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Thursday, 8 December 2011

Art and Music in Early Modern Europe

By Alexandra A. Jopp

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“There is geometry in the humming of the strings, there is music in the spacing of the spheres.”

--Pythagoras

One of the most intriguing aspects of a culture is how it reflects on its past. For instance, nineteenth century German composer Richard Wagner idealized the Middle Ages, while modernists of the twentieth century imitated the Viennese classics. Italian musicians of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, meanwhile, looked upon ancient civilization for aesthetic and ethical ideals.
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But what did the Renaissance know of antiquity, in particular of its music? Italian humanists played a leading role in the revival of antiquity in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, but their knowledge of ancient musical practice was severely limited, because it was, of necessity, based only on references in literature and, to some extent, visual sources whose reliability could be questioned. Even as devoted an admirer of antiquity as Vincenzo Galilei (1520-1591), an Italian lute player, composer and music theorist – and the father of astronomer and physicist Galileo Galilei – had an inaccurate view of ancient music. Francisco de Salinas, a musician and Spanish humanist of the sixteenth century, attempted to apply the ancient theory of rhythm to the practice of contemporary art. Gioseffo Zarlino, a Renaissance-era Italian music theorist and composer, followed the music of antiquity and classical aesthetics, frequently referring to Aristotle and making extensive use of his doctrine of form and matter. Zarlino was the first to recognize the primacy of the triad over the interval as a means of harmonic thinking, and his development of just intonation came from a realization of the imperfection of the intervals in the Pythagorean system along with a desire to retain as much purity as possible using a limited number of tones. He was also the first person to attempt to explain the old prohibition on parallel fifths and octaves as a rule of counterpoint and to study the effect and harmonic implications of the false relation.

 
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And these are just a few examples from the second half of the sixteenth century. The instruments and musical theory and symbolism of antiquity would have a crucial role in the development of Renaissance art. 
During the Middle Ages, music and art were developing quite differently. With its basis in numbers, music was considered to be a discipline of logic and science and, thus, was included among the seven liberal arts, along with grammar, rhetoric, logic, mathematics, geometry and astronomy. Most contemporary art, in contrast, focused on biblical and allegorical themes.




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While ancient music was destined to wait long time before being decrypted, the theory of music was much more fortunate and was shaped during the Middle Ages and Renaissance by the ideas of Pythagoras. The 6th century B.C.E. mathematician observed that when the blacksmith struck his anvil, different notes were produced according to the weight of the hammer. Number (in this case, the amount of weight) seemed to govern musical tone. “Pythagoras conceived of the universe as a vast lyre, in which each planet, vibrating at a specific pitch, in relationships similar to the stopping of the monochord’s string, harmonized with other heavenly bodies to create a ‘music of the spheres,’ a concept which remained viable for centuries.”
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These ideas were well known among music theorists, architects and artists. For instance, we can see from one of Raphael’s best-known frescoes, “The School of Athens,” that the artist was quite familiar with music in general and classical musical theory, in particular. The painting is part of the wall decoration in the Stanza della Segnatura in the apartment of Pope Julius II. Previously, these rooms were frescoed by Piero della Francesca, a Tuscan painter known for his perspective. Under Leo X (pontiff from 1513 to 1521), the room was used as a small study and music room. The Stanza della Segnatura was used by Julius II as a library, with the bookcase located beneath the frescoes. The library was arranged so that the subjects of the frescoes on the walls corresponded to the categories of the books on the shelves below. Thus, the “Disputation Concerning the Blessed Sacrament” was located above the books on theology, the “School of Athens” above those on philosophy, the “Parnassus” in the lunette above the books of poetry, and the scenes of Pope Gregory IX approving the Decretals and Justinian with the Pandects were on the wall where the legal texts were housed. The complex structure of the walls was reflected in the frescoes on the ceiling and in the small vaulting cells, with symbolic representations of Justice, Poetry, Philosophy and Theology on the medallions and allegorical representations of the Judgment of Solomon, the Temptation of Adam and Eve and Apollo and Marsyas in the four rectangular scenes. According to the Renaissance concept of a universal order, philosophy and theology were the foundations of wisdom, Christian revelation was the highest of the superior powers of the spirit, and justice represented the apex of the moral hierarchy. But where does music find its niche?

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Leonardo da Vinci, according to Italian mathematician Luca Pacioli, was not only a great painter and architect but also a talented musician (cited in: Zubov VP of Leonardo da Vinci. Moscow, Leningrad, 1961, with. 25). As Vasari writes in The Lives of the Artists, “he decided to learn to play the lyre, like one to whom nature had given a naturally elevated and highly refined spirit, and accompanying himself on this instrument, he sang divinely without any preparation.” (Vasari, 285.) Paolo Veronese, in “Wedding Feast at Cana,” meanwhile, depicted himself, Tintoretto, Bassano and Titian playing musical instruments. Depicting Titian with the viola in his hands, the artist thus clearly underlined his leading role in the Venetian school of painting.
Music also occupied a significant place in the court of Pope Leo X, who, from his earliest youth, had cultivated authors and artists: “He endeavored to endow his court with all possible worldly splendor, and gave every encouragement to humanism, by summoning its champions about him in spite of their irreligious temper; and it was before him that the first comedies in the Italian tongue were brought out, notwithstanding their questionable morality. Machiavelli wrote for him. Raphael covered the walls of his palace and of his churches with gorgeous representations of ideals and sensuous beauty. Above all other things, Leo loved music, and profane music especially.” (A history of all nations, Vol. 11, by Ferdinand Justi, Sara Yorke Stevenson, Morris Jastrow, p. 31.) Leo frequently discussed issues of music theory, which he knew very well, and he sang and played on a small organ that stood in his chamber.
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The history of musical instruments, including their classification and development across cultures, as well as the technical study of how they produce sound, often cannot rely on the study of ancient instruments. Because of their fragility, the number of very old instruments available for research and study is very limited. The oldest instrument in the world, in fact, according to the Ashmolean Museum’s collection catalogue, is a treble viol made by Venetian Giovanni Maria da Brescia that dates only to 1525-1550. This means that anyone who is interested in musical instruments from the quattrocento and earlier needs to look elsewhere, particularly in the drawings and paintings of the period. As Emanuel Winterniz notes, though, “the image of an object may not have been drawn from the object itself, but copied from a picture of it, and this again from another, inevitably resulting in a less reliable rendering of the actual instrument.” It has also been noted that artists were sometimes known to conjure up imaginary instruments, as in Filippino Lippi’s painting, “The Worship of the Egyptian Bull God Apis,” in which a musician plays a double-belled trumpet. (This, Winternitz suggests, may have been the artist’s interpretation of the classical double pipe instrument called the aulos.)
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In contrast to Leonardo, Titian, Tintoretto, Veronese and many other artists of the Renaissance, Raphael neither played musical instruments, nor composed music. However, his musicality is revealed in several ways, including an unusual harmony between composition, color and design. The Pythagorean theory of music is reflected in his fresco “School of Athens,” in which we see a chart, compiled from ancient lyre strings, properly connected and numbered with numerals VI, VIII, IX and XII. The length of these strings represents the Pythagorean theory of intervals: octave (6:12 = 1:2), fifth (6:9 = 9:12 = 2:3), quart (6:8 = 8:12 = 3:4) and tone (8:9). Intervals are indicated in the tables by their Greek names: range (octave), diapente (fifth), Diatessaron (fourth) and epoglon (second). Under the curve is the perfect Pythagorean number X, the sum of the first four numbers proportional to the main musical consonance: an octave, fifth and a quart (1: 2: 3: 4).

 
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Naturally, because many of the images were taken from classical mythology, Renaissance artists were interested in depicting antique musical instruments. As with the sounds of musical instruments, the representations of them in art gives rise to many associations, from joyful to sad, from peaceful to rebellious. Music was more than an inspiration for artists. They believed that music and painting were the same, and they saw shading and rhythm in both. Symbolically, musical instruments for centuries were synonymous with love, and some instruments were associated with its various conditions. For example, medieval astrology taught that all musicians were “the children of Venus.” (James Hall, Dictionary of Subjects and Symbols in Art (London: Harper & Row, 1974), 210.) Venus’s associations had some important classical roots. Venus was recognized as Venus Coelestis, goddess of sacred love, pacifier of Mars, loving mother of Aeneas and sanguine source of universal harmony. She was also Venus Vulgaris, goddess of bodily love and passion and the seductress who led Helen and Paris astray, causing the Trojan War. Medieval and Renaissance representations of Venus’s nativity commonly portray her being transported to shore on a scallop shell – iconography that carried over to the incorporation of her likeness on lutes and citterns with their analogous shell-like constructions. (Robin Wells, Elizabethan Mythologies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 158.) Venus was linked with music in artworks such as Titian’s “Venus and the Lute Player” (c. 1560), and Breugal the Elder’s “Hearing” (1618). English sources and iconography also underlined Venus’s relationship with music. In 1565, Thomas Cooper described the “Cithara” (or Cittern) as, “A womanly harpe singing songs of loue and not of heroic acts.” (“Cithara” in Thomas Cooper, Thesaurus Linguae Romanae & Britannicae (London, 1565).) The term “Cithara” would seem to derive from Venus’s island birthplace of Cytherea. Venus is also often depicted teaching music. A detail from the frontispiece to the published songs in Handel’s Rinaldo (1711), for example, portrays Venus instructing Cupid in the art of music. Similar scenes of Venus-like figures teaching music to Cupid-type characters were common in decorative English music title pages.


Musical instruments played an especially important role for Renaissance artists in the depiction of love scenes. Some of the best-known examples include a series of paintings by Titian generally referred to as “Venus with Musicians” that date from 1550-1585. Musical instruments accompany the goddess in the scenes depicting her with Mars, and the instruments are both a weapon and armor for her partner. In addition, in this series of works, the musician derives inspiration from viewing the Muse. The “absorbed look” plays an important role in the paintings and fills the scenes with sensuality.

  Another example of a painting with love “overtones” is Caravaggio’s “Amor Vincit Omnia.” (1601-1602) (The English translation is “Love Conquers All,” but the work is also known as “Amor Victorious,” “Victorious Cupid,” “Love Triumphant,” “Love Victorious,” and “Earthly Love.”) The painting depicts Cupid as a peculiar, naughty young boy rather than the romanticized child he appears as in other classical works. Cupid, Mars (the god of war) and Venus (the goddess of love), stomp on a violin, a lute, open music books, symbols of government and a compass, symbolizing the havoc the heart can create.
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A clear distinction between wind instruments and string instruments passed from antiquity to European culture and was based on the differences in their relative symbolic values. The differences were expressed most explicitly in the ancient Greek myth of Apollo’s contest with rival musicians. One myth is quite humorous and became a popular subject for artists – “The Judgment of Midas” – while the other is deeply tragic. Often, the two myths are confused, but there are some important distinctions.
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In the Midas myth, Apollo, the god of the lyre, was involved in a musical contest against the woodland god Pan, with the competition judged by the mountain god Tmolus. Pan blew on his pipes and, with his rustic melody, gave great satisfaction to himself and his faithful follower, King Midas, who happened to be present. Then Apollo struck the strings of his lyre. After listening to both performances, Tmolus pronounced Apollo as the winner. All but Midas agreed with the judgment, and the king questioned the justice of the award. As punishment for Midas’s bad taste and poor judgment, Apollo changed the king’s ears into those of a donkey to symbolize what he thought of Midas’s bad musical taste. Ovid describes the scene in Metamorphoses:
Tmolus was arbiter; the boaster still
Accepts the tryal with unequal skill.
The venerable judge was seated high
On his own hill, that seem’d to touch the sky …
… Pan tun’d the pipe, and with his rural song
Pleas’d the low taste of all the vulgar throng;
Such songs a vulgar judgment mostly please,
Midas was there, and Midas judg’d with these … … All, with applause, the rightful sentence heard,
Midas alone dissatisfy’d appear’d;
To him unjustly giv’n the judgment seems,
For Pan’s barbarick notes he most esteems.
The lyrick God, who thought his untun’d ear
Deserv’d but ill a human form to wear,
Of that deprives him, and supplies the place
With some more fit, and of an ampler space:
Fix’d on his noddle an unseemly pair,
Flagging, and large, and full of whitish hair;
Without a total change from what he was,
Still in the man preserves the simple ass.  
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book XI)
This myth has been widely illustrated in paintings such as “Apollo and Marsyas” by Palma il Giovane (1544–1628), “The Judgment of Midas” by Domenichino and assistants, and an oil sketch by Rubens also titled “The Judgment of Midas.”
The punishment was certainly appropriate in an artistic sense, since the donkey has long been considered to be insensitive to music. For example, in “Nativity” (c. 1470), Italian artist Piero della Francesca depicts Mary kneeling in adoration before the newly-born Christ, who is laid on her cloak. Five angels sing, welcoming his birth, and two of them play lutes. Beside them, a donkey appears to bray, while an ox peers down solemnly at Christ. It is humorous to see a donkey singing along with the angels in such a solemn scene. The donkey, of course, also often represents stupidity, and Pieter Brueghel the Elder’s print “The Ass at School” (1556) provides an example of this symbolic usage.
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According to the other myth, things develop much more dramatically. In a musical contest between Apollo and Marsyas, the terms stated that the winner could treat the defeated party “any way he wanted.” (H.J. Rose, A Handbook of Greek Mythology (New York: E. P. Dutton & Co., 1959) 111.) The contest was judged by the Muse Agnis, a musician from Phrygia who was, according to some accounts, considered to be the inventor of the aulos, a wind instrument. Agnis was also one of the three mythical Phrygian musicians (along with Marsyas and Olympus) to whom the Ancient Greeks attributed the invention of the Phrygian mode in music. According to the myth, Marsyas was defeated and flayed alive in a cave near Celaenae for his hubris in challenging Apollo. The victor nailed Marsyas’s skin to a pine tree near Lake Aulocrene, which Strabo noted was “full of the reeds from which the [aulos’s] pipes were fashioned.” Diodorus Siculus felt that Apollo must have regretted this “excessive” deed, and said that he laid aside his lyre for a while, but Karl Kerenyi observes of the flaying of Marsyas’s “shaggy hide: a penalty which will not seem especially cruel if one assumes that Marsyas’ animal guise was merely a masquerade.”
The flaying of Marsyas became a theme for painting and sculpture, and there are numerous instances of Renaissance paintings, woodcuts, intaglios, and sculptures depicting the story, many of them indicating a connection between Christ and Apollo (with Apollo as purifier allowing the redemption of Marsyas). The punishment of Marsyas by Apollo is depicted in “Apollo and Marsyas” by Michelangelo Anselmi (c. 1492-c.1554), “The Flaying of Marsyas” by Jusepe de Ribera (1591–1652), “The Flaying of Marsyas” by Titian (c. 1570-1576) and “Apollo and Marsyas” by Bartolomeo Manfredi.
In another myth that is closely connected with Marsyas, Athena, during the feast of gods, decides to please them with music from the aulos, which, in this account, she is said to have invented. While most of the Gods enjoyed the music, Hera and Aphrodite laughed at Athena. Offended, Athena ran away to the woods of Phrygia, looked at her reflection in the lake and saw that her cheeks were sagging and her eyes were bloodshot. The Greeks, it must be explained, characteristically made the aulos from double reeds of cane that were held in the pipes by bulbous sockets and that were sounded simultaneously. Because of the powerful blowing necessary to sound the two pipes, the Greeks often tied a phorbeia, or leather strap, across the cheeks for support. The playing technique known as “circular breathing” (or “nasal inhalation”) was used, and this caused the player’s cheeks to inflate then sag. This is what led to the laughter of Hera and Aphrodite. When Athena saw her reflection, she threw away the aulos, and the instrument was later picked up by Marsyas, who would become so skilled on the instrument that he would dare to challenge Apollo.
It is clear from these two myths that Pan and Marsyas had two different instruments. The syrinx is traditionally associated with Pan and, as a result, is commonly known as the pan flute or panpipe. It is based on the principle of the closed tube and usually consists of five or more pipes of gradually increasing length (and sometimes girth.) As for Marsyas’s instrument, the aulos, it is a simple double-reed woodwind, usually with four or five finger holes. Artists who used these stories as subjects, however, often changed or combined the myths.
“The Contest of Apollo with Marsyas” by Italian Mannerist painter Agnol Bronzino demonstrates a keen understanding of the iconographic details of the plot, though with a notable error: Marsyas holds not an antique aulos but a shawm of the sixteenth century (a medieval and Renaissance musical instrument of the woodwind family). The work was commissioned by Guidobaldo II della Rovere, Duke of Urbino, and was painted by the artist during his stay in Pesaro between 1530 and 1533. As Edyth Wyss describes the painting in her article Bronzino’s Harpsichord Lid:
four scenes are disposed in a deep, rocky landscape that falls off toward a distant river. The foreground scene at the right depicts the musical competition. Apollo seen in three-quarter back view, is readying his lira da braccio, which for the most part is hidden behind his shoulder. Laurel twigs lie at his feet. Marsyas is a scruffy, thin fellow, who plays his shawm strenuously. The helmeted young woman clad in a tight jerking and holding a jousting lance must be Minerva as attentive arbiter. Beside her is another gawky youth who glances reverently at the flutist. He wears a spiky crown and can be none other than Midas, the foolish judge from the competition between Apollo and Pan.
(The myth of Apollo and Marsyas in the art of the Italian Renaissance, Edith Wyss. p. 108.)
Bronzino’s portrayal of Apollo’s victory over Marsyas met the demands of his time in technical as well as allegorical terms. The painting must have been valued since at least two copies survived. In addition, Venetian Giulio Sanuto engraved Bronzino’s painting full scale on three panels in 1562. This engraving bears a long dedication to Alfonso II d’Este in which Sanuto explained that “the major lesson to be learned from the favola of Marsyas was a warning against overbearing judgment.” (Wyss 110). In addition to Marsyas’s shawm, several other musical instruments are depicted in the engraving, including a pan flute, which is found in a scene that features nine muses in the background. This scene was copied from “Parnassus” by the Italian Renaissance painter Andrea Mantegna. Interpreting this painting through the use of iconographical traditions derived from the classical myths about music, we find at the center of the stage nine muses, with three singing and all moving to the music of Apollo’s lyre. Horizontally across from Apollo stands Mercury holding his customary caduceus from which his syrinx hangs and resting one arm on the winged horse Pegasus. Standing on top of the grotto are the closely linked figures of Mars and Venus, and perched close to them is Amor, holding his bow. Amor’s gaze is directed at the smallest figure in the painting, Vulcan, who is placed at the mouth of a cave, where he has apparently been forging the silver jug in front of him. He is stepping toward Amor, who is blowing a dart at him through a cylindrical pipe. While this painting has a variety of interpretations, it is clear that music plays a fundamental role in it.
 

Tuesday, 25 October 2011

Italian Art 1500-1600: The Papacy and the Church

Titian, Venus of Urbino, 1538. Uffizi, Florence

By Alexandra A. Jopp

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The power and influence of the Christian Church was one of the leading features of the Renaissance. Not only was the church the dominant political force, it also directly shaped the lives of individuals throughout Christendom. Most people were poor and had very limited information about the world around them, and the church offered an explanation of the world – and beyond – that largely defined the weltanschauung of millions of Europeans.
The High Renaissance – from the beginning of the sixteenth century to the closing of the Council of Trent in 1563 – was a period of remarkable cultural expansion, artistic enterprise and increasing demand for technical skill (which created a high degree of competition among artists). Many Italian nobles held refined courts, where they encouraged and protected artists. In Milan, for example, Francesco Sforza and, later, Ludovico il Moro, held courts – Ludovico housed Leonardo da Vinci for years – and in the small state of Mantua, the Gonzaga family held a splendid court in which avid art collector Isabella d’Este, daughter of Eleonora and Ercole and wife of Duke Giovanni Francesco II, came to be considered one of the superior women of her time.


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Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica - Palazzo Barberini
In the little court of Urbino, Duke Federico created a cultural center and contributed to the society of the learned to which he partially belonged. Raphael, Bramante, Laurana, Pisanello and Piero della Francesca all worked at Urbino, and the magnificent Palazzo Ducale is still one of the finest Renaissance palaces in Italy. And in Florence, the Medici dynasty, especially at the time of the Cosimo de Medici and his son Lorenzo the Magnificent, heavily supported the arts and humanities. Their patronage of artists was imitated by several states in Italy, above all those in the district of Rome.
While the Medici family was strengthening its supremacy in Florence, Pope Julius II and Pope Leo X enjoyed growing religious power in Rome. The city had become the artistic center of the world by 1520, with artists and collectors during the Roman Renaissance rediscovering of the masterpieces of the ancient world. Since many antiquities were found in or near Rome, popes were well situated to acquire many of the greatest prizes: “Julius II, for instance, took charge of both the Apollo Belvedere and Laocoön sculptures after they came to light.” (Norris, Michael. "The Papacy during the Renaissance")
The Renaissance represented a restoration of the Catholic Church and a spiritual rebirth of the Roman Empire. “The great movement for Catholic renewal of the sixteenth century was international in character but made Rome a special focus” (Nussdorfer 21).  The central themes of the Roman Renaissance were found in sculpture, painting and architecture, with art meant to induce devotion, worship and praise of the divine. Paolo Cartesi in a chapter of De Cardinalatu (1510) devoted to cardinals’ palaces, wrote that art should have “ingenious subjects” and “erudite content,” citing as examples the wall frescoes of the Sistine Chapel and the decoration of the Carafa Chapel in Santa Maria sopra Minerva. (Stinger 3)
The church, with the power of its purse, generally restricted the images produced by artists to those that encouraged piety and conveyed the its official messages: “In the invocation of the saints, the veneration of relics, and the sacred use of images, all superstition shall be removed, all filthy quest for gain eliminated, and all lasciviousness avoided, so that images shall not be painted and adorned with a seductive charm.” (Klein 121)
As God’s emissary on Earth, the pope was considered to be infallible and above any earthly ruler. (Of course, not all earthly rulers agreed with this, and many claimed their own high-level endorsement through the divine right of kings.) The pope was “spiritual director of the Catholic world whose center was Rome, he was the absolute monarch of one of the richest states in Italy, and often times he was the head of an ambitious and powerful family.” (Haskell 32)  And family, notably, was not necessarily second to the church for a pope. For instance, within a month of Cardinal Giovanni de Medici becoming Pope Leo X, his cousin Giulio was named archbishop of Florence, and he later became a cardinal. The Medici pope and Medici cardinal was just one example of the nepotism that all of the Renaissance popes practiced. While part of the motivation was not unreasonable – popes argued that they needed to have assistants whose loyalty could not be questioned – the result, not to mention what was likely a less reasonable motivation, was the massive enrichment of papal families.
Popes built as much as they could, both for their personal satisfaction and for the public good. One pope said that “it was a public charity to build, and all princes should do so: because it brought assistance to the public and to private citizens, and employment on building greatly helped the people.” (Haskell 32) Thus, it was seen as the church’s duty to beautify the city.


Pope Julius II, a Renaissance prince and patron of the arts (r. 1503-1513)
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Top artists were in great demand, and popes seeking to hire them for Roman beautification efforts faced competition from monarchs and aristocrats. During the High Renaissance, though, popes had annual incomes in the range of 500,000 to 1,500,000 scudi, which was equivalent to or greater than the income of many monarchs. In addition, popes were adept at exercising their power – both ecclesiastical and temporal – to secure the best artists. For instance, papal intervention led to Michelangelo painting the altar wall of the Sistine Chapel after Perugino’s Assumption was damaged by fire in 1525. This commission led to a revival of Pope Julius II’s plan for a new altarpiece representing the Resurrection, which would serve as a fitting conclusion to the decoration of the chapel that began with the Creation. Before Michelangelo began working, however, the subject became the Last Judgment that we know today, a change probably inspired by Pope Paul III, who convened the Council of Trent and helped to lead the Counter-Reformation. Paul III had long admired Michelangelo, and in 1535, he made him the chief painter, sculptor and architect of the Vatican Palace. The scale and the subject matter of the altar wall reflected the newly moral and radical mood of the church.  
In the midst of the chaotic change of the High Renaissance, church officials constantly negotiated their political, social and religious positions. Putting family members in important stations not only brought the family direct power but also provided it with more wealth through benefices. In addition, marital alliances were important both in increasing wealth and establishing political connections, with church officials, like nobles, using marriage to cement old alliances and forge new ones. It is also likely that more aggressive tactics were at times employed. For instance, the death of Ippolito de Medici, a staunch adversary of Paul III, conveniently opened the door for Cardinal Farnese to become vice-chancellor.
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Titian, Penitent Mary Magdalene ca. 1565. Hermitage. St. Petersburg.
Positions on religious and reform issues could also determine one’s place in the hierarchy, and it is often difficult to separate sincerely held religious beliefs from those held out of self-interest. While it is evident, for example, that Cardinal Farnese was deeply involved in what most see as a culture of corruption, he also seemed to be deeply religious and committed to the church. While accompanying the papal army that was waging war against the Protestant Schmalkaldic League in 1546, the disguised cardinal snuck into the Protestant city of Ulm. In a bookstore there, he got into a heated argument in defense of the church, placing himself at great risk, much to the dismay of his protection entourage. 
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Whether an art patron was a member the social elite or the church hierarchy, the choice of projects was typically shaped by the same factors, among them cost, style, political and social ambitions, relationship with the artist, and even the desired time of completion. Often, multiple ambitions led to the production of a particular work, though, and it can be very difficult to discern exactly what led to a patron’s decision. As Haskell noted, it is impossible to formulate “underlying laws which will be valid in all circumstances. At times, the connections between economic and political considerations and a certain style have seemed particularly close; at other times [one is] unable to detect anything more than internal logic of artistic development, personal whim or the workings of chance.” (Robertson 5)
A given patron may have been motivated by religious belief, a relationship with an artist or a desire to acquire the “label” of a well-known artist to increase his own prestige. (Robertson 5) A patron might also take on a project as fulfillment of “his duty as a member of the wealthy ruling class,” an act of charity, an attempt to raise his public image, or an effort to one-up another patron by backing a greater work. (Robertson 6) There were limits on self-promotion, however. Cosimo de Medici was criticized for prominently incorporating his family coat of arms on churches he constructed, since this was seen as a desire to promote his family rather than glorify God. So even when self-promotion was the primary motivation for commissioning a work, it had to be done subtly.
The more sophisticated patron wanted to demonstrate his superior knowledge about art and its history and direction and show that he had more style than his contemporaries. He also wanted to produce something new and different without it being vulgar or otherwise unacceptable. However, it was not always the patron’s taste that produced the end result, and it is difficult to determine whether a particular decision regarding a work was the patron’s or the artist’s. While, at times, the primary influence can be deduced by comparing the collection of a particular patron to the body of work of a given artist, this approach is not always conclusive. Such a determination is also complicated by patrons’ practice of employing “humanist advisers” to help them decide on artistic purchases. (Robertson 7) What can be surmised as a general rule, though, is that, because of the immense cost and importance of major works of art, patrons sought to satisfy multiple goals in their projects, and there were always many considerations that contributed to the final work. Unfortunately, even when the creation of a given work is thoroughly documented, the exact reasons behind each facet of the image can never be known with certainty. 
For a pope or cardinal, one might logically guess that church considerations would be the dominant factor in art patronage, but this was not always the case. The infamous Borgia family, for example, essentially ran the church like a family business, and their art projects, as with their entire papal policy, were designed to promote the family. Such corruption however led to growing dissent.
During the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, the church’s authority faced both internal and external challenges. Voices inside the church spoke out against corruption, while Protestantism threatened to undermine the church’s position as the controlling religious power in Europe. The threats were related, since Protestantism grew out of the corruption and greed that had long permeated the church. The church was also threatened by the ambitions of the Spanish and French monarchs and their desire for European preeminence and control of Italian soil. The church’s rapidly changing leadership as well as the constantly shifting alliances it engaged in to try to “pick the winner” led to an unstable and ineffective papal foreign policy and the disastrous sack of Rome by Charles V in 1527. The combination of these shocks led to a reexamination of the church and what would become the Counter-Reformation.
The Counter-Reformation was initiated at the Council of Trent by Pope Paul III in 1545 to address corruption within the church and, at the same time, reaffirm the supremacy of the church and declaim against the heresies of the Protestants. Overall, it was a call for a renewed spirituality with an emphasis on the importance of theological traditions. The Council repudiated the pluralism of the secular Renaissance that had plagued the church. The organization of religious institutions was tightened, discipline was improved and the local parish was emphasized. 
Among the issues addressed in the Counter-Reformation was the excess and secularism that had dominated religious art. The Council of Trent decreed that no church should contain any image that “inspires erroneous doctrine and that could mislead the uneducated … and that lasciviousness should be avoided, so that no figure should be painted or adorned with a beauty exciting to lust” (Robertson 149). Previous Catholic councils had rarely felt the need to pronounce on these matters. The proclamation of the Council on art was less an initiator of reform than a codification of a movement that was already underway.
Michelangelo’s Last Judgment came under attack in the Counter-Reformation for including nudity, showing Christ standing and featuring pagan images. Ten years after the Council’s decree, artist Veronese was ordered to explain why his Last Supper (later renamed Feast in the House of Levi), contained “dwarfs, buffoons, a man with a nose bleed and German soldiers.” (Robertson 149) Veronese was ordered to change his painting. Much traditional iconography that was considered not to have an adequate theological basis was prohibited, as was any inclusion of pagan elements and almost all nudity.
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Paolo Veronese, Feast in the House of Levi, 1573. Galleria dell'Accademia, Venice
The effect of the Counter-Reformation can be seen in the patronage of Cardinal Farnese. Farnese’s religious commissions before the Council were few in number, but after 1560, he became one of the foremost patrons of religious art. Although the increase was no doubt due in part to his papal aspirations and the increased power and wealth that came with age, there is little doubt that the Counter-Reformation played a major role in the increased piety of his public commissions. Even his private commissions became more religious. After 1570, the frescoes at his villa at Caprarola, which previously featured classical mythological images, were largely religious. The rooms at the Villa d’Este also show the shift, with the iconography of the rooms after 1570 becoming entirely religious. In addition, there were no more private commissions of nudes. An unsolicited painting sent by Titian to Farnese in 1567 shows a penitent (and fully-clothed) Magdalena with a look of great devotion. All of this notwithstanding, it seems that Farnese’s artistic decisions were largely political and that his personal taste did not change: he still kept Titian’s Danaë in his bedroom.
The long-term impact of Counter-Reformation-style art was limited, though. The Council’s decree only controlled religious art, and secular art still flourished. By the time of the pontificate of Paul V in 1605, the austere functionalism that characterized most Counter-Reformation religious architecture, painting and sculpture had been abandoned. Eventually, even the Last Judgment was again undressed.
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 Monument to Urban VIII
(Aug 6, 1623 - July 29,1644) Maffeo Barberini
by Bernini, 1647
By the early seventeenth century, the primary challenge to newly elected Pope Urban VIII was no longer Protestantism but, rather, the enmity between France and the Hapsburg Empire, which threatened the peace in Italy and necessitated the building of costly fortifications. At the same time, a growing secularism was confronting the church, with advancements in science posing challenges to church doctrine. In response, Urban VIII, recognizing that the austerity of the Counter-Reformation was insufficient to excite the common man, set out to demonstrate the grandeur of the church. (Haskell 33) He sought a return of magnificence to religious art, and he had the great artist Bernini to assist him. Urban VIII turned his and Bernini’s attention to the interior of St. Paul’s Cathedral, a grandiose project that would occupy the remaining years of both of their lives. The quest to return the church to greatness combined with the cost of wars left the Vatican in massive debt, however, and Urban VIII died as a very unpopular pope in 1644.


Bibliography:
Michael Norris. "The Rediscovery of Classical Antiquity." In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000.
Charles L. Stinger, “The Renaissance in Rome”. Indiana University Press,  1985.
“Canons and Decrees of the Council of Trent,” in Italian Art 1500-1600: Sources and Documents, eds. Robert Klein and Henri Zerner (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1966), 119-22.
Francis Haskell, Patrons and Painters: A Study in the Relations Between Italian Art and Society in the Age of the Baroque (London: Chatto & Windus, 1963), 24-43.
Laurie Nussdorfer, Civic Politics in the Rome of Urban VIII (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 21-44.
Clare Robertson, ‘Il gran cardinale’: Alessandro Farnese, Patron of the Arts (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1992), 1-14, 69-88, 149-51, 181-207.