Conversations in Art 3 Masaccio More Than Illusion

In the 15th century, Florence, Italy, was the heartbeat of a magnificent revolution in art. It was unfolding through its paintings, its sculptures, and its architecture. Old forms of outdated thinking were being challenged, and new forms of artistic thought were being introduced. We simply call it the Renaissance. Florence was its site primarily because it bore all the hallmarks for success. Florence had a high literacy rate. It also had a flourishing economy of successful wool merchants, goldsmiths, and financiers. All this wealth was driven by the famed Medici family, whose banking prowess brought the city international attention. Such economic might attracted the generous funding of the arts by the people of Florence who wanted to leave a visible legacy for their descendants to see and remember, especially the wealthy men who insured themselves funerary chapels on consecrated ground. Goldsmiths who financed gilded bronze sculptures like those by Lorenzo Ghiberti on the baptistry doors of the Florence Cathedral. Architects like Filippo Brunelleschi, who figured out how to build a cathedral whose dome is still the largest masonry vault in the world. Painters like Tommaso Masaccio, who visually defied the limits and boundaries of space and distance using only a flat surface like a canvas or a wall. This conversation about art will look briefly at Masaccio's life and work. In particular, we will focus on one painting that he completed for a church in Florence, Italy. It is a fresco in a private chapel and it captures nicely his pioneering work in creating a three-dimensional world on a two-dimensional wall. Masaccio was born in 1401 in Tuscany. His given name was Tommaso di Giovanni di Simone Guidi. His friends nicknamed him Masaccio, loosely translated Sloppy Tom, for his general appearance. His first biographer, a fellow artist named Vasari, made this drawing. Vasari tells us Masaccio's colleague, a man named Massalino, helped with many of these scenes. Massalino's nickname was The Delicate One. They must have made quite a pair. We do know that Masaccio received his required professional credentials in 1422 when his name was recorded as an official member of the Guild of Painters. These guilds still host a parade in Florence. Masaccio's art soon caught the eye of patrons and viewers alike. An altarpiece called Virgin and Child was painted for a small church in Pisa, Italy in the year 1426. It was the central panel of a larger altarpiece with its other panels now located in other museums around the world. This particular panel is in London's National Gallery. The Virgin Mary sits on a carved throne. The right side of her cloak is cast in shadows. The golden background represents heaven. Angels stand nearby. The baby Jesus sits on Mary's lap. He has both human and divine characteristics. Masaccio depicts him with fleshy components that we would expect to see in babies, but that wasn't always the case in Italian art. Earlier traditions show a baby that, well, doesn't look like a baby. The wisdom and divinity of Jesus were more important than his humanity. This baby Jesus looks like an ancient philosopher. He holds a scroll with his left hand that he has just studied, or maybe he has just finished writing himself. But in the paintbrush of Masaccio, themes of naturalism and humanism begin to emerge, subtly at first. Halos of gold surround both their heads. Mary's is the old-fashioned kind that artists would paint, a plate-like object holding firm behind her head. But notice Jesus' halo is strikingly different. His halo hovers above his head, and when Jesus' head moves, his halo moves more naturally and rotates according to where it needs to be positioned. The Christ child is looking at us, as a small child might do when a stranger enters his room, let's say, interrupting his lunch. Juicy, fresh grapes. The viewer knows that this is religious symbolism for the wine of the sacrament of Holy Communion. Mary, meanwhile, seems distracted as she contemplates the prophecy that Jesus will die an early, violent death. Masaccio shows us with solemnity a holy scene, to be sure. It's what the patron asked for. But Masaccio does it with an everyday, natural manner, as we watch this chubby baby stuffing his mouth with a handful of tasty fruit. These details were rare for their day. Masaccio also had been commissioned to paint some wall murals back in Florence in the year 1425. This church here is known as the Church of Santa Maria del Carmine. It was built in the 13th century, and its façade, the front of the building, was never completed, hence its rather medieval looking appearance. Inside this church, there is a richly decorated smaller chapel, paid for by a wealthy Florentine merchant named Felice Brancacci. It was designed and paid for to honor his deceased uncle. This fresco wall painting, he commissioned Masaccio and his colleague Massolino to create, depict scenes from the life of St. Peter. St. Peter is the theme that holds them all together. Some of those thematic connections can be hard to discern. This painting is entitled The Tribute Money. Here, Peter gathers with other disciples as described in Matthew 17, where Jesus speaks about paying a temple tax. Notice two things. First, how Masaccio captures this scenery, both with mountains in the distance, as well as a building in the foreground. He has chosen to test his landscape skills. Second, notice the story of the disciples as they discuss the tax in a three-part narrative moving from left to right, and then back and forth throughout the dialogue found in the biblical text. This story is not a simple geometric progression. Masaccio wants us to think and think hard. Masaccio carefully shows his level of expertise, I think, in four ways. The first is in portrait painting. The second is in landscape scenery. The third has to do with principles of architecture, and the fourth is a compelling storyline. All this by the age of 24. No one had created such a complex composition like this with such clarity, forcefulness, and range of painterly skills before Masaccio. Now, look to the left of this large tribute scene, and you'll see a small but equally compelling image from the book of Genesis. This image is perhaps the most revolutionary picture in this chapel. Located up high on the left wall is Adam and Eve, one single moment from their Garden of Eden story. Interestingly, Masaccio has chosen their expulsion from the garden. He did not choose a story from the creation, nor from the temptation, not from the original sin of eating from the wrong apple. He chose the story of expulsion. This scene gives, I think, Masaccio an opportunity to do something radically new with his paintbrush. We see actual people feeling actual emotions. We've seen hints of this in Giotto's art 100 years before, but now the intensity of this drama has been raised a level. The angel with a mean-looking steel-like sword is forcefully driving both of them out of the garden. Both Adam and Eve's expressions of their sorrow, or pain, or regret, or any number of possible emotions could be shown, but notice that each of them does it in their own way. Adam is covering his eyes. He can't look. His hands go straight to his face, not to his private parts, which most other artists would choose. That's the natural reaction. Amon escapes his lips. Eve is more modest, but even that sense of modesty is cast aside when she tilts her head back, closes her eyes, opens her mouth, and utters a howl of grief. Anybody see a similar emotion on the face of the woman in Edvard Munch's The Scream in 1893? The Renaissance is seeing the signs of a truly great thinker of ideas and creator of images that we still marvel at 700 years later. One final image may be just the one that most people will associate with Masaccio's name. It's a fresco painted on a church wall. It can be deceptive when you first look at it. This church in Florence is the Dominican Church of Santa Maria Novella. Its construction began in 1275 and it opened in 1420. A large crucifix hanging from the ceiling near the front of the church was painted by one of the first artists to explore Renaissance ideals. His name was Giotto. Masaccio's painting is located along the left side of this church, along the nave, near the wooden pulpit. The painting measures 22 feet high by 10 and a half feet wide. As a fresco, it's made of wet plaster mixed with powdered pigment using egg yolk to hold it together. When the plaster on the wall dries, the colored pigments remain. Fresco is durable and fresco can last hundreds of years. Let's start with what we see. The painting is a 15th century religious work called the Trinity. It refers to God the Father, Jesus the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Those are the primary focal points for you to look at. The Virgin Mary and Saint John the Evangelist stand beneath them. The portraits of two donors on the lower level flank this biblical scene. The painting follows a popular visual tradition called the Throne of Mercy. The roots for the story of the Throne of Mercy are in the Old Testament, but these art images date back to the early 12th century. You'll find this theme in stained glass windows, in sculpture for altarpieces, on the robes of priests, on ecclesiastical tapestries, and in prayer books, among others. God is at the top holding up the arms of Jesus nailed to the cross. I find that unusual. Perhaps that's an artist's effort to counter the notion when Jesus cried out, why have you forsaken me? The image suggests that he is not forsaken. God is there to help hold him up. A white dove between the two is the symbol for the Holy Spirit. Notice how Masaccio explores the figures and the space they inhabit. He places them under a large dome which seems to disappear into the background. If we start by looking at the person farthest from our view, we see God, dressed in a blue and red robe, standing on a wooden platform. In front of God is the cross holding Jesus. Below Jesus, on the left side, is the Virgin Mary. She is pointing to Jesus, her Son, while she is looking directly at us. She is not the youthful Mary we find in most other art images of this time. She is stern. She is calling us to reflect on this sacrificial theme. Below Mary, two donors are in meditation. Below all of them is an image of a stone burial sarcophagus with a skeleton resting on top of it. The words above it are written in Italian, not Latin. To be precise, they are words in the Tuscan dialect that modern Italian is based on. Another Masaccio insight. The words translated say, What you are, I once was, and what I am, you will be. Death and its reminders are ever-present. All of these images are placed within an architectural framework that plays with our sense of reality and illusion. An art term for illusionary space is often referred to as trompe l'oeil. That's French for fool the eye. Here is a modern version of trompe l'oeil, painted by an artist named in 1874. Masaccio is doing that here in 1426. When you look at it closely, the room seems to recede into the background while simultaneously expanding out in front towards us. The sarcophagus with a skeleton seems to be closer to you and me than the seven figures up on top. Here's a diagram showing a side view. You can see the distances that Masaccio wants us to imagine. Masaccio achieves this illusion by a technique called linear perspective. He was one of the first to explore this concept in painting. Masaccio imagines invisible straight lines starting at the top of the rounded ceiling and converging at a single point at the foot of the platform. We learn this concept of looking at space that may not be real as children. We learn that when we see train tracks appearing to merge in the distance, that's not real. It's just an illusion. If we draw a picture that seems to show a road, let's say, that magically disappears into the distance, we know it's just a picture. It's not actually how the road works in real life. Artists create imaginary lines to help them achieve this sense of depth and illusion. Where all the lines converge, artists call this the vanishing point. It's just trompe l'oeil. It ain't real, or at least it's not supposed to be real. When Masaccio paints a color image on a flat wall, he brings all these imaginary lines to focus on one single meeting point right at eye level. Using 3D technology, we understand what Masaccio is telling us. Notice three things. Jesus is behind, not just above Mary and John, but behind them. Mary and John are behind, not just above, they are behind the two donors. And behind all of these figures is God. What do you think Masaccio might be saying here? Well, I think it has to do with the Renaissance rediscovering the principles first promoted back in classical Greece. We see a space, like in Athens, where harmony, balance, and order are valued and they are visible. We see a large room where a concrete ceiling in ancient Rome shows how majestic a soaring dome can defy gravity and reflect our creativity and our possibility. Renaissance Florence is seeking a rebirth of this thinking. Humankind is the measure of all things. What a great painting this School of Athens is depicting all these famous thinkers. But don't forget to check for visual cues as well. Looks like some depth of space is also at work here in this painting by Raphael. He's treating us to his take on three-dimensional space. Imaginary lines recede into the distance. They will converge at a single vanishing point. Look at the two men in the center. That's where you'll find it. And if you really want some mind-numbing precision and analysis, try this set of converging lines. When Masaccio places God farther back along the wooden platform, he is suggesting that the space being depicted is not otherworldly. The space is real. It's part of our everyday experience. There is some light and there is some darkness. And the space follows the laws of science. Closely look at the figure of God. God is not seated on a throne. God is not floating in space. God is not some abstract principle or theological concept. God is a human person who in this painting happens to be a male. God has weight. God is affected by the same gravity all the others feel. God is a person who is standing. God is using arms we can see. God is using feet we can see. Look at God's left foot. Do you notice God has no sandals? God is barefoot. His toes are peeking out from under his robe. Before the Renaissance, artists would not dare to think of God in such language or in such imagery. But here God looks like someone as historians Stephen Zucker and Beth Harris point out, who is of flesh and blood. What it means to be really human. Masaccio takes us places in our minds that are both real and somehow simultaneously beyond reality. This is his genius. This is his gift. It's a lot like this picture. A person who looks at a flat wall and yet for a moment suspends all the laws of science and nature. We see a person who dares to imagine this space in front of him as a space to actually go into. That I think is what Masaccio is inviting us to do. To imagine what an artist is suggesting and to step forward into that place and experience in your mind's eye what awaits you there. Masaccio died soon after he finished this painting. He was barely 27 years old. One wonders what other artistic gifts he might have left us. Thank you for watching.