Guercino Exhibit at Palazzo Barberini

Erminia and Tancredi, 1618, Private Collection, Cento

As a baby in his cradle he was noticed to be cross-eyed, and so Giovanni Francesco Barbieri became know as il Guercino, "the squinter", a nickname that stuck until his death. Luckily, this supposed cross-eyedness did not affect his painting skills.  Born in 1591 in Cento, a small town in Emilia-Romagna, Guercino's talent was recognized early, and he was sent to study in Bologna, before eventually migrating south to Rome, once again the center of the art world and the heart of the Baroque explosion.

St. Peter receives the keys, 1618, Pinacoteca Civica, Cento

But Guercino never quite fit in with his fellow artists. His work was too sensitive and full of emotion to be considered classical, yet too colorful and romantic to be considered naturalistic. He struck the perfect happy medium between Carracci and Caravaggio, although in his early period he occasionally showed signs of being influenced by the great Caravaggio, particularly in the painting above. Does it remind you just a bit of Caravaggio's Madonna di Loreto? Yeah, me too. But the work above was painted a full two years before Guercino came to Rome, so the similarity is most likely purely coincidence.

Mystical wedding of St. Catherine in the presence of St. Carlo Borromeo, 1614-15, Cassa di Risparmio, Cento

It was his brilliant chromatic ability that set Guercino apart from the others. Photographs can never capture the true colors of a painting, particularly if they are appearing on a computer screen, so I urge you to visit the exhibit in person if you are in Rome. His use of lapis lazuli outdoes even Michelangelo.

Sibyl, 1619-21, Fondazione Cassa di Risparmio, Cento

Today a new exhibition of 36 of this incredible artist's paintings opens in Palazzo Barberini's new exhibition space. This massive area on the ground floor of the exquisite baroque palace is over 1000 square meters, and this is only the second exhibit to be housed there, in what is expected to be a long series of mostre, each one focusing on a different painter. (Rumor has it Antoniazzo Romano is next, an artist who has the distinction of being the first Roman Renaissance painter!) What is fascinating about this exhibit is that it gives you a thorough understanding of the entire career of the great Emilian master, with a large selection of his early works, all on loan from his home town of Cento, a second section devoted to the work he executed in Rome, while working for the Emilian pope, Gregory XV Ludovisi, and a third section with his later works, created after his return to Emilia-Romagna. The three areas are clearly distinct from one another by the bright colors of the walls: cobalt, crimson and lilac, respectively.



The Miracle of St. Carlo Borromeo, 1613-14, Church of St. Sebastian, Renazzo di Cento



In the stunning painting above, one of my favorites of the mostra, St. Carlo Borromeo performs a miracle, giving sight to a blind infant. The women, taken with the quotidian worries of life, are not able to perceive what is happening. But the little girl sees a vision of the saint, and tries to get her mother's attention by pulling on her apron. Even the cat is aware of something out of the ordinary.  



Cleopatra before Octavian Augustus, 1640, Pinacoteca Capiotolina, Rome

The painting above, long believed to depict Augustus, has recently been considered by some to depict Julius Caesar instead. What do you think? I personally think the original idea is right. The soldier here looks quite young, and Caesar was considerably older than Cleopatra. And she doesn't seem to be in her first flush of youth, but instead older than the man in front of her. But I could be wrong!

Saul attempts to kill David with a spear, 1646, Palazzo Barberini, Rome

Only in Guercino's later work, from the 1640s onward, does he fully embrace classicism, becoming more inspired by Guido Reni than any other artist. How different, for example, is the Sibyl below from the one above? So much more intellectual and cold, almost as if she is posing for the artist, as opposed to the plumper, more life-like version above. At least his northern talent for color never changed.

Periscan Sybil, 1647, Pinacoteca Capitolina, Rome

She looks like she could be the long-lost sister of Reni's Beatrice Cenci!

Diana and the Hunt, 1658, Fondazione Sorgente Group, Cento

You're probably thinking right now, "Tiffany, how do you know so much about Guercino?" Okay, maybe not, but I can dream, can't I? Well, immediately following the press conference yesterday, just as I was beginning to admire the works, I had the fortune of bumping into Fausto Gozzi, one of the curators of the exhibit and the one of the world's leading Guercino experts. He led a few of us through the exhibit, explaining several of the works in detail, and giving us a greater understanding of the distinct phases of Guercino's long career

For all the practical information for visiting this gorgeous show, visit my Exhibits on now page.

All images provided courtesy of Ufficio Stampa Civita

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The Borghese Gallery and the fate of an ill-gotten collection, part 2

A few days ago, in part 1, I gave you the back story on how the unscrupulous art-addict Scipione Borghese was able to amass his immense collection in such a short time. Well, about 200 years after all this art extortion occurred, the still prosperous Borghese family was forced to pay back some of their karmic debt.

In 1807, Prince Camillo Borghese was strong-armed by his brother-in-law, Napoleon Bonaparte, into selling him hundreds of works from the family collection. 695 pieces in all, most of them antiquities -sculptures, vases and reliefs- were packed up and carted off to France. The Romans of the time were in an uproar, and attempted to block the sale, but to no avail.


Vaso Borghese. Neo-attican school. End of 1st century BC. Louvre Museum, Paris. © Musée du Louvre, Etienne Revault



Ennio Quirino Visconti, a famous antiquarian of the day, was responsible for selecting the most important works for the emperor. The crown jewel of the collection was the exquisite Borghese Vase, dating to the 1st century BC and discovered in the Orti Sallustiani. It will take your breath away the moment you cross the threshold of the already magnificent salon. It's impossible not to be awed by it, standing nearly six feet high and masterfully carved with delicate reliefs of Dionysian scenes. This one piece alone was valued at 200,000 francs at the time of purchase, about 1.1 million US dollars today. (I would wager its value is much higher today).

Silenus with the Child Bacchus, 1st-2nd cent. AD copy of  4th cent. BC original by Lysippus
Louvre Museum, Paris. © Musée du Louvre, Thierry Ollivier 

It was a tragedy for Italy, but an even greater one for art. The antiquarians may have been the ones to select the art, but unfortunately they weren't always present during the removal of the works, and many sculptures were literally broken into pieces to fit them into the shipping crates. The sale price agreed upon was 13 million francs (circa 71.5 millions US dollars today), but in the end, just over half of this was ever paid. The rest was made up for by the gift of Lucedio estate in Piemonte.

Portrait of Lucius Verus. Head: ca. 180 AD, modern bust: Carlo Albacini. Louvre Museum, Paris. © Musée du Louvre, Daniel Lebée and Carine Déambrosis

Unlike much of the painting collection that belonged to Scipione Borghese, the antiquities were acquired legally. He purchased most of the items from Lelio Coeli and Giovanni Battista della Porta in the first decade of the 1600s. But karma works in strange and mysterious ways, at least in my overactive imagination, and despite the fact that I hate to think all of these glorious Italian works ending up in France, I do feel that Scipione Borghese got what he deserved, even if he wasn't alive to see it.

Cupid seated astride a Centaur, 2nd cent. AD copy of 2nd cent. BC original. Louvre Museum, Paris. © Musée du Louvre, Thierry Ollivier

These works now make up the vast majority of the Louvre Museum's antiquities collection and this is the first time they have been brought back to Italy since they were carried over the Alps to what was at the time called the Musée Napoléon. Sixty works in total make up this temporary exhibit, and provide a wonderful opportunity to admire them in the villa that was designed around them, but they are a mere pittance compared to the 695 pieces that were sold. Both Antonio Cavona (who told Napoleon what he had done was "an indelible shame") and Cardinal Casoni did everything they could to block the sale from going through, but they were unsuccessful due to France's indomitable political clout at the time.



Sleeping Hermaphrodite. First half of 2nd century AD. Restored by Gian Lorenzo Bernini and David Larique. Louvre Museum, Paris. © Musée du Louvre, Thierry Ollivier


About ten years before the Borghese collection was downsized, Antonio Asprucci, commissioned by Prince Marcantonio Borghese, renovated the villa. The most important pieces in the collection became the focal points of the rooms, with the entire decorative theme from the walls to the ceiling arranged to compliment and enhance them. Despite the disappearance of so many of the works, the arrangement of the museum today is essentially Asprucci's design. This makes the new exhibit even more suggestive, as all of the works have been placed in their original location, with the exception of the Borghese Vase, which was placed in the center of the salon for the exhibition due to the impact it offers upon entrance.



Detail of Sleeping Hermaphrodite. First half of 2nd century AD. Restored by Gian Lorenzo Bernini and David Larique. Louvre Museum, Paris. © Musée du Louvre, Thierry Ollivier


As improbable as it sounds, something good did come out of this unfortunate business deal. It caused such an outrage in the artistic circles of Rome at the time that it raised awareness of the growing risk threatening the Italian artistic heritage. It led directly to Cardinal Bartolomeo Pacca's issuing of the Pacca Edict in 1820 which prohibited Italian works of art belonging to private galleries from being removed from Rome.

Venere Marina, ca. 160 AD. Louvre Museum, Paris. © Musée du Louvre, Daniel Lebée and Carine Déambrosis

And hey, it could have been worse. They could have stolen all the works by Carvaggio, Bernini, Domenichino and friends. We should be thankful that Napoleon lived in a time when the Baroque was considered kitch. Although many of the other works stolen by Napoleon and the French troops were repatriated to Italy after Napoleon's defeat (thanks, in part, to the diplomatic skill of Antonio Canova), the Borghese collection was not returned as it had been sold fair and square, and there was a contract to prove it. That was not the case for the rest of Napoleon's looted treasure (which included the Laocoon, the Apollo Belvedere and hundreds of other works), which was brazenly and brutally stolen, a plundering that is unprecedented in the modern age.

As my favorite pasquinade goes, "I francesi sono tutti ladri?" "No, ma buona parte!"

"Are all Frenchmen thieves?"  "No, but most of them ('Buonaparte')!"

For practical information on how and when to visit this exhibit, see the Exhibits on now page.

All images courtesy of Ufficio Stampa Mondo Mostre

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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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Stuck in the city on Ferragosto?

Then lucky you! Because while nearly everyone you know is getting sunburnt and dehydrated under the hot August sun, or steaming in traffic, or fighting a crowd of rowdy sea-crazed Romans, or perhaps even getting stung by a jellyfish, you can immerse yourself in the air-conditioned and inspiring culture you can't find anywhere but Rome.

Ferragosto, roughly the equivalent of the UK's August bank holiday, falls every year on August 15th and is more than just a national holiday. It is the day in which the city (already half deserted) empties of all but its most stubborn inhabitants (and a few ill-advised tourists who should probably be in the south of Spain by now). The city is eerily quiet and a walk down any normally bustling street will provide nothing but closed and shuttered shops, one after the other. If you are one of the few sorry people whose great-aunt didn't leave you a beach house in her will, or whose best friend doesn't have an apartment in Sardegna, you might feel pretty sorry for yourself.

Until now.

That's because this year nearly all the civic museums in Rome will be open (despite the fact that it's a holiday and a Monday), and consequently nearly empty, so you can have all the art you want, all to yourself.

Here's a list of museums open this Ferragosto:

Museo di Roma al Palazzo Braschi, Via di San Pantaleo, 10. 9am-7pm. €9
Current exhibits: Poetry in Nature: Watercolors of Onorato Carlandi, plus a special exposition of about 70 works that have until now been kept in the museum's archives.

Museo di Scultura Antica Giovanni Barracco, Corso V. Emanuele II, 116. 9am-7pm. €5.50
Current exhibit: Along the rivers of Babylon, an istallation on the external balcony.

Museo dell'Ara Pacis, Lungotevere in Augusta. 9am-7pm. €9
Current exhibit: The Farnesina Palace and its collections, displaying works on loan from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Musei Capitolini, Piazza del Campidoglio, 1. 9am-8pm. €12
Current exhibits: Portraits: the many faces of power, featuring portraits of Roman leaders, and At the altar of God, an exhibit on the life of Pope John Paul II.

Museo dei Mercati Traiani, Via IV Novembre, 94, 9am-7pm. €11
Current exhibit: The photographic dream of Franco Angeli 1967-1975.

Museo Carlo Bilotti (in Villa Borghese) Viale Fiorello La Guardia. 9am-7pm. €7
Current Exhibit: Forattini. Viva l'itaglia.

Museo Pietro Canonica (in Villa Borghese), Piazza Siena. 9am-7pm. €5.50
Current exhibit: Ercole Drei: Sculptor in Rome

Musei di Villa Torlonia, Via Nomentana, 70. 9am-7pm. €5.50
Current exhibits: The unpredictable lightness of material: The art of cast iron between the 1800s and 1900s, and 100 years of Machu Picchu's revelation to the world: 1911-2011.

MACRO, Via Reggio Emilia, 54. 11am-10pm. €11
MACRO Testaccio, Via Orazio Giustiniani, 4. 4pm-12am. €5
Numerous installations and exhibits

Museo di Roma in Trastevere, Piazza Sant'Egidio 1b. 10am-8pm. €4
Current exhibits: Cuba: also an Italian story, and Che Guevara photographer

Enjoy Ferragosto!

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Channeling Lucrezia Borgia at Palazzo Corsini

With the craziness of the wedding now over, I’ve finally had the time again to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes: reading. My chosen genre of the moment is history, with a particular emphasis on Renaissance Italy (shocker, I know). For the past month I’ve been inhaling books as fast as I can, which has perhaps explained my silence on the blog waves. The book I’ve had my nose in these past few days has been Sarah Bradford’s meticulous history of the life of Lucrezia Borgia. One of my all-time favorite historical characters, this gusty, intelligent and (if contemporary chroniclers are to be believed) absolutely wanton woman was the beloved daughter of the Papa Cattivo (evil pope) Alexander VI, aka Rodrigo Borgia. The rumors are salacious, but the truth is no less fascinating and I’ve been gobbling this book up in every free moment. She was audacious, she was a natural blonde, and she was passionately adored by some of the most powerful men of her time.

On a different yet related side note, last night the Maritino (little husband, I think I simply must start referring to him thus) and I attended a concert at Palazzo Corsini. I have a special relationship with this Baroque palace and make a habit of stopping by to breathe in all the gorgeousness of the place every few months. But the concert last night brought my love affair with Palazzo Corsini to a higher level.

The group, Insieme Vocale e Strumentale Chiaroscuro, performed works of Spanish music from the 16th century. I must admit, as much as I lust after Renaissance art, I have never cared for Renaissance music one bit. I suffered through that semester at conservatory, counting the days until we would begin studying Verdi and Puccini (even Handel would have been a pleasant respite!). Last night, however, in that setting (although admittedly, what you see today of the palazzo is clearly late Baroque, bordering on Rococo, although the shell of the palace is much older), on a terrace lit with candles, and transplanted palm trees swaying in the background, the music made much more sense.

As I listened to the simple harmonies of the viola da gamba, lute, and wooden flutes, the soprano, alto, tenor and bass voices singing Spanish poetry, I felt as though transported to the time of Lucrezia herself. Half Spanish, and at the height of her beauty and fascination around 1500, Lucrezia’s essence seemed to be floating in the air. Some of these pieces could have been the same songs she herself enjoyed, listened to, danced to. What must court life have been like five hundred years ago for the precocious teenage daughter of the Pope cavorting around the Vatican and later the much-feted Duchess of Ferrara?

My fantasy of having my own private time machine may be unlikely to materialize, but occasionally, on rare nights such as this, it is possible to go back in time, even if only in your imagination. One of the reasons I live in Rome is because time travel is more possible here than any other place on earth.

Photo sources: 1, 2

(Above: Detail from The Disputation of St. Catherine by Pinturicchio, modelled after Lucrezia Borgia)

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The Tower of Winds and the Gregorian Calendar

While strolling down the Gallery of Maps in the Vatican Museums, a seemingly interminable corridor displaying frescoed maps of the Italian landscape, it is easy to feel disoriented. Dizzy, even. The gallery is 395 feet long, over the length of a US football field, and contains forty brightly painted topographical maps of the regions of Italy, each one embellished with intricate details such as compasses, sea creatures and ships. The ceiling is no less spectacular, a barrel vault decorated with stucco, gold leaf, grotesques, and frescoes depicting stories from the lives of the saints. Windows to the right afford breathtaking views of the Vatican Gardens. It is almost too much for the eye to take in.

Little wonder, then, that visitors rarely are aware of the marvel that is right above their heads. At the north side of the gallery rises the little-known Tower of the Winds, one of the highest points in Vatican City. It was erected between 1578 and 1580 by Ottaviano Mascherino, the Bolognese architect who also designed the Gallery of Maps, built at the same time. The Tower of the Winds takes its name from the anemoscope it possesses, an instrument that gauges the direction of the wind, designed by Ignazio Danti, the papal cosmographer. However, despite its name, Pope Gregory XIII commissioned the tower for the sole purpose of determining the extent of the inaccuracy of the Julian Calendar that had first come to light during the Council of Trent in 1563.

Since the First Council of Nicaea in 325, Easter has been celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox (that is, March 21st, when day and night are exactly the same length). At the height of the Counter Reformation, one of many reaffirmations made during the Council of Trent was the necessity of celebrating Easter on the correct date, at risk of ex-communication. This was primarily done to further separate the Catholic Church from the Orthodox Church, which had a different process of determining the date of Easter. But when it became clear that the calendar was incorrect, the Pope himself became essentially guilty of a crime punishable by ex-communication.

In order to address this issue, the Tower of Winds was built, complete with a floor meridian, also the work of Danti, to correctly identify the spring equinox. The interior of the two storey tower is lavishly frescoed by landscape painters Paul and Matthijs Bril, brothers from Antwerp, and Nicolò Circignani, also known as “Pomarancio”. On the lower of the two levels, the windowless Meridian Room, a small hole in the south wall allows a ray of sunlight to project onto the marble meridian on the floor. At noon on the spring equinox, the ray should fall in a specific line. When it was tested for the first time, in 1582, it occurred on March 11th instead of March 21st. The calendar was ten days off.

The cause of this inaccuracy was a tiny miscalculation. According to the Julian calendar, which was in use from the time of Julius Caesar until 1582, leap year was observed every year divisible by four, except for centurial years (1300, 1400, etc.) Under this system, each year was, on average, roughly two hours too long. After nearly sixteen hundred years, these extra hours added up to ten days. Pope Gregory adjusted the calendar to observe leap year also in any centurial year divisible by 400 (1600, 2000, etc). To make the change complete, of course, those excess ten days had to be eliminated. This was done in October of 1582, when October 4th was followed by October 15th.

A century later, the Tower of Winds became the temporary residence of Queen Christina of Sweden, who gave up her throne to convert to Catholicism and was welcomed to live in the Vatican by Pope Alexander VII. Another two hundred years later, it became the first seat of the Specola Vaticana (Vatican Observatory) under Pope Leo XIII, at which time the roof was turned into a terrace to facilitate astronomical observations.

Although today the Tower of Winds is no longer in use, nor open to the public, I was fortunate enough to visit it in 2008, thanks to the kindness of a Vatican guard who is very dear to my heart. It was an incredible experience, especially knowing that so few people have ever had a chance to see it. No less thrilling was a completely new view of the Cortile della Pigna.

Photo sources: 1, 2, 3

Photo 4 by Claudio Ianniello

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