nephew, Scipione becomes the adopted son of his uncle and is known thereafter as Scipione Borghese. He became the most unscrupulous collector the art world has ever seen.

Scipione must have realized that as Cardinal-Nephew in corrupt 17th-century Rome, he would have more than ample access to any funds he might require, and so he traded his right of inheritance with his cousin Marcantonio, in exchange for every piece in the family's art collection. Despite his position of immense influence, he chose not to involve himself in affairs of state, and instead used his power to satisfy his obsession to possess the world's greatest art.

The collection was already dazzling, but it wasn't enough to satisfy Scipione. He had plans for a marvelous villa, custom built to display the crown jewels of his collection, and he was determined to fill it up. One of his preferred painters was Giuseppe Cesari, better known as Cavalier d'Arpino, a mannerist painter who could boast that Caravaggio had once been his student. In fact, it was d'Arpino who introduced Scipione to the work of Caravaggio, as well as that of Bernini, both of whom would go on to become the cardinal's favorite artists. Since Caravaggio had once worked in d'Arpino's studio, the latter owned a number of Caravaggio's early paintings, and possessed a collection totalling 107 works by various artists. Scipione lusted after d'Arpino's collection (the Caravaggio works in particular) and it didn't take long before he got his hands on it. In 1607, when the artist failed to pay a tax bill, Pope Paul V confiscated his entire collection and gave it to Scipione. The collection included Caravaggio's Boy with a Basket of Fruit and Sick Bacchus, both of which hang in his villa today. If Scipione was addicted to collecting art, then his uncle the Pope was his enabler.

Boy with a Basket of Fruit, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1593-1594, Galleria Borghese, Rome

Sick Bacchus, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1593-1594, Galleria Borghese, Rome

Another Caravaggio painting, Madonna and Child with St. Anne which had been commissioned to be an altarpiece in a chapel in St. Peter's, was appropriated by the cardinal when it was declared by the College of Cardinals to be unfit to hang in the basilica. Documents have suggested that Scipione may have planned it that way from the beginning.

Madonna and Child with St. Anne, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1605, Galleria Borghese, Rome

More shocking still is how the Cardinal Borghese ended up with Raphael's sublime Deposition. A gang working for Scipione literally ripped it off the Baglioni Altarpiece in the church of San Francesco in Perugia. The city of Perugia was understandably outraged, and to appease them, Scipione had two copies of the painting by Lanfranco and d'Aprino sent to them. But if you've seen the original, you know the copies couldn't possibly substitute it.

The Deposition, Raphael, 1507, Galleria Borghese, Rome

While Bernini was more than willing to be on the cardinal's payroll, pumping out masterpiece after masterpiece, some of his most famous sculptures that still adorn the gallery today, others were not so easily convinced. Cardinal Pietro Aldobrandini had commissioned the sensitive artist Domenichino to paint his triumphant Diana and the Hunt, and when Scipione decided that the work should go to him instead, Domenichino refused to sell it to him. Domenichino was carted off to jail for his lack of cooperation (and probably some invented charges as well) and Scipione got his Diana in the end. Guido Reni, a proud Bolognese through and through, got so sick of the nepotism and corruption rife in Rome, he washed his hands of the Vatican and returned home, only to retrace his steps when the cardinal threatened him with jail as well.

Diana and the Hunt, Domenichino, 1617-1618, Galleria Borghese, Rome

But most horrific of all was his alleged blackmailing of Caravaggio. After over three years on the run due to an unfortunate brawl that left him with blood on his hands and a price on his head, Caravaggio was desperate to return to Rome. As his doting uncle the Pope had recently conferred on him the title of Grand Penitentiary, it was well within Cardinal Borghese's power to pardon Caravaggio, but for months he kept the tortured artist guessing. When the pardon finally came, the 'grateful' Caravaggio sent Scipione a David with the Head of Goliath as gesture of  'thanks'. But Caravaggio wasn't long for this world, and it was on his journey back to Rome that he died, most likely of malaria or fever (although his body was never found), and Scipione snapped up his last two available works to round out his collection.

David with the Head of Goliath, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1609-1610, Galleria Borghese, Rome

None of these works are the subject of the Borghese Gallery's new exhibition of course, but to me, the way they were acquired caused the Borghese family to acrue some karmic dept that would be paid back about 200 years later to a short Frenchman with an even greater sense of entitlement than Scipione Borghese, if possible. Part 2 to come tomorrow...

Photo sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

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San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, or When the inspired outshines the inspiration

No answers? No guesses? No comments whatsoever??

This either means my question was too hard, or no one reads this blog. (I suspect it's a combination of both.)

Ok, I won't keep you in suspense any longer. I'm sure some of you couldn't sleep last night, going through a mental catalogue of every work of art, church, building and monument in the city, desperately trying to discover the work that was inspired by the brilliant mosaic ceiling of Constantia's gorgeous mausoleum. I'm heartless, I know. So here it is.

The dome of Borromini's masterpiece, San Carlo alle Quattro Fonatane. Let's take a look at both side by side.

The same interlocking crosses, hexagons and octogons grace this oblong dome designed by the greatest Baroque architect who ever lived, and the similarity cannot be a coincidence. I like to imagine the tortured and solitary Borromini visiting the Mausoleum of Constantia and being inspired by such a small and for most probably unnoticeable detail to create the dome of arguably one of the most beautiful churches in Rome (and at over 800 that's saying quite a lot).

But Borromini took this motif and made it his own, coffered instead of mosaic, stark white instead of multi-colored, and a shallow dome instead of barrel-vaulting. A rare example of Baroque art being inspired by early Medieval art. Not surprisingly, the design of Borromini's dome is famous, and the inspiration sadly obscure.

Borromini's San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane ("at the four fountains", named for the fountains adorning each corner of the intersection right outside) has been nicknamed San Carlino for its tiny size. With convex and concave surfaces at every turn, columns placed at oblique angles to the altars and not a straight line in sight, the entire church seems to undulate. This sense of movement is one of the characteristics that came to define Baroque architecture, at which Borromini was head and shoulders above his contemporaries including his rival and nemesis, the ever-popular Gianlorenzo Bernini, who should have stuck to sculpting. For proof of this, visit Bernini's painfully inferior Sant'Andrea al Quirinale just down the street. (In my humble opionion, of course.)

Now, not to go on and on about my wedding (I'll do that later...), the thought of this church crossed my mind as well during the early days of planning. Tiny and intimate, just what I wanted. Achingly beautiful, a true jewel of a church, dare I say it, perfection? Only two tiny problems: my dress was a rich ivory and the chruch is blindingly white. The bride mustn't clash with the church, no? (Okay, I'm joking. I didn't actually think about this at the time.) But more importantly, the church, as glorious and serene as it is on the inside, opens up right onto a busy intersection which would hamper rice throwing quite drastically.

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