An Ode to Leonardo

No matter which way I look at it, however much I struggle against it, it has finally happened – I’ve fallen under the spell of Leonardo Da Vinci. It happened quite suddenly, I was simply standing in front of one of his images (not the image, although more on her a little later) and it struck me – this chap could really paint…

The Virgin of the Rocks, (1491-2 & 1506-8). Oil on Poplar. The National Gallery, London

 Many people can do this, and do it well, but anatomical correctness and the ability to capture a likeness is only a small part of the battle artist’s face. It is a sad fact that a likeness is sometimes the easiest thing to capture and hold on the paper or canvas, but it is also the least vital. The most elusive element to any figurative image is the one thing (in my opinion) that makes us human – our souls.

The Belle Ferronniere (1493-4). Oil on Walnut. Musee du Louvre, Paris.

Standing in front of The Belle Ferronnière (1493-4) I was reminded of one of my favourite quotations from William Shakespeare, “since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of”. It is only through another person’s eyes that we can sometimes see our true selves, and standing before Ferronnière it was this idea which really caught my attention. To my mind Da Vinci had captured, seemingly effortlessly, a depth of wisdom in her eyes which spoke of human nature.. The ambiguity in her face, but the depth of the quick glance, allows for our own self projection and in so doing we see ourselves perfectly in her; a 600 year old mirror of humanity, which is as relevant today as it was when then.

Eye detail, Mona Lisa (1506-1519). Oil on Poplar. Musee du Louvre, Paris
One of the most famous images in the world perfectly demonstrates the impish humour, tranquility and intelligence which few artists manage to capture in the characters of their subjects - a soul shown for all the world to see.

Whilst he was unquestionably brilliant at communicating the positives of the human character: thought, humour, love and peace, there is another side of his work which is directly informed by his studies of the human body. One of the best examples I saw that night at the National Gallery was Saint Jerome (1488-90), and it was both mesmerising and disquieting in its subject and execution. The piece was profoundly influenced by Da Vinci’s time in Milan during the 1480’s when he began studying human anatomy. The sheer number of drawings (which are beautiful in themselves) produced during this time, points to his desire to perfect the way in which his figures appeared and ensure they were credible – if idealised – images.

Studies of the shoulder and neck (1509-10). Pen and Ink on Paper

There is little doubt in my mind that without this research Saint Jerome would not be the piece it is. Even though it is unfinished, power and passion flow from the image, and perfectly demonstrate Da Vinci’s ability to capture the darker sides of humanity, or struggles and pains, as accurately as those lighter aspects to which I’ve already alluded. There is both physical and mental agony here, communicated perfectly through the Saint’s musculature and pose; brilliant and brutal in equal measure.

Saint Jerome (1488-90). Oil on Walnut. Vatican Museums, Vatican City

It seems, in my humble opinion, that this is what Da Vinci was best at. His figurative works are complex reflections on what humanity strives for, our accomplishments and shortcomings, the wisdom we are capable of and the madness into which we sometimes descend. Like his anatomical drawings would do for science, his portraits give us a framework upon which to expand. They can gently move the viewer laterally, beyond the initial image, into a wealth of personal and universal impressions. The image of the Virgin and Child with Saint Anne and the infant Saint John the Baptist (1499-1500) is an excellent example of this in that it is initially a religious piece, but if you look more closely it is a piece about motherhood, friendship and love. The figures are beautifully realised, but at no point are they finished to such a degree that we are unable to read something of our own lives into the composition, and as such a piece which could alienate those of a non-Christian leaning becomes a work which can be enjoyed by all.

Sketches for a Virgin and Child with Saint Anne and the infant Saint John the Baptist (1499-1500). Pen and ink wash over black chalk heightened with white on paper. The British Museum, London

So there we have it, a small idea of why I like a great artist. It is not for whom he was and I have to be honest and say I don’t believe it’s exactly for the motives that he painted. Leonardo Da Vinci was a great man, but to my mind he was a great painter because he showed us ourselves in a way which was at times vicious and at times tender. He captured what it means to be human, both literally and metaphorically, and for that simple reason I’m hooked…