ROME – Upon entering the sprawling Papal Basilica of St. Peter in the Vatican, most visitors are immediately drawn to the first chapel on the right, where Michelangelo’s famous “Pietà” sits above the altar, under a flat marble cross. Visitors are kept at a maddening distance from this extraordinary group of statues and may decide to see what other treasures the basilica has in store. But I suggest you stay a little longer, wait for the crowd to pass, and reflect on this masterpiece of European sculpture and its role in the genesis of artistic identity.
A key development in the history of art was the formation of an individual identity for artists, distinct from artisans working under the orders of patrons in early modern Europe, roughly between 1400 and 1600. This n It was not a single moment, but a process. However, one episode stands out as exemplary, which Giorgio Vasari recounts in his mid-sixteenth-century biography The life of Michelangelo Buonarroti. This is the story of a signature.
The scene takes place in St. Peter’s and the story concerns Michelangelo’s “Pietà”, which he carved in 1499. Here is how Vasari tells the story:
Michelangelo put so much love and work into this work that he left (which he did in no other work) his name written on a sash that girds Our Lady’s chest. This happened because one day when Michelangelo was entering the church where the statue was placed, he found a large number of foreigners from Lombardy praising the statue very highly; one of them asked another who had carved it, and he replied: “Our Gobbo from Milan.” Michelangelo stood there in silence, and it seemed a little strange to him that his work should be attributed to someone else; one night he locked himself in the church with a small light, and, having brought his scissors, he engraved his name on the statue.
If you have visited Saint-Pierre, you may have heard a guide tell this story. What strikes me is the strange detail of the Lombards, visitors to Milan who were foreigners in the region. Both Michelangelo and Vasari were Tuscans, and the idea that Michelangelo’s work could be attributed not just to another artist, but to another who was not even Tuscan, was horrifying, leaving aside the improbability of the artist Cristoforo Solari, whom they named “il Gobbo”. (the Hunchback). The “Pietà” was claimed by these Lombard visitors as the product of one of “their” artists. If anything could offend a Tuscan artist, it would be the Lombards claiming the “Pietà” for one of their artists. Not only Michelangelo’s reputation, but all of Tuscany, was at stake. As a result, according to Vasari, the artist stayed after St. Peter’s was closed for the night and etched his signature into the work. In the honour-driven world of modern Rome, this would have been perfectly understood.
Let’s go back in time a bit. This representation of the Virgin Mary holding the body of her crucified son was commissioned in 1497 by a French cardinal, Jean de Bilhères, probably for his funeral chapel, far from the current location of the “Pietà”. It was in the huge round chapel of Saint Petronilla, which was actually a late imperial mausoleum built for Emperor Honorius sometime before 408 CE and attached to the left transept of the old Constantinian Basilica of Saint Peter. This chapel was dedicated to the kings of France, and was a natural place for the burial of the French cardinal. Its former identity had been lost over the centuries and Vasari describes it as a “temple of Mars”. It was demolished in the long process of building the new complex of St. Peter, in which Michelangelo was involved as an architect, later in his life.
Michelangelo Buonarroti was only 22 years old and had only been in Rome for a year when the cardinal entrusted him with this important commission. He was so confident that it would bring him commissions from other wealthy and powerful people that he ordered several additional blocks of the Carrara marble used for the “Pietà”. This confidence stemmed from a strong and justified sense of self-worth, but it was unusual among a class of artists entirely dependent on commissions. Thus, careerism as much as honor motivated his desire to sign his work.
Vasari, whose biographies of artists, THE Lives of the best painters, sculptors and architects (1550; expanded 1568), is still a canonical text, played quickly and freely with the truth when it suited it. As a result, we can ask ourselves: Did this episode even happen? Various art historians have pointed out that the belt on Mary’s chest, on which the artist sculpted MICHAELA[N]GELUS BONAROTUS FLOREN[TINUS] FACIEBA[T] (Michelangelo Buonarroti, Florentine, did this), seems to have no other purpose than to provide space for the artist’s signature. Moreover, at the start of his career, the artist would have had difficulty obtaining permission to carry out a last-minute retouching of the sculpture on the spot, or to escape the guards at closing time. There is therefore good reason to doubt Vasari’s claim that the signature was added after the sculpture was completed. Yet the signature is there. Why would he have invented the history of the Lombards? Perhaps because he had a bit of residual embarrassment that his hero lacked humility.
The artists had signed their works long before Michelangelo engraved his name on the Virgin’s scarf. Much more important in terms of self-confidence, he ordered more Carrara marble before receiving more orders. Michelangelo rarely made art for his own pleasure (although late in life he enjoyed making presentation drawings for his friends); like most of his contemporaries, he works within the framework of a patron-client relationship. However, his strong personality and assertiveness did much to establish an independent identity; finally, he was able to choose the commissions. Michelangelo served as a stellar example for future artists who sought status and economic independence.
But the most important character in the story is the storyteller. Giorgio Vasari was the first modern art historian, chronicling the lives of artists (most, unsurprisingly, Tuscan) who pushed the boundaries of art. Vasari’s chronological anthology culminated in the “divine Michelangelo”. Describing the life, works and death of his chosen artists, he presents his subjects as lay saints. In doing so, he gave birth to the concept of the artist as a category distinct from the craftsman at work: the artist is touched by genius and deserves the homage of a biography. After 1568, date of the second more complete edition of his Lives was published, with enormous and lasting success, no matter how busy Michelangelo was signing his name at night in St. Peter’s. Its identity, and the identity of the artist as a particular category, was already crystallized.
