Today we looked at some more of the work of the master Renaissance architect, Brunelleschi. It seems as though we are constantly looking at works by the same artists: Donatello, Brunelleschi, di Cambio, Michelangelo, Vasari, etc. (forgive me if I’ve omitted anyone). It just amazes me to think of the multiple commissions these people received here in Florence and around Italy. By the time Michelangelo was my age, he had already completed the Pieta and had started on David, not to mention the countless other minor works he had finished as well. It almost makes me feel like I have yet to achieve anything of worth so far in my 26 years. Now, I am absolutely NOT comparing myself to him in any way, but it says something about the difference in our culture today from theirs. The true Renaissance artists were so dedicated to their work and the quality of their craftsmanship is seemingly unparalleled today. I think we take for granted some of their genius, as today we concern ourselves mostly with getting the cheapest materials available to be used on a project in the shortest amount of time; our sense of craftsmanship has dwindled significantly. I digress.
Brunelleschi’s Foundling Hospital, which was one of his first major works to be completed after he had studied in Rome and returned to Florence, is defined on 3 sides of a square piazza by a loggia with Romanesque arches. Other distinctive features about the loggia include its dedication to the Corinthian order, slender columns, a rather stately appearance, its simplicity, clarity, and dignity that the whole composition assumes as it wraps around the piazza, the medallions between the arches (in the Robbiana style), and the centered windows on the 2nd story. I wanted to separate out one feature from the rest because it is so distinctive and I had not come across it yet: the sail vault. Underneath the loggia in the covered space is a series of vaults that derive their shape from two barrel vaults colliding. Normally, one would assume the resultant intersection would be some type of ribbing or groin vault. Here, the vaults seem to billow up as though they were pieces of cloth filled with air, giving the loggia a feeling of spaciousness. No visible rib lines are present; the underside of these structures is smooth.
Unfortunately for the next church we visited that day, it had not received the same façade treatment as some of the others we had previously visited. The church of San Lorenzo on the exterior looks like what the church of Santa Croce would have looked like for at least 400 years: bare, austere stone masonry. We never learned why this is the case. Maybe we visited it within that 400 year period that Santa Croce experienced; perhaps in another 200 years it will finally receive a proper façade. That’s what’s so fascinating about visiting some of these churches in the state that they’re in: we are just a part of the continuum of building activity of Florence. It has begun before our time and will continue after we’re gone. But to see this church in its current state is quite a sight as many people in the future might not be able to see it like we do today. It was the Parish church of the Medici family, and many of them are buried within.
Brunelleschi was again commissioned to complete the interior of the church, and it bears much of the signatures from some of his earlier work. It features sail vaults like the Foundling Hospital, Pietra Serena (dark stone) as in the Pazzi Chapel, 2 levels of clerestory windows, built-in side chapels, slender columns, a rather bare altar, and a wildly innovative composite column capital that has two tiers of cornices above it, matching the cornice that runs along the entire upper story. It has Romanesque arches that set up a pleasing rhythm which continues onto the chapels at the altar, which run parallel to each other (as opposed to Gothic chapels which are more radial in shape). Overall the design seems simplistic but there are so many well-executed finishing touches and all of the parts seem well crafted and proportioned to the whole composition.
The Old Sacristy within San Lorenzo is similar to the Pazzi Chapel in scale and form. It holds many of the principal members of the Medici family and features a well-executed pumpkin dome with scalloped forms in between the ribs. Most of the decoration here was done by Donatello including the cherubs and medallions. The altar bay has its own mini dome with celestial hemisphere, similar again to Brunelleschi’s Chapel at Santa Croce.
The final stop on our journey through Renaissance architecture today was the church of Santa Maria Novella, one of the few buildings designed by Leon Battista Alberti, who wrote The Ten Books on Architecture, the 1st treatise on the subject since Vitruvius. His work was mainly on the façade, as the body of the church, which began construction in 1278, was completed between the 13th and 14th centuries. It is similar in appearance to San Miniato and Santa Croce because of its multi-colored façade and similar division of geometries throughout the façade. While we have come across this feature at some of the other churches we have visited, I’d like to discuss one feature that is prevalent in this period: designing a façade that is completely separate from that of the rest of the body of the church. Why would the architect design a building such that the face of it has no relation to that of the rest of its mass? A simple answer would be that the facades were often applied centuries after the body of the church was completed, thus leaving little opportunity to create a cohesive composition. A more thorough investigation, I believe, reveals that since the congregation always tended to gather on the front side of the church in the parvis where other daily activities would occur, the idea behind having a face on a church was to address the public and scale this side of the church up in order to give it a sense of dignity and welcome the public into the building. Less often, the public would have access to the sides of the church where the exterior cladding would often remain of bare stone. There was often no reason to experience the church as a three-dimensional object. The function was more often a processional one, where the face of the church welcomed people inside where they would be greeted by some awe-inspiring structure and tremendous volume.
Alberti’s take on the typical Renaissance façade, therefore, is somewhat between that of Brunelleschi and Michelangelo. Although he did write one of the most well-respected treatises on architecture, I tend not to like this façade as much as I do the ones by his contemporaries. Yes, the part to whole relationships are there, but they tend not to be as well-crafted as a Brunelleschi building or as daring as a Michelangelo building. His treatise, on the other hand, should be appreciated for what it is: a book that set the stage for the dignification of the architect as theorist, one whose designs are then executed by someone else. By the 18th and 19th centuries, we see the complete separation of the designer and builder. Was this a good movement in architecture? Or should the architect know a little about both fields in order to succeed? Vitruvius would say the latter, as would the modernists. Wherever your allegiance may lie, there is no doubt of Alberti’s influence on the world of architecture.
No comments:
Post a Comment