The Splendor Of Venice

(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:

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The glowing mantle of Titian fell on the shoulders of Jacopo Robusti, nicknamed Tintoretto (the ‘Little Dyer’) from the calling of his father, Battista Robusti, who was a dyer, in Italian tintore. Tintoretto was born at Venice in 1518 and, having shown his precocious genius by covering the walls of his father’s house with drawings and sketches, he was apprenticed as a pupil to Titian. Despite his prodigious capacity, for already the skill and speed of his workmanship were astonishing, he was not a satisfactory pupil. After some time Titian dismissed him, according to one account because he was jealous of his pupil, according to another because Tintoretto ‘would in no wise give obedience to commands.’ From all we know of Tintoretto’s proud, wilful character the latter reason seems probable.

Left to himself, Tintoretto set up his own workshop, in which he nailed up the legend ‘The Design of Michael Angelo and the Coloring of Titian’. Not only did he live up to his motto as regards his drawing and color, but to these he added his own supreme understanding of light and shade; and thus he was able to surpass Titian in the keenness of his literal yet romantic observation, and to outdo even Michael Angelo himself in the furious speed and energy of his execution. Amazing stories are told of Tintoretto’s activity. ‘This artist,’ remarks his contemporary Vasari, ‘always contrives by the most singular proceedings in the world to be constantly employed, seeing that when the good offices of his friends and other methods have failed to procure him any work of which there is question, he will nevertheless manage to obtain it, either by accepting it at a very low price, by doing it as a gift, or even by seizing on it by force.’

An instance of this kind occurred when the Brotherhood of San Rocco decided to have the ceiling of their refectory painted with decorations. The four leading painters of Venice—Zucchero, Salviati, Veronese, and Tintoretto—were summoned to San Rocco and invited to submit designs for the project. It was announced that the commission would be given to the artist who produced the best design. ‘But while the other artists were giving themselves with all diligence to the preparation of their designs, Tintoretto made an exact measurement of the space for which the picture was required, and taking a large canvas, he painted it without saying a word to any one and, with his usual celerity, putting it up in the place destined to receive it.

‘One morning, therefore, when the Brotherhood had assembled to see the designs and to determine the matter, they found that Tintoretto had entirely completed the work, nay, that he had fixed it in its place.’

Naturally the three other artists were furious, and the head of the Brotherhood angrily inquired why Tintoretto had taken it on himself to complete the work when he had only been asked to submit a design in an open competition.

‘This is my method of preparing designs,’ answered Tintoretto; ‘I do not know how to make them in any other manner. All designs and models for a work should be executed in this fashion, to the end that the persons interested may see what it is intended to offer them, and may not be deceived.

‘If you do not think it proper to pay for the work and remunerate me for my pains, then,’ the artist proudly added, ‘ I will make you a present of it.’

Thus, as Vasari relates, Tintoretto, ‘though not with opposition, contrived so to manage matters that the picture still retains its place.’

Though he painted numerous portraits and altar-pieces, Tintoretto was essentially a decorative painter, and his mightiest achievements are on the walls and ceilings of the palaces and public buildings of Venice. His ‘Paradiso’ in the Ducal Palace is the largest painting in the world, eight four feet wide by thirty four feet high, and of this stupendous achievement and of most of his other great works no photograph can give any adequate idea. But fortunately the picture which is universally acknowledged to be Tintoretto’s masterpiece is not on the same colossal scale. ‘The Miracle of St. Mark,’ is one of four large pictures painted by Tintoretto for the School of San Marco in Venice. It represents the Evangelist—who was the Patron Saint of Venice—appearing in the air and ‘delivering a man who was his votary from grievous torments, which an executioner is seen to be preparing for him: the irons which the tormentors are endeavoring to apply break short in their hands, and cannot be turned against that devout man.’

The dramatic element in Titian’s work is seen heightened and intensified in many of Tintoretto’s paintings, but nowhere is it more splendidly manifest than in this impressive imagining of a supernatural event. Again we seem to hear the rush of air caused by the downward sweep of the Saint, from whom a celestial light irradiates. This great picture is not only a illustration of a saintly legend; it had a symbolical meaning of great importance to Tintoretto’s contemporaries. At this time political relations between Venice flattered themselves they were better Christians than the Romans, and were delighted to see in Tintoretto’s masterpiece a picture in which they saw the Popes as the executioners of the Church, which is to be saved only by the fortunate interference of the Republic of St. Mark.

When Tintoretto died in 1594 there were no more great religious painters in Italy. Unlike Titian, who ‘had never received from Heaven aught but favor and felicity,’ and so throughout a long life looked out with ever joyous eyes, Tintoretto, notwithstanding his professional prosperity, was overshadowed by a spiritual gloom which finds expression in his mighty pictures. The works of his manhood and maturity show little of that serene joy in existence which glows from the canvases of Titian; but in the fitful lighting of their sombre depths, in a constantly recurring hint of tragedy, they reveal a consciousness of stormy days to come, of perils for Church and State, which entitle us to see in Tintoretto a harbinger of the Reformation and the wars of religion.

The Splendor Of Venice (continued)