Attributed Girolamo Mengozzi, Architectural Fantasy with Figures, ca. 1750. Oil on canvas34 3/8 x 28 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Myron Laskin,M1982.37. Photo by P. Richard Eels.

I have always loved architecture. As a child, nothing excited me more than a big old Victorian farmhouse. Greek Revival, Carpenter Gothic, Second Empire, Queen Anne—I was probably one of the only Wisconsin middle-schoolers who knew the nuances of American house design and could read—and draw—a floor plan.

As an undergraduate, one of my majors was Classical Civilization, and my interest in architecture easily translated to ancient buildings. When I studied in Rome during my junior year and was able to see ruins that I had been studying in photographs, I was so excited.

I actually cried a little when I walked into the Pantheon for the first time!

Working in the European department at the Milwaukee Art Museum doesn’t allow me a lot of possibilities to directly study architecture, but I have found one way to explore it indirectly. Tucked away in the corner of the Italian Baroque gallery (Gallery #6) is a painting that most visitors probably miss. It is Architectural Fantasy with Figures attributed to Girolamo Mengozzi (Italian, ca. 1688–ca. 1766).

Attributed Girolamo Mengozzi, Architectural Fantasy with Figures (detail), ca. 1750. Oil on canvas 34 3/8 x 28 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Myron Laskin, M1982.37. Photo by P. Richard Eels.

As you can imagine, what interested me about the painting at first is the meticulous classical setting—columns with Ionic and Corinthian columns, barrel vaults, and ancient sculpture.

A few figures in Roman costume sit and stand; in particular, the two figures almost at the center (detail at right) appear to be Roman soldiers with a flag and a sword.

With all of these details masterfully rendered by the artist, it should be easy to figure out the location of the painting, right?

Well, as the title of the painting hints, the painting does not show a setting that can be identified. It is a fantasy, an imaginary building from the artist’s mind, based upon examples that he saw around him in Italy.

“Fantasies” such as this were a common subject during the 18th century in Italy when a number of artists made their name depicting Roman architectural scenes called capriccio. Capriccio could be one of three types: views of ruins; the artist’s imaginary reconstruction of actual ancient monuments; or made-up buildings, either ancient and contemporary.  The ancient built environment offered a wealth of artistic inspiration for imaginative experiments in composition and atmosphere. (Capriccio comes from the Italian word for the unpredictable jumping of a young goat.)

Some masters of the cappricio are Marco Ricci, Giovanni Paolo Panini, and Piranesi. In particular, Piranesi’s work inspires the Romantic landscapes of the late 18th and early 19th century, such as those by Caspar David Friedrich.

Paintings like the Museum’s Mengozzi fantasy are not just part of the capriccio tradition, however. They reflect the 18th-century Italian interest, particularly in the area around Venice, in decorating villas with frescos that “extended” the room to an imaginative space beyond it. To accomplish this, special artists called quadratura created detailed architectural settings of columns, vaults, and railings that utilized the illusionistic technique of one-point perspective. This type of artwork is commonly known in English as trompe-l’œil, from the French phrase used for artwork that “fools the eye.”

Attributed Girolamo Mengozzi, Architectural Fantasy with Figures (detail), ca. 1750. Oil on canvas, 34 3/8 x 28 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Myron Laskin, M1982.37. Photo by P. Richard Eels.

The quadratura would work with a second artist who specialized in figure painting and who would paint narratives from mythology, ancient history, or the pastoral tradition inside the architectural framework. The Italian aristocrat who owned the villa could then sit back and enjoy his beautiful painted setting which makes the building look grander and bigger—not to mention makes him look well-educated for knowing the stories depicted in the frescos!

This leads me to the surprise about the Museum’s painting. When I started looking into it, I didn’t know anything about the artist, Girolamo Mengozzi (also spelled Mingozzi and sometimes called Girolamo Colonna). There is not much written on Mengozzi in English, but I soon discovered that he was a famous quadratura who worked for over twenty years with one of the greatest Venetian Baroque artists, Giambattista Tiepolo (Italian, 1696-1770). Together, they painted some of the best-known frescos of the period, such as the story of Antony and Cleopatra at the Palazzo Labia, Venice (ca. 1744) and mythological scenes in the Villa Valmarana, Vicenza (1757).

If Mengozzi is the artist of our painting, we really do have a treasure, because Mengozzi, like most quadratura, rarely painted on canvas. Therefore, all known works by the artist are either in Italy or on frescos that have been removed from their site (such as this one at the Metropolitan Museum of Art).

There is one pair of paintings that was sold at Christie’s in 2001 that has been attributed to Mengozzi (and Tiepolo), but that attribution is highly contested.

Attributed Girolamo Mengozzi, Architectural Fantasy with Figures, ca. 1750. Oil on canvas 34 3/8 x 28 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Myron Laskin, M1982.37. Photo by P. Richard Eels.

The Museum’s identification of the artist rests on the fact that it was sold to the donors as Mengozzi in 1979. Did the dealer only rely on the label on the frame? Or did he seek out expert opinion? As I’ve shown before in my post on Charlotte-Françoise DeBure by Catherine Lusurier, taking those little plaques at their word is not always the best idea.

Unfortunately, the painting does not appear to be signed. And if the architecture is by Mengozzi, who painted the figures? Could they have been done by Tiepolo?

At this point, I plan to send a photograph of the painting to experts in the field to get more reactions, in addition to continuing my own research. I’ll keep you updated!

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

Naples Italy, Nativity Scene (Crèche), mid 1700s. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Loretta Howard Sturgis, M2006.9.1-.20. Photo by John R. Glembin.

[Again for the 2011 holiday season, the Milwaukee Art Museum is thrilled to display the beloved Neopolitan crèche. Visit the Museum soon to enjoy this tradition with your family--the Nativity Scene will be on view through January 2012. Re-posted below is curator Catherine Sawinkski's 2010 blog post sharing the history of this artwork. ]

It’s that time of year again! The Museum’s Neapolitan crèche is on view in the galleries for the holiday season. You’ll find it in Gallery 4 of the Collection Galleries, with European art.

The origin of the popular Christmas tradition of re-staging the Nativity scene is usually credited to Saint Francis of Assisi in 1223. The custom reached its artistic height in eighteenth-century Naples, when the Museum’s version was made. Neapolitan nobles and aristocrats vied to outdo each other in presenting theatrical crèche (or presepio) displays with elaborate figures clothed in luxurious costumes.

Naples Italy, Nativity Scene (Crèche) Detail, mid 1700s. Gift of Loretta Howard Sturgis. Photo by John R. Glembin.

In addition to the Holy Family (detailed at right in the Museum’s nativity), the scenes would include angels, putti, shepherds, the Magi, and a host of barnyard animals. The most elaborate scenes would include daily life in Naples, such as the market, resulting in a lively scene mixing the sacred and the secular that could fill entire rooms.

Even King Charles III of Spain, who in 1734 added Naples to his domain, took up the hobby popular with the Italian aristocrats. At its height, his collection included almost 6,000 figures!

In the 18^th century, the figures were posed in intricate settings built of cork, wood, and plaster that incorporated elements of the landscape of southern Italy.

Few of these fragile stages survive. The display that the Milwaukee Art Museum uses is a 20^th-century creation. To see what a more historically accurate setting would be, see the installation re-created by the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh. The Carnegie website also shows details of their presepio, which illustrates the range of characters you could find in these installations.

Naples Italy, Nativity Scene (Crèche) Detail, mid 1700s. Gift of Loretta Howard Sturgis. Photo by John R. Glembin.

The figures themselves were crafted by some of the most distinguished artists of the day. The faces, known for their lively expressions and delicate features, are not molded but are one-of-a-kind sculptures. Bodies were usually made of hemp wrapped around a framework of iron wire that allowed the owner to vary the pose and posture of the figure. The heads and limbs were generally made of painted wood or terracotta.

The crèche figures were first placed on display in the Milwaukee Art Museum in 2005, and in 2006, Mrs. Loretta Howard Sturgis kindly gifted the figures to the Museum. Her mother, Mrs. Loretta Hines Howard, gave the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York over two hundred Neapolitan crèche figures, which they also display each year during the holidays.

But why travel to New York when you can see Neapolitan crèche figures right here in Milwaukee? When you stop by, make sure to look for the little dog, the favorite figure of many visitors.

Naples Italy, Nativity Scene (Crèche), mid 1700s. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Loretta Howard Sturgis. Photo by John R. Glembin.

South German, Virgin and Child, ca. 1550. Solnhofen stone, 7 1/4 x 6 1/2 x 1 3/4 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Anne H. and Frederick Vogel III in loving memory of his sister Grace Vogel Aldworth (1932-2002), M2003.67. Photo by John R. Glembin.

Sometimes with the rush of the holiday season, it is nice to take a deep breath and spend some time on your own.

In that spirit, I’d like to consider a small-scale stone relief Virgin and Child, ca. 1550.  You’ll find it at the Museum tucked in a case in Gallery #3, with works of the Northern Renaissance.

The artwork, carved in stone, is done in low relief and is set into a wood and silk case with a two-part hinged cover.   The small size allowed the owner to hold it in the palm of his or her hand for private contemplation and prayer.  The case is probably a later replacement, but it certainly would have had something similar to protect it when slipped into a drawer or carried for devotion during travel.

And what a beautiful image to inspire!  The Virgin Mary sits behind a ledge, just beyond the viewer’s space.  A curtain drapes across the window behind her, which shows a landscape at the right with buildings, figures, and a tree.  The Christ child stands nude on the ledge with all of the requirements of a precious bay: chubby limbs, round face, and wavy hair.  Meanwhile his mother lovingly puts her arm around him.  She reads a book while he looks out at the viewer.

The composition is based upon an Italian Renaissance artwork, possibly by the Venetian artist Giovanni Belleini (active by 1459-died 1516).  You can see a few examples of his paintings of this subject matter at the Detroit Institute of Arts, the Galleria Borghese in Rome, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The Virgin and Child scene is endearing and perfect for Christmas.  The sentiment runs deeper, however, because like most good artworks, every detail has important meaning:

• The Virgin Mary reads a book.  This illustrated her educated status—much championed by the church—and most likely contains the scriptures, which not only displays her piety but also foretells the fate of her child, the reason that he was sent to earth.  Christ looks out at the viewer, his eye contact making it clear that he understands all of this despite his age.

  South German, Virgin and Child (detail), ca. 1550. Solnhofen stone, 7 1/4 x 6 1/2 x 1 3/4 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Anne H. and Frederick Vogel III in loving memory of his sister Grace Vogel Aldworth (1932-2002), M2003.67. Photo by John R. Glembin.

• Mother and son touch each other tenderly.  This emphasizes their humanity, a fulfillment of prophecy that God will become man.  The child’s hand is under Mary’s dress, hinting that she will feed him at the breast, a basic need for human babies.
• The scene through the window (at right) shows the everyday life of the people whom Christ has come to save.  God sent his son to earth to return the bounty before the fall of Adam and Eve, and the two figures are probably working the fields, reaping the harvest of this miracle.  And the strong, tall tree covered with leaves repeats the theme of the replenishing of nature.

The relief also is a great example of Italian Renaissance artistic style.  The artists of the Renaissance, inspired by art of Classical antiquity, were interested in realistic depictions of the human body.  Consequently, the Christ child is a pudgy baby, rather than a small-sized but adult-looking man, which was common during the middle ages. (Compare to this child in a painting at the National Gallery in London from about 1260).

South German, Virgin and Child (detail), ca. 1550. Solnhofen stone, 7 1/4 x 6 1/2 x 1 3/4 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Anne H. and Frederick Vogel III in loving memory of his sister Grace Vogel Aldworth (1932-2002), M2003.67. Photo by John R. Glembin.

Mary’s face, detailed at left, is youthful and nicely modeled, very similar to Classical sculptures of women. (Compare her face to this Classical Roman copy of a Greek relief at the Metropolitan Museum of Art).

The tricks used in the relief to show special depth, such as the curtain and the scene beyond the window, are also indicative of Renaissance artwork.  In particular, the ledge at the front almost projects into the viewer’s space.

All of this talk of the Italian Renaissance might make one think that this is a work by an Italian artist.  The material used for the carving, however, gives away its real origin: southern Germany.

Virgin and Child is carved out of a limestone that is only found in southern Germany. The stone is called Solnhofen for one of the small towns in the area.  Solnhofen is famous in the natural history world because it has revealed fossils that are unparalleled in their completeness, particularly of soft-bodies organisms. (See this site at the University of California-Berkley).

Because it is easy to cleave, or break into pieces with flat surfaces, it has been quarried for centuries for flooring and roofing.  As a bonus, the stone looks very much like marble in color and texture (although it is softer in consistency).  All of these reasons made it a popular material for artists of southern Germany.  The Victoria and Albert Museum in London holds a number of works in Solnhofen, including a beautiful Virgin and Child from about the same period as Milwaukee’s.

The German artist who made the Museum’s lovely Virgin and Childused as inspiration an Italian Renaissance work (probably seen in a print).

South German, Virgin and Child, ca. 1550. Solnhofen stone, 7 1/4 x 6 1/2 x 1 3/4 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Anne H. and Frederick Vogel III in loving memory of his sister Grace Vogel Aldworth (1932-2002), M2003.67. Photo by John R. Glembin.

This small jewel on view in the Milwaukee Art Museum packs a lot of information, but at this time of year, the personal scale of the relief is what really speaks to me.

Take a moment to enjoy the little things, like this artwork, this Christmas.  Best wishes for the season!

Jacques de l'Ange (Flemish, active in Antwerp 1631–1642), Gluttony, ca. 1642. Oil on canvas, 49 1/4 x 40 1/4 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Frank A. Murn M2006.45. Photo credit John R. Glembin.

Alas, the Milwaukee Art Museum does not own a Caravaggio painting.

Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (Italian, 1571-1610) was a revolutionary painter who combined theatrical compositions and lighting with realistic depictions of humans to make some of the most dramatic and memorable paintings from the early Baroque period.

Unfortunately, he died young and his paintings are hard to come by.  Some of my favorites are The Calling of Saint Matthew in Rome and Saint John the Baptist in the Wilderness in Kansas City’s Nelson-Atkins Museum.

But no need to despair!  Many artists who traveled to Italy in the 17th century—and lots who didn’t—were inspired to use the style of the great artist Caravaggio.  The Milwaukee Art Museum has great paintings by some of these northern European artists, which hang in Gallery #5 with Northern Baroque paintings.  Two of them—Christ before the High Priest by Mathias Stom and Mars, God of War by Gerrit von Honthorst—are by well-known artists of the phenomenon.

I’ve found myself recently admiring one in particular, by the least-known artist in the gallery: Gluttony by Jacques de l’Ange.

Jacques de l’Ange was a Flemish artist, active in Antwerp (which is in modern Belgium) between 1631 and 1642.  He has only recently been specifically identified.  Previously he was known as “Monogrammist JAD” because he signed his paintings with just his initials.

How does l’Ange emulate Caravaggio’s sytle?  Caravaggio used one light source in his paintings to cast dramatic, almost theater-like shadows.  In Gluttony, l’Ange uses a candle on the right side of the composition as his single light.  Not only does this make the scene emerge from the darkness in the back, but it also gives depth to the painting by accentuating the modelling of the figures.

What I really like about Gluttony is that this powerful technique adds to the mood of the subject matter.

Gluttony, which is the excessive indulgence in food and drink, is one of the seven deadly sins.  The seven deadly sins, which all Christians are to protect themselves against, are pride, envy, avarice, wrath, lust, gluttony and sloth.  First established by Pope Gregory the Great in the 6th century, the seven deadly sins become an essential part of the Catholic Church’s catechism. In the 13th century, they are discussed by the great theologian St. Thomas Aquinas in Summa Theologica, and in the 14th century they are a key theme in Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and Dante Alghieri’s Divine Comedy.

These sins are deadly because they can cause death, but also because they are dangerous to the fate of the soul—commit these sins, and the soul will pay after death.

Needless to say, this is serious stuff and perfect subject matter for an artist like Jacques l’Ange, who lived in Catholic Flanders.  A picture is worth a thousand words, when you are warning people about the possible fate of their soul.

Jacques de l'Ange (Flemish, active in Antwerp 1631–1642), Gluttony, ca. 1642. Oil on canvas, 49 1/4 x 40 1/4 in. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Frank A. Murn M2006.45. Photo credit John R. Glembin.

In the Museum’s painting, l’Ange shows himself as an artist at his easel, distracted by drink.  His clothes are so disheveled that his shoulder is bare.  To make it clear that he is being overindulgent, he holds a cup in each hand.  The bartender hovers over his shoulder, ready to refill one of them when it is empty.  Clearly, the young man is not going to get much painting done tonight!

And just to add to the foreboding tone of the painting, the figure holding the candle that so dramatically illuminates the scene is a young horned devil, looking very pleased at the results of this young man’s gluttony.  You can almost imagine his evil chuckle as the candle flickers, casting ominous shadows on the artist.

The seven deadly sins is a popular subject matter for artists.  Hieronymus Bosch (Netherlandish, 1450-1516) painted a work that shows the sins in a circle.  (Here’s a blog post that explains more.)

Pieter Bruegel the Elder (Netherlandish, 1526/30-1569) did a set of drawings depicting the seven deadly sins, which were published as prints in the mid-16th century.  Here is Bruegel’s version of gluttony (gula in Latin).

Milwaukee’s work was originally thought to be a depiction of one of the other seven deadly sins, sloth.  After finding out that the Ashmoleam Museum at the University of Oxford has a full set of paintings by Jacquest l’Ange of the seven deadly sins—they are smaller, and done on copper—we discovered that that this Museum’s painting is actually representing gluttony.  (Sloth shows a sleeping man.)   Because the Ashmolean owns all seven from the series, it is a great opportunity to see l’Ange treatment of the other sins, as well as how he handles the single-light source technique.

And I like to think that Gluttony is popular in Milwaukee because of the single-light source painting technique, rather than the double-fisting artist.
Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

A number of artists featured in the special exhibition Of Heaven and Earth: 500 Years of Italian Painting from Glasgow Museums are represented in the collection of the Milwaukee Art Museum. This is the third in a series of blog posts that will highlight Milwaukee’s paintings during the run of the exhibition.

Antonio Mancini (Italian, 1852–1930), On the Eve of Her Wedding, ca. 1882. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. S. S. Merrill M1919.33. Photo by John Glembin.

In researching a museum’s collection, the story behind the acquisition of an artwork can sometimes be just as interesting as the artwork itself. The Milwaukee Art Museum’s On the Eve of Her Wedding by Antonio Mancini (Italian, 1852-1930) is a great example.

Mancini began his artistic studies at the age of 12. In 1875 and again in 1877, he visited Paris—then the center of the avant-garde world—where he met French Impressioninists Edgar Degas (French, 1834-1917) and Edouard Manet (French, 1832-1883). Mancini’s loose, expressive brushstroke and dark color choices were clearly influenced by Manet. At one point, John Singer Sargent (American, 1856-1925) declared Mancini to be the greatest living painter.

In his 1880s work, On the Eve of Her Wedding, a bride-to-be has paused in her wedding preparations, a light-colored thread dangling from the spray of orange blossoms she is arranging for the next day.

Her face rests on her hand, which in turn lies on the back of a chair. She is lost in her own thoughts, a smiling flitting across her face, her eyes sparkling in excitement, her cheeks red with anticipation. Mancini has perfectly captured a happy young woman in a private moment.

Although Mancini has chosen a traditional genre subject, the composition feels very modern. The woman’s black dress is hard to distinguish from the dark background, but the light-colored details so important to the subject—her face, her hand, her flowers, and her thread—pop out at the viewer rather than blend together into a whole. The tipping of her head at a 90 degree angle to the direction of the canvas is slightly disorienting: her face pulls the viewer’s attention to the edge of the painting rather than the middle.

On the Eve of Her Wedding came to the Museum in 1919 from Mr. and Mrs. S.S. Merrill of Milwaukee. Mr. Merril was Sherburn Sanborn Merrill, an executive of the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway. In 1879, he founded the railroad shops—where the workers would build and repair railway equipment—in the Menomonee Valley. To provide housing for the over 2,500 workers and their families, in 1883 he created Merrill Park between 27th and 35th Streets, south of Wisconsin Avenue and north of the Menomonee Valley.

In the early 1880s, Mr. and Mrs. Merrill traveled to Italy, where they met Antonio Mancini in person. The artist was known for his popular genre paintings and his portraits. Both of the Merrills sat for portraits, and they were so happy with the result, a second one of Mrs. Merrill was commissioned. (If you’d like to see more of his work, both the Wisconsin Historical Society and the Milwaukee Public Library have a painted portrait of S.S. Merrill by Mancini. These portraits were ordered from Mancini by Mrs. Merrill from a photograph after Mr. Merrill died in 1885.)

While in Italy, the Merrills purchased On the Eve of Her Wedding. Mrs. Merrill gave it to the Milwaukee Art Institute, the predecessor of the Milwaukee Art Museum, in 1919. The director of the Institute, Dudley Crafts Watson, wrote a glowing article about the acquisition in the Milwaukee Journal from December 7 of that year.

Antonio Mancini (Italian, 1852–1930), On the Eve of Her Wedding, ca. 1882. Oil on canvas. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Mrs. S. S. Merrill M1919.33. Photo by John Glembin.

Watson called Mancini a “brilliant Impressionist technician.” He goes on to say that “the color of his pictures was rich and old with a scintillating light and a dazzle of life that the old masters never attained. Painting with a full brush and often the palette knife there was nothing tight or smooth to his expression.”

Watson finished his announcement with the declaration that Mrs. Merrill’s gift was “proof of the place the institute has made for itself in the community and of its permanency.” He was right–here we are almost 100 years later, able to enjoy Mancini’s painting now part of the collection of the Milwaukee Art Museum.

When our collection galleries reopen in 2015, you might see the Milwaukee Art Museum’s painting by Antonio Mancini.  In the meantime, you can see a lovely example of Mancini’s work in the feature exhibition Of Heaven and Earth: 500 Years of Italian Painting from Glasgow Museums, on view at the Milwaukee Art Museum through January 4, 2015.

Catherine Sawinski is the Assistant Curator of Earlier European Art. When not handling the day-to-day running of the European art department and the Museum’s Fine Arts Society, she researches the collection of Ancient and European artwork before 1900.

The current exhibition in the European works on paper rotation space (on view until July 30) is Alluring Artifice: Mannerism in the Sixteenth Century. The show features 30 prints that explore Mannerism, a movement that emerged in European art around 1510-20 and lasted until about 1600. Characterized by densely packed compositions and a focus on the human form, the style resulted in images that are deliberately challenging in both design and technique. One of the prints featured in the show is Preparations for the Wedding Banquet of Cupid and Psyche, an important recent acquisition by the Italian female engraver Diana Mantuana (ca. 1547–1612), who is sometimes referred to as Diana Scultori. 

Diana Mantuana (Italian, ca. 1547–1612), after Giulio Romano (Italian, probably 1499–1546). Preparations for the Wedding Banquet of Cupid and Psyche, 1575. Engraving. Plate and sheet: 14 13/16 × 44 1/8 in. (37.62 × 112.08 cm). Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of the DASS Fund M2013.34. Photo credit: John R. Glembin.

The Myth

The story of Cupid and Psyche originates from the second century AD and was included in the novel Metamorphosis by the Roman author Apuleius (ca. AD 124–after AD 170). The story discusses the difficulties of the love between Cupid and Psyche.

The renowned beauty of the mortal Psyche angered the goddess Venus because Psyche’s astonishing looks have lured worshipers away from their devotion of her, the goddess of love and desire. Consequently, Venus sends her son, Cupid, to remove the mortal. When tending to the wishes of his mother, Cupid pricks his own skin with his arrow, and he falls in love with Psyche.

Now madly in love, Cupid tries to entice Psyche to come to his home. Upon entering, Psyche is taken with the beauty of the dwelling, the wine, and the disembodied voices that assist her every need. Psyche eats, bathes and then retires to rest at night when Cupid would come to her in the dark.

This routine continues for a while. Eventually, Psyche’s curiosity leads her to come up with a plot to see Cupid in the light. The moment arrives and Cupid flees, knowing Venus still despises the mortal, but not before an arrow pierces the skin of Psyche.

Now that Cupid and Psyche are mutually in love with each other, they still have to go through many trials before they are reunited. This part of the story is an adventure, and, as any good classical myth, includes dragons, tasks, death, and a trip to the underworld.

Ultimately, the story ends with the apotheosis (or the deification) of Psyche and her marriage to Cupid. In later centuries the myth was given Christian morals—paralleling the redemption of Psyche with that of the human soul—while the love story has been a popular topic in literature and other media.

The Engraving

Diana Mantuana’s engraving depicts the preparation for the wedding feast for Cupid and Psyche. Let’s see what gods and goddess we can identify (from left to right):

Vulcan, the god of fire, with his hammer tucked into his belt, talks to a woman who helps him tend to the ovens to cook the meal:

Apollo, the youthful god of music, sits while receiving tribute:

Bacchus, the god of wine, wears his crown of grape vines, holds a drinking cup, and is surrounded by tigers:

Mercury, the messenger god, with his cape, winged hat and shoes, and staff called a caduceus, strides into the scene from behind the grotto:

Venus and Mars, the god of war, bathe in a pool with the help of puti:

The moment in the story that is depicted within this image is very interesting, as the text of Apuleius’s Metamorphosis describes no period between the meeting of the gods to decide Psyche’s apotheosis and the wedding feast. Why, then, has Mantuana depicted this banquet?

It is because Mantuana based her composition on the work of another artist. She used as her inspiration a fresco by fellow Mantuan artist, Giulio Romano (Italian, before 1499–1546). His fresco decorates a full room at Palazzo Del Te.

Giulio Romano (Italian, probably 1499–1546). View of the fresco on the west and north walls of the Sala di Psiche in the Palazzo del Tè, Mantua, 1526-28.

In her engraving, Mantuana adapts this image that wraps around over two walls of a room, which requires some editing.

Giulio Romano (Italian, probably 1499–1546). View of the fresco on the south wall of the Sala di Psiche in the Palazzo del Tè, Mantua, 1526-28.

One obvious omission by Mantuana is the scene of newlywed Psyche and Cupid in their marriage bed (in the image above on the right hand side).

Giorgio Ghisi (Italian, Mantua ca. 1520–1582 Mantua), after Giulio Romano (Italian, Rome 1499?–1546 Mantua). Cupid and Psyche, 1573–74. Engraving. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Elisha Whittelsey Collection, The Elisha Whittelsey Fund, 1949.

Eliminating this passage may have been because another artist, Giorgio Ghisi (Italian, 1520–1582), had already made a famous print of that part of the fresco (right). But is also probably because, as a female artist, Mantuana wanted to avoid controversy that showing an explicit scene could have caused—it could have ended her career.

The Artist

As a women working as an artist in the sixteenth century, Diana Mantuana holds an unusual place in history. What makes her unique is that, at the age of nineteen, she was immortalized in biographer Giorgio Vasari’s Lives of the Artists.

Lives of the Artists is a text that is required reading in many art historyl classes even now in the twenty-first century. According to Vasari, Mantuana’s natural talent was inherited from her father, Giovanni Battista Mantovano, who was himself an artist profiled by Vasari.

Even beyond Vasari’s recognition, Mantuana may have another claim to fame. It has been suggested that she is the first woman to use her own name to sign her work.

And, to promote herself even further, she received a Papal Privilege from Pope Gregory XIII. This Privilege did two things: it allowed Mantuana to market her art and identified her work as acceptable by the Catholic Church. In Preparations for the Wedding Banquet of Cupid and Psyche, the Papal Privilege is noted within the engraving on the lower edge toward the center of the image.

It may seem surprising to us that such high praise would be put upon an artist that made engravings. The reproductive nature of the medium seems to be less original and creative than other types of artwork.

But it is important to understand Mantuana’s art within the historic context. Engraving during the Renaissance was the highest form of printmaking, as it was extremely precise when compared to other techniques such as wood carving. The skill required to create such images was great and difficult to achieve.

Also, society’s understanding of a copied image at that time differed greatly from our current conception. Instead of being an exact reproduction of a painting—like a poster—an engraving of this type is an image that demonstrates the artist’s and consumer’s education and cultural awareness. Because it reproduces an image derived from the ancient past and interpreted by an Italian master, an engraving such as Mantuana’s was highly esteemed. In Preparations for the Wedding Banquet of Cupid and Psyche, Mantuana is demonstrating her knowledge and talent in a number of fields.

Diana Mantuana was certainly a historical landmark within the art world, and Preparations for the Wedding Banquet of Cupid and Psyche is her masterpiece.

-Evan McAllister, Curatorial Intern

Attributed to Domenico Brusasorci (Italian, ca. 1516–1567), Martyrdom of St. Justina of Padua, mid–16th century. Oil on slate. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Myron Laskin Jr. M2016.117 Photo credit: John R. Glembin.

Images of women martyrs have always been popular in art. Their stories are ripe with dramatic moments that capture the imaginations of both artist and audience. The subject also offers examples of moral virtue. Images of martyrs could be used as teaching tools for women in the early modern era, visually showcasing the moral ideals that they should embody.

Because of this didactic nature, female martyrs are often depicted in one of two ways: the moment of her martyrdom, or as if a portrait, surrounded by symbols. Showcasing the female martyr in the moment of her death offers the audience a dramatic story, while a portrait clearly illustrates the appropriate virtues for the viewer.

The subjects of today’s post, the Milwaukee Art Museum’s recent acquisition The Martyrdom of St. Justina of Padua, will let us look at this subject matter more closely.

Who is St. Justina of Padua? As an early Chrsitian matyr, there is some confusion related to her biography. She is most commonly identified as a member of the royal family in the city of Padua, a city in northern Italy. According to medieval treatises, she was considered a disciple of St. Peter the Apostle. In actuality, it would be impossible for St. Justina of Padua to be a disciple of St. Peter, as she was martyred in 303 AD and St. Peter lived during the 1st century AD. It is more important to realize that St. Justina and the first pope were connected by those living in early modern Padua.

St. Justina was martyred during the reign of the Roman emperor Maximan, or possibly Diocletian. According to her legend, because she refused to worship the god of war, Mars, she was stabbed through her bare chest. It is this scene of her martyrdom that is most often depicted in art. She is often shown crowned (because of her royal status), holding a palm, and maybe a book. It is also common for her to be depicted with a sword touching or piercing her chest.

The painting on display at the Milwaukee Art Museum, The Martyrdom of St. Justina of Padua, was painted in the mid-sixteenth century by Domenico Brusasorci (Italian, ca. 1516–1567). Brusasorci descended from a family of artists in Verona. His artistic training began in his father’s workshop, but it was completed under Giovanni Francesco Caroto (ca. 1480-1555).

Brusasorci worked in a wide range of media including frescoes, altarpieces, and cabinet paintings. He is most noted for the altarpiece of St. Margaret, located in the Cathedral of Mantua. Brusasorci’s style was deeply influenced by the Mannerist artists, and much of his work can still be found within the church for which they were originally painted. Because of this, the painting at the Milwaukee Art Museum is much rarer. Other images by Brusasorci can be seen in the collections of the Uffizi, the Prado, and the British Royal Collection.

Attributed to Domenico Brusasorci (Italian, ca. 1516–1567), Martyrdom of St. Justina of Padua, mid–16th century. Oil on slate. Milwaukee Art Museum, Gift of Myron Laskin Jr. M2016.117 Photo credit: John R. Glembin.

The Martyrdom of St. Justina of Padua is an exquisite example of one his cabinet pictures. A cabinet picture is small in scale, but features full sized figures. The Martyrdom of St. Justina only measures 17 ½ x 14 in. The painting is done on slate, which is an unusual support. Yet, the stone allowed Brusasorci to create a work that is fluid and expressive. The end results in an image that has an almost jewel-like finish.

The physicality of the painting is important for us to dissect. The small size suggests that it was meant for an individual to own. Viewing such a petite painting is an intimate experience, and it becomes meditative action. The illustrious image, with its fine brushwork and gleaming finish, engages the audience’s interest with its pleasing aesthetics. This is in contrast to the graphic scene that Brusasorci depicts.

The images itself shows the saint as dramatically as possible–the moment before she is stabbed. A soldier brandishes a short sword and is roughly grabbing St. Justina. He is shown bent in the left hand of the image. His muscles are both tanned and taught, and he is shrouded in shadow.

The soldier stands in direct contrast to the pious saint. St. Justina is depicted with ivory skin, with a softer body. Her breasts are bared, and instead of shrinking in fear or humiliation, Justina clasps her hands before her in prayer. Her head is turned to her left, gazing stoically to the heavens. From above a putto descends clutching a palm and a crown of lilies. On the ground before Justina lies a discarded crown.

There is a lot of symbolism to unpack in this dramatic image. Brusasorci casts St. Justina in soft glow, which illuminates her body and suggests the idea of the holy light of Christ. The soldier, in contrasts, is half in shadow. His face is obscured by darkness, symbolizing his immorality. The palm that the putto holds is known as a martyr’s palm; it a traditional symbol of those who have been martyred and signifies their unwavering faith in Christ. The lillies are symbols of purity and chastity in Christian art, and are a direct reference to Justina’s virginity. The crown at her feet is the reminder of her earthly status as royalty. It will shortly be replaced by a heavenly crown, denoting her as a saint.

Even though there is a large amount of symbolism in the image, it is the narrative of the martyrdom and the sacrifice she made for her faith that is the focus. Her bare chest is centered in the painting, and bathed in light. Both the sword and the putto are pointed towards Justina’s breast, drawing our gaze. We are shown the second before the saint’s death, suggesting a great act of violence is about to occur. This moment is wrought with tension.

To contrast the Milwaukee painting showing St. Justina’s martyrdom, let’s look at another that resembles a portrait: St. Justina of Padua by Bartolomeo Montagna at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Bartolomeo Montagna (Bartolomeo Cincani) (Italian, before 1459–1523), Saint Justina of Padua, 1490s. Oil on wood. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Bequest of Benjamin Altman, 1913, 14.40.606.

Dating to 1490, it is of a similar size to The Martyrdom of St. Justina of Padua, and was likely originally one panel of an altarpiece. Unlike the image of St. Justina displayed at the Milwaukee Art Museum, this portrait is only bust length.

St. Justina is depicted in the costuming of a noble woman from the 1490s. The dress features lush green fabric with gold brocade at her bust. Expensive gems, such as pearls and emeralds, are sewn into the garment. Her long hair is also that is tied with jewels. St. Justina faces the left, in three quarter profile and gazes steadily at the viewer with half hooded eyes. In her right hand she holds and dark green palm, and a thin halo glows above the crown of her head.

There is one more symbol of her martyrdom: the handle of a knife can be seen sticking out of her chest in front of the shoulder nearest us. But, the weapon is not emphasized. In fact, at first glance it blends in with her elaborate dress so it is easy to miss. Montagna has used early modern portrait conventions to depict the saint. By using established traditions in portrait painting and contemporary dress, the early modern woman can to relate to the saint personally. Instead of meditating on her sacrifice, which is the objective of Brusasorci’s piece, the early modern viewer is able to see herself as St. Justina. The saint becomes a role model, a symbol of the ideal woman for the early modern viewer. Women of the fifteenth century could aspire to be her.

Is one type of painting better than the other? Is it more important to show a refined role model, and focus on the saint’s attributes, such as the portrait St. Justina of Padua? Or is a dramatic and memorable narrative that highlights a saint’s sacrifice the better didactic tool? Personally, I am drawn to the dramatic story as seen in The Martyrdom of St. Justina of Padua. I encourage you to visit the painting in person, at the Milwaukee Art Museum, and draw your own conclusions on which painting tradition is the most effective.

–Kelsey Rozema, Curatorial Intern