Giambologna
Narrator of the Catholic Reformation
Mary Weitzel Gibbons
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS
Berkeley · Los Angeles · Oxford
© 1995 The Regents of the University of California

Figure 14.
Laocoön , first century B.C. Marble, 184 cm.
Museo Vaticano, Rome.

Figure 15.
The Punishment of Dirke , original of 150 B.C. Marble, 370 cm.
Museo Nazionale, Naples.
of powerful energy, suavity, and grace. Baldinucci recounts an entertaining incident that purportedly took place between Giambologna and Michelangelo; whether true or not, it does set up an Italian artistic genealogy for Giambologna. According to the story, the young sculptor one day took one of his models to Michelangelo, who promptly destroyed it, fashioned another to please himself, and advised Giambologna to learn how to make a proper bozzetto before embarking on the finished product.[34] More certain, though not provable, are Giambologna’s visits to the workshop of Guglielmo della Porta, where he could have learned bronze casting and seen restorations of ancient works.[35] The exposure to both ancient and Renaissance works was to inspire Giambologna throughout his career and very early superseded any lingering Flemish idiosyncrasies of style he might have acquired in his homeland.
About 1556, models in hand, Giambologna began the long return trip to Flanders, stopping off in Florence on the way. Initially he found support and work through the wealthy patron Bernardo Vecchietti.[36] The combination of Vecchietti’s contacts and Giambologna’s talent eventually led to continuous patronage by the ruling Medici: Grand Dukes Cosimo, Francesco, and Ferdinando. Such a receptive and welcoming environment evidently induced Giambologna to remain in Florence for the rest of his long life, during which he became the most famous and influential sculptor in Europe between Michelangelo and Bernini.
When he received the Grimaldi Chapel commission in 1579, Giambologna was fifty years old and enjoyed noble patronage as court sculptor to Grand Duke Francesco de’ Medici of Florence. Writing a hundred years later, Baldinucci attributed Giambologna’s fame to Medici patronage: “The celebrated Flemish sculptor Giovanni Bologna, thanks to having fallen into the hands of a magnanimous prince, achieved not only perfection in his art and riches but such fame as to render him immortal forever.”[37]
Giambologna’s reputation extended throughout Europe, principally because of his bronze statuettes, which were much in demand.[38] This reputation was protected by the high quality of the work that issued from his busy shop, where he supervised many well-trained assistants, who later went off to work for princes in northern Europe. Rarely did Giambologna leave Florence, and when he did, his position as court sculptor obliged him to secure the grand duke’s permission to work for another patron.[39] Even the Holy Roman Emperors Maximilian II and
his son Rudolf II were unsuccessful when they tried to lure Giambologna to work for them.[40] This was the situation when Luca Grimaldi decided that he wanted the great Giambologna to decorate his family funeral chapel. How he lured him is an intriguing question that will be treated in Chapter 2.
Giambologna’s efforts for his noble Genoese patron were very much in tune with the spirit of the Catholic Reformation in the late sixteenth century.[41] The Grimaldi Chapel is only one example, another being the Salviati Chapel in Florence, of how the prevalent view of Giambologna as a superficial mannerist is completely off the mark. Efforts at reform in the visual arts focused on a straightforward presentation of narrative and the elimination of any elements that might be considered distracting, implausible, or lascivious. Prominent among the reformers were Cardinal Gabriele Paleotti and Giovanni Andrea Gilio da Fabriano, both of whose treatises circulated widely.[42] But Giambologna went further than simply following their dicta in his work for the Grimaldi Chapel. He explored and exploited the narrative possibilities of relief to create a dynamic interaction between viewer and work of art. By adapting the multiple-view technique normally applicable only to freestanding sculpture, he succeeded in his relief sculptures in involving the viewer, through time, as an active participant in the unfolding narrative. After Giambologna, Bernini carried this involvement of the spectator to its apogee, integrating the pictorial and narrative characteristics of relief into freestanding sculpture.
Giambologna placed the six narrative reliefs above the statues of saints in their niches in the Salviati Chapel, where these reliefs have a vertical format, about 1.47 × 1.10 meters, instead of a horizontal one and are much larger than the Grimaldi relief panels, which are .47 × .71 meters. The height of the Salviati reliefs is one and a half times the width, whereas the proportions of the Grimaldi are the reverse, with the width about one and a half times the height, like the dark marble panels set into the wall beneath the saint statues in the Salviati Chapel. Because of their size and format the Salviati reliefs had to be placed above, rather than beneath, the saint statues. If we look at one of the Salviati reliefs, Saint Antoninus Reconciling the Signoria (Fig. 32), we see clearly that

Figure 32.
Giambologna, Saint Antoninus Reconciling the Signoria , 1581–87. Bronze, 147 × 110 cm.
Salviati Chapel, San Marco, Florence.
Giambologna designed them with the viewpoint of the spectator in mind; the ground planes are tipped up and the perspective adjusted for easier viewing. The depth of the relief is also adapted to the viewer, with the heads and upper bodies of the figures sculpted in higher relief whereas the lower bodies are much flatter. Giambologna’s manifest concern for the spectator in the Florentine chapel would have been expressed in the Grimaldi Chapel as well.
Fortunately, Giambologna’s own burial chapel in Santissima Annunziata helps verify that the reliefs in the Grimaldi Chapel were placed beneath the statues. A set of the six Passion reliefs virtually identical to those mentioned in the Grimaldi contract decorates this chapel.[31] Apparently Giambologna was so pleased with the Grimaldi reliefs that he persuaded Grand Duke Ferdinando I to give the six replicas to him for his chapel, where he had them placed below the statues, undoubtedly reflecting the arrangement of the Grimaldi Chapel, for there is no reason to suppose that in the Annunziata chapel Giambologna would have departed from the earlier arrangement. Thus in the Grimaldi Chapel the spectator’s viewpoint for the reliefs—in contrast to that for the reliefs in the Salviati Chapel—was calculated at about a foot above eye level (approximately five feet, five inches). The photograph of Christ Crowned with Thorns in the Annunziata chapel (Fig. 33) confirms this placement, and the calculation itself argues conclusively that the reliefs were beneath the statues. From a purely aesthetic point of view, the Grimaldi reliefs could have been placed over the Virtue statues, but then they would have been indecipherable and their entire narrative import would have been lost, an unacceptable solution. The contract for Giambologna’s burial chapel, dated 1594, specifically gave the artist a free hand in devising his own program and decoration, as long as his choices did not violate the decrees of the Council of Trent.[32] Locating these Passion reliefs above the statues certainly would have violated the Council’s demand for clear comprehension of the narrative.
The location of the Grimaldi reliefs under the Virtue statues would have followed a long-established tradition in painted and sculpted altarpieces of placing narrative scenes below standing figures. Thus the relationship of the reliefs to the statues above them is the same as that of predella panels to the painted figures of saints above them. Many fifteenth- and sixteenth-century sculpted altarpieces, such as Benedetto da Maiano’s Altar of the Annunciation (Fig. 34) and Andrea Sansovino’s Corbinelli altar (c. 1490, Santo Spirito, Florence), display the same for-

Figure 33.
Giambologna, Christ Crowned with Thorns , 1585–87. Bronze, 47 × 71 cm.
Soccorso Chapel, Santissima Annunziata, Florence.
The challenge of the Grimaldi commission proved a rich opportunity for Giambologna, who at fifty, well into middle age, was known chiefly for his statuary. As court sculptor to Grand Duke Francesco de’ Medici of Florence, he not only enjoyed patronage but also supervised a large shop that produced works for all the courts of Europe.[7] Nevertheless,

Figure 40.
Giambologna, Allegory of Prince Francesco de’ Medici , c. 1560–61. Alabaster, 31 × 45 cm.
Museo del Prado, Madrid.

Figure 41.
Giambologna, Rape of Europa , c. 1574–75, marble.
Oceanus Fountain, Boboli Gardens, Florence.

Figure 42.
Giambologna, Neptune Fountain, 1563–66. Bronze, 335 cm (Neptune figure).
Piazza del Nettuno, Bologna.
he was relatively inexperienced in relief sculpture, the Allegory of Prince Francesco de’ Medici (Fig. 40) and the stone reliefs on the base of the Oceanus Fountain (Rape of Europa , Fig. 41) representing the extent of his work in that genre. In bronze, his expertise encompassed large works, such as the Neptune Fountain (Fig. 42) as well as many small statuettes in the same vein as the Studiolo Apollo (Fig. 43). The problems of narrative were even less familiar to him, and he had rarely dealt with religious subject matter, the Altar of Liberty (Fig. 24) for the cathedral in Lucca (1577–79) being the notable exception. Giambologna’s only

Figure 43.
Giambologna, Apollo , 1573–75. Bronze, 88.5 cm.
Palazzo Vecchio, Florence.
other religious and narrative work comparable in scale and significance to the Grimaldi Chapel was the Salviati Chapel (Figs. 20–22), just under way when the contract for the Grimaldi was signed. Both these relief cycles, with their new emphasis on narrative clarity and dramatic focus, belong to the reform age.
During the period when Giambologna was working on the Grimaldi Chapel commission, we recall that he was also finishing the famous Rape of the Sabines (unveiled in 1583; Fig. 1) and its relief. The differences, both obvious and subtle, between this work, even admitting its interpre-
tation as a political allegory of Medici rule, and the Grimaldi reliefs dramatize the revolutionary change being ushered in by the latter.[8] The two commissions share some of the same stylistic characteristics, but their goals are patently different.
In the Rape of the Sabines , solving a difficult problem of design is a principal goal. The statue is the paradigmatic embodiment of virtù, an ethical quality the sixteenth century ascribed to the arts; the demonstration of virtuosity that first engages the viewer is itself an indication of the artist’s possession of virtù .[9] In the Grimaldi reliefs the story itself first compels attention. Remembering that a sixteenth-century viewer was attuned to the moral value of this demonstration, unlike the twentieth-century viewer, puts this argument in a historical, rather than a polemical, perspective. The Sabine statue, a true multiple-view work, met sixteenth-century theorists’ demands that statues provide satisfying views from all sides. Spectators moving around the work experience continuously evolving views, which give the illusion of an action in progress. Even the relief (Fig. 44), with its extensive setting and pictorial form, although ostensibly a narrative, presumably intended to elaborate on the statue above, relegates the “story” to a subsidiary role, emphasizing, rather, the display of magnificent nude bodies engaged in physical struggle. One sees in this visual embellishment a parallel to the art of rhetoric in the late sixteenth century.[10] It is apparent that the impact of the relief on an audience conditioned by such theory does not lie in any story it illustrates but derives from the beauty of the design and its components: the complex intertwining of bodies, their torsion and sweeping gestures. Raffaello Borghini’s story, already recounted, confirms what the eye perceives, that the aesthetic problem was the main preoccupation in both the freestanding group and the relief on the base. It is not that the statue and its relief are without subject but that the narrative content is secondary.
Two works by a single artist that are as diverse as the Rape of the Sabines and the Grimaldi reliefs owe their differences to context and function. The Rape of the Sabines is a secular work made, as far as we know, not to fulfill a commission but to appeal to the discriminating judgment of the cognoscenti. It certainly conformed to the taste of Grand Duke Francesco de’ Medici, whose enthusiasm about it prompted him to have it placed prominently, next to Cellini’s Perseus in the Loggia dei Lanzi, Piazza Signoria. In contrast to the Sabine statue, the Grimaldi cycle, falling in the religious sphere, had to satisfy other requirements; surely

Figure 44.
Giambologna, Rape of the Sabines , 1582–83. Bronze relief, 74 × 89 cm.
Loggia dei Lanzi, Florence.
it would have been affected by the Council of Trent’s general statement on art at its twenty-fifth session, in 1563, which set the stage for specific directives on the representation of sacred subjects. Local synods, led by powerful churchmen such as Gabriele Paleotti and Carlo Borromeo, then elaborated on these.[11]
Within the overall structure of his narrative Giambologna’s technical means are visible principally in the composition of the reliefs: in the spatial layout and the figural and architectural groupings. But he went further than simple narrative clarity. He introduced the multiple-view technique in conjunction with multipoint perspective, thus inviting the spectator’s active participation and psychological involvement in the developing narrative.
Each of the Grimaldi reliefs is similarly organized on a tripartite division of the major elements of the composition, as others have observed.
In Christ before Pilate (Plate 7), for example, there are three distinct groups of figures—Pilate’s on the right, Christ’s in the center, and the soldiers on the left. The architectural setting reinforces the division of the groups.
Entryy for July 7, 2009
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GiambolognaNarrator of the Catholic ReformationMary Weitzel GibbonsUNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESSBerkeley · Los Angeles · Oxford© 1995 The Regents of the University of California
In the Grimaldi reliefs, Giambologna changes the viewer’s relationship to the work of art from a self-conscious appreciation of the aesthetic content to a direct involvement in the story. The intention is not, as in maniera works, to call attention to the contact figure by isolating it from the rest of the composition but to put the viewer in closer touch with the scene. Consequently, Giambologna places one or more sculpted spectators at the edge of the relief, often overlapping the frame and thus penetrating the viewer’s space. Donatello’s fifteenth-century San Lorenzo pulpits, outstanding examples of interaction between viewer and image that had been reinstalled in the nave of the church in the sixteenth century, were important precedents for Giambologna. Spectators in his works, as in Donatello’s, create a tangible physical connection to the viewer’s environment. With respect not only to the viewer but also to the episode illustrated, the spectators in each Grimaldi panel bridge the gap between fictive and real space and invite the viewer to ― 106 ―
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Figure 52. enter the scene. The figures in the crowd in Ecce Homo (Plate 10) are examples. They stride in at an oblique angle from both sides, that is, from the viewer’s space. The open foreground of the relief makes the viewer part of the crowd. Similarly, in Pilate Washing His Hands (Plate 11), viewers can easily take their place beside the man stroking his beard at the left edge of the panel. But Giambologna’s principal way of changing the relationship between viewer and work of art was his creation of multiple views in his reliefs, as in his freestanding sculptures. A sculptural composition having multiple views, that is, having more than one or two satisfactory view- ― 107 ―
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Figure 53. ing points, enabled, indeed required, the viewer to assume more than one position. Although the spectator can take in only one view at a time, a succession of views in a work so constructed exists in the mind as an ongoing experience. Giambologna’s Rape of the Sabines (Fig. 1), for example, impels the viewer to circle the work to gain its full impact. The concept of multiple views, current in Florence in the mid-sixteenth century, is most commonly associated with freestanding sculpture. Although it may seem impossible to apply it to relief, which cannot be circled, it works within the limitations determined by the planar character of the relief. ― 108 ―
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Figure 54. The ideal realization of the multiple view was a matter of considerable debate among theorists and artists. Although Cellini, for example, in his reply to Benedetto Varchi’s Inchiesta of 1546 on the relative merits of painting vis-à-vis sculpture, wrote that a statue ought to have eight views, his opinions on this subject were not always consistent.[19] Vasari explains in his Vite that a statue should look equally satisfying from all sides. Echoing Vasari’s opinion, Raffaello Borghini, in Il riposo , 1584, says that freestanding sculptures should be made so that they can be admired from all sides. Giambologna, closely associated with the group that congregated at the Villa Il Riposo to discuss this and many other aesthetic issues, must have been concerned with them himself. A sculpture less well known than the Rape of the Sabines but equally brilliant, the little bronze fountain figure Morgante (Fig. 54) illustrates how perfectly ― 109 ―
Giambologna understood the concept of the continuous multiple view, which could be realized only in sculpture.[20] In these works the kinematic effect created by constantly evolving views produces the illusion of an action in progress, requiring the physical participation of the viewer.[21] Each position of the spectator is linked to the one before and to the one that will follow, to create a chain of temporal and spatial experience. As the spectator changes position, the work of art appears to move into a subsequent moment of the action or event. Time thus becomes an issue in the meaning of the work. The unfolding of time through the active participation of, rather than the passive viewing by, the spectator creates a dynamic interaction between viewer and work of art. Throughout his career Giambologna was occupied with the problem of multiple views in freestanding sculpture. The Grimaldi commission gave him an opportunity to develop the technique, this time in relief and with the objective of producing a viewer-oriented narrative of Christ’s Passion. Perhaps Giambologna had a further motive, conscious or not, for using multiple views in the Grimaldi reliefs: his desire to add another chapter to the paragone debate. Relief is a pictorial competitor of painting, but it is also a bridge between sculpture and painting and therefore a means of eliminating the separation and accomplishing the unification of the arts, an issue of prime significance in the late sixteenth century.[22] In his 1546 Inchiesta Varchi had elicited the opinions of famous artists such as Michelangelo, Cellini, and Bronzino on the relative merits of painting and sculpture. Cellini’s claims concerning multiple views put sculpture ahead. In about 1553, however, Bronzino, in his double-sided painting of Morgante (according to an article by Holderbaum), successfully refuted Cellini’s claims for sculpture.[23] In the 1580s Giambologna took up Bronzino’s challenge in the bronze Morgante , ostensibly reestablishing the supremacy of sculpture. Extending this innovation into the medium of relief was Giambologna’s extraordinary accomplishment. The implications of combining the multiple-view technique and multipoint perspective in narrative relief are worth considering. Such works of art have no single ideal viewing point, or even fixed alternative viewing points, but can be seen from different angles, from which their subjects read differently. Furthermore, different views evoke different responses. Any of the Grimaldi reliefs may be seen satisfactorily from many positions, but at each they take on a different shade of meaning. Multipoint perspective is a necessary corollary of multiple views. Ac- ― 110 ―
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Figure 55. cording to this system, a fixed or single vanishing point is replaced by a vanishing area in which orthogonals converge (Fig. 55). As a consequence, the action portrayed appears to unfold, and the viewer is freed from the fixed viewing point. If we take as a demonstration three views from different vantage points of Pilate Washing His Hands (Figs. 56a–c), we can see how this phenomenon works. These three, among the many views possible, show an unfolding narrative. The multiple-view technique that creates this narrative also permits relief to function like freestanding sculpture.[24] A viewer standing at the left side of the relief close to the relief figure near that edge (Fig. 56a) sees the scene from that figure’s vantage point. Christ’s frail body on the far side of the relief nearly disappears under the rough handling of the two soldiers who push and drag him away. Twisting sharply and tensing their muscular bodies, the soldiers stride off with their prisoner in a compact group, which is set on a striking orthogonal. The viewer looking at the back of Christ’s head as he is being pulled away clearly sees three soldiers lined up at the right edge ― 111 ―
of the relief. The most prominent of the three overlaps the frame; the turning of his body propels the viewer’s eye toward the center of the relief. Here, the corridor of space between the buildings seems traversable even as it distinctly separates the activities of the two main actors in the story. From this vantage point the face of a significant actor in the drama, the young black boy who pours the water for Pilate’s hand washing, is riveting. From a position directly in front of the relief (Fig. 56b), the overtones of the event change subtly. The irregular triangular space in the center foreground emphatically separates Pilate’s group from Christ’s, making the action instantly comprehensible. Viewers have a clear, if somewhat detached, view of the scene, comparable to that of an audience watching a play. From this vantage point the acute orthogonal created by the bodies and legs of the soldiers shoving Christ away propels the eye directly from the lower right corner of the relief to Pilate’s group on the other side. His group, in turn, arranged on a less acute orthogonal, directs the eye down the street into deep space. The clear and judicious placement of the figures in their architectural setting thus both separates and relates these two groups. Still a third viewing point, from the right of center (Fig. 56c), produces another impression of the event, one that involves the viewer more intensely in the drama, partly because the group with Christ is now physically closer. This intense involvement begins with the view of the bulging muscular back of the soldier grasping Christ. His physical effort, evident in all of his flexed muscles, is matched by the intentness of his gaze into Christ’s face. Just as engrossed, the soldier on the other side of Christ stares at the back of Christ’s head, pushing vigorously from behind. The dramatic effect of these two powerfully activated figures is strengthened by their proximity to the fragile figure of Christ, who makes no effort to resist. The simultaneous view of Pilate, who concentrates on his hand washing while the young black servant stares into his face, heightens the import of the hand-washing ritual. The figure at the left edge of the relief who overlaps the frame, into whose face we look, leads back again to Christ’s group. The result of assuming a succession of vantage points in front of Pilate Washing His Hands would be variations of the three impressions of the scene just described. Although any view of the relief presents an understandable image, a shifting physical relationship yields subtle changes of meaning.[25] Accordingly, the story is not limited to one interpretation. ― 112 ―
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Figure 56a. Shifting views can, for example, focus on Pilate’s effort to absolve himself of the responsibility for Christ’s condemnation or on the plight of Christ in the hands of the soldiers. The multiple views expose the richness and complexity of a story, laden with psychological and moral questions, that might otherwise have been limited in time and space. The other Grimaldi reliefs similarly exemplify the effect of varying points of view on a viewer’s interpretation of the subject. A frontal view of Ecce Homo (Fig. 57a) suggests to the viewer the noisy clamor of the gesticulating crowds on either side of Christ. From the left (Fig. 57b), however, the fragile bent figure of Christ above the throng gains the viewer’s undivided attention. A similar effect prevails in The Way to Calvary (Figs. 58a–c), despite its flatter surface. The dramatic meeting of Christ and Veronica commands the attention of the viewer who stands just to the right of center of the relief (Fig. 58b). Moving close to Veronica’s own position, farther to the right, the viewer is able to experience her more personal involvement as she looks into the face of Christ ― 113 ―
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Figure 56b (top of page). ― 114 ―
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Figure 57a (top of page). ― 115 ―
(Fig. 58c). The advancing row of horses and soldiers at the left conveys the inevitability of this death march. Thus Giambologna’s narrative reliefs, by presenting the spectator with many possible views, effectively attack what might be called the tyranny of the single point of view and give the spectator a freedom of choice and an opportunity to become deeply involved in the nuances of the story, an altogether more subjective approach to visual representation than had occurred previously. A consideration now of some earlier masterpieces of pictorial relief can help us judge Giambologna’s place in the history of the genre. He was both eclectic and synthetic in his achievement. Many works of two great revivers of pictorial relief in the early Renaissance, Ghiberti and Donatello, whose Feast of Herod (Fig. 49) has been discussed, were visible daily to Giambologna in Florence from his arrival in 1556.[26] Reminiscences of Ghiberti’s flowing rhythms and lyricism are found in some passages of the Grimaldi reliefs, especially in the figure of Christ in The Flagellation (Plate 8), strikingly similar in form and effect to the Christ of Ghiberti’s Flagellation (Fig. 59) on the north doors of the Florentine Baptistery. The grace and beauty of both are reminiscent of the late classical style of Praxiteles, as seen in the Apollo Sauroctonus.[27] The ancient work’s celebration of soft sensuous male beauty becomes in the Christian context of the Flagellation a reflection of the beauty of the divine. The opportunity to study Ghiberti’s relief cycle of Christ’s life on the north doors of the Baptistery as well as his magnificent cycle of Old Testament scenes on the Gates of Paradise must have had its effect on Giambologna. Taking his cue from Ghiberti in creating a supportive but unobtrusive setting, Giambologna established a proportional relationship between figures and architecture similar to that in the north doors, as a comparison of Giambologna’s Pilate Washing His Hands (Plate 11, Fig. 56b) with Ghiberti’s (Fig. 60) shows. Giambologna’s relief seems a further development and elaboration of the basic idea formulated by Ghiberti over a hundred years earlier, in which the figures dominate but the architecture provides the essential locus and helps accent the principal figures. Ghiberti’s relief, however, has only the barest hint of spatial illusionism in the background, which crowds in on figures that almost completely fill the foreground. In the Ghiberti panel, unlike the Grimaldi, nearly all the space derives from that created by the figures themselves. Rather than crowding his figures on the foreground plane as Ghiberti did, Giambologna has distributed them in a gradually receding ― 116 ―
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Figure 58a. space, which derives its limitless appearance partly from the architecture of the setting. Furthermore, Ghiberti seems not to have taken the spectator’s position into consideration, as Giambologna so clearly has. Some of the feeling of spatial illusionism and amplitude in Ghiberti’s Jacob and Esau (Fig. 61) has been adapted by Giambologna, whose rectangular format, however, lends itself to a tighter structure in which the figures are relatively more important; Ghiberti’s nearly square format results in an airy composition that exudes a sense of tranquillity and harmony despite the intensity of the event. Giambologna’s narrative, in contrast, is laden with dramatic tension. More significant, however, is the difference between Ghiberti’s simultaneous narration, in which several episodes of a story are represented in the same picture frame, as it were, and Giambologna’s multiple views.[28] In simultaneous narration observers seem to have the freedom to “read” the image as they will, but in fact, if the story is to be understood, there is only one way to read it, in the correct temporal sequence. ― 117 ―
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Figure 58b (top of page). ― 118 ―
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Figure 59. In contrast, Giambologna’s multiple views of a single episode give the viewer the opportunity to experience shades of meaning in an unfolding narrative. But the multiple-view device operates only when accompanied by infinite, or continuous, gradations of relief, as in the Grimaldi cycle. Ghiberti’s Pilate Washing His Hands (Fig. 60) admirably demonstrates the difference between continuous and noncontinuous gradations. Each layer or level of Ghiberti’s figures projects a uniform distance from the plane, to which the figures themselves are parallel or oblique. They are not, in other words, composed, like Giambologna’s, in spirals that give the effect of continuous gradations of relief. His technique not only ― 119 ―
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Figure 60. gives convincing three-dimensionality to the figures but also suggests movement in and out of a space that is not divided into either compartments or successive parallel planes. Many single figures demonstrate continuous gradation from high relief to schiacciato . One such notable figure is Simon of Cyrene, who helps Christ carry his cross (Fig. 62) in The Way to Calvary . The head, modeled in high relief, projects toward the spectator, casting a prominent shadow, while the left arm flattens out behind an arm of the cross, only to reemerge as Simon’s hand grasps the top of the cross near Christ’s head. Similarly, the head of Christ in Ecce Homo (Fig. 63) is actually detached from the ground; his bare arm is modeled in the round, while much of his body seems to recede into ― 120 ―
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Figure 61. the matrix of the panel. Equally impressive is the handling of the man standing in the center foreground of the crowd (at the left in Fig. 63). His far side and midsection cling to the panel, while his head, shoulder, cape, and right leg (see Plate 10) bend out toward the viewer. Infinite gradations, such as those found in single figures like these, play a prominent role in the overall effect of each relief in the cycle. Again in The Way to Calvary (Figs. 58a–c), although it is the relief with the least pro- ― 121 ―
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Figure 62. ― 122 ―
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Figure 63. jection, continuous gradation from high to low is clearly visible. Between the projecting body of the soldier at the far left, who stands in the viewer’s space, and the shoulder of the soldier to the right of the horses, the projection of the figures continuously diminishes so that the figures in the distant landscape appear as little more than “graffiti.” When devising ways to enliven the Passion scenes, Giambologna undoubtedly recalled Roman art, which makes extensive use of continuous gradations in relief. As a young sculptor he had spent two years, 1554–56, in Rome.[29] The accounts of his Roman sojourn, however meager, all attest to his admiration for Roman sculpture, recording that he made many models of famous works in wax and clay, which he brought with him to Florence in 1556.[30] Roman reliefs existed in abundance for him to see. On this first visit, as well as on subsequent trips to Rome, Giambologna would have been fortunate enough to see such monuments as the passageway reliefs on the Arch of Titus, still free of the disastrous effects of air pollution. The Roman genius for creating the excitement and immediacy of an event, particularly in art of the ― 123 ―
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Figure 64. Flavian period, must have sparked Giambologna’s interest.[31] The Procession of Spoils of Jerusalem (Fig. 64) from the Arch of Titus exhibits a spatial illusionism, similar to that of the Grimaldi reliefs, created by figures that emerge gradually from the subtlest low relief in the background to higher and finally almost fully rounded forms in the foreground. Such is the sense of immediacy that the action seems to take place before our eyes. Other elements of these reliefs also resemble elements of Giambologna’s—relationships between figures and setting, for example, in which figures dominate while the setting provides support for the evolving drama. Ostensibly realistic details detectable in the Grimaldi panels, such as the accurately rendered dress of the Roman soldiers and the handling of the soldiers’ spears, evoke the flavor of the early first-century Roman world and place Christ’s Passion in its historical setting. Relief in the Grimaldi cycle varies from a maximum projection of 10 centimeters to a minimum of barely 1 centimeter, so that the figures emerge and recede in a spatial arena that mimics the space of the spectator. Concomitantly, figures twist and turn through spatial planes, creat- ― 124 ―
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Figure 65a. ing the illusion of a spiraling motion that leads the eye continuously around the panel as if an extended contrapposto infused the whole composition.[32] How well this device works with that of multiple views may be seen in the familiar example of Pilate Washing His Hands (Plate 11, Figs. 56a–c). The body of the muscular soldier dragging Christ away is a spiral that culminates in his head, leading the eye around behind the figure of Christ to the other soldier pushing Christ from behind. The action of this group is thus completed. Simultaneously, the tilted head and bent arm of this second soldier carry the eye to the other side of the scene where Pilate is washing his hands. In Pilate’s group the sharp torsion of the black boy’s body unites the group behind him and focuses the viewer’s attention on Pilate, whose chest and shoulders turn toward the viewer while the lower part of his body extends toward Christ and the soldiers. The most active of the reliefs, The Flagellation (Figs. 65a–c), demonstrates how the twisting and turning of figures through spatial planes ― 125 ―
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Figure 65b (top of page). |
Entry for July 7, 2009
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GiambolognaNarrator of the Catholic ReformationMary Weitzel GibbonsUNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESSBerkeley · Los Angeles · Oxford© 1995 The Regents of the University of California |

Figure 82.
Giambologna, Christ before Pilate , c. 1585–87. Bronze, 47 × 71 cm.
Soccorso Chapel, Santissima Annunziata, Florence.

Figure 83.
Giambologna, The Flagellation , c. 1585–87. Bronze, 47 × 71 cm.
Soccorso Chapel, Santissima Annunziata, Florence.

Figure 84.
Giambologna, Christ Crowned with Thorns , c. 1585–87. Bronze, 47 × 71 cm.
Soccorso Chapel, Santissima Annunziata, Florence.

Figure 85.
Giambologna, Ecce Homo , c. 1585–87. Bronze, 47 × 71 cm. Soccorso Chapel, Santissima Annunziata, Florence.

Figure 86.
Giambologna, Pilate Washing His Hands , c. 1585–87. Bronze, 47 × 71 cm.
Soccorso Chapel, Santissima Annunziata, Florence.

Figure 87.
Giambologna, The Way to Calvary , c. 1585–87. Bronze, 47 × 71 cm.
Soccorso Chapel, Santissima Annunziata, Florence.

Figure 88.
Giambologna, Christ before Pilate , 1580. Wax model, 48 × 74 cm.
Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Figure 89.
Giambologna, Ecce Homo , 1580. Wax model, 48 × 74 cm.
Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Figure 90.
Giambologna, Pilate Washing His Hands , 1580. Wax model, 48 × 74 cm.
Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Figure 91.
Giambologna, The Flagellation , 1580. Wax model, 48 × 74 cm.
Queensland Art Gallery, Brisbane, Australia.

Figure 92.
Giambologna, Ecce Homo .
Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich.

Figure 93.
Giambologna, Christ before Pilate .
Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich.
Notes
Chapter 1— Preview
1. Giambologna’s Flemish name, Jehan Boullongne, or Jean Boulogne, was italianized to Giovanni Bologna, though the artist was more commonly called Giambologna by his Italian contemporaries. The misnomer Giovanni da Bologna, which lives on sporadically to this day, was occasionally used by contemporaries, and was perpetuated by Burckhardt, who, as James Holderbaum points out in The Sculptor Giovanni Bologna (New York, 1983), 5, erred in translating von , denoting Giambologna’s knighthood, into da , meaning “from.”






































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