A History of Art for Beginners and Students: Painting, Sculpture, Architecture

by Clara Erskine Clement Waters

The great Alonso Cano (1601-1667) was a pupil of Montañes in sculpture, and, like so many other artists of his time, was a painter and architect as well as a sculptor. His personal history is very peculiar. He was a man of violent temper, and was often involved in serious quarrels. He was obliged to flee from Granada to Madrid on account of a duel, and when his wife was found murdered in her bed he was suspected of the crime. In spite of all this he took priest's orders, and was appointed to a canonry in the Cathedral of Granada; but on account of his temper he was deprived of this office by the chapter of the cathedral. He was so angry at this that he would do no more work for the cathedral.

He devoted the remainder of his life to religious and charitable works. He gave away the money he earned as soon as he received it, and when he had no money to give away he was in the habit of making drawings, which he signed and marked with a suitable price; these he gave to the person he desired to assist, and recommended some person to whom application to buy the work could be made. After his death a large number of these charitable works was collected.

He hated Jews with such hatred that he could not endure to look at one, and many strange stories are told of him in connection with these people.

He loved his chisel better than his brush, and was accustomed to say that when weary he carved for rest. One of his pupils expressed great surprise at this, when Cano answered, "Blockhead, don't you perceive that to create form and relief on a flat surface is a greater service than to fashion one shape into another?"

The most beautiful sculpture by Cano which remains is a Virgin about a foot high in the Sacristy of the Cathedral of Granada, where there are several other statuettes by him. These are colored in a manner which the Spaniards call "estofado;" it has the effect to soften the whole appearance of the works, like an enamel. At the entrance of the choir of the cathedral there are two colossal busts by Cano; they are grand works, and are called Adam and Eve.

Pedro Roldan (1624-1700), born at Seville, is an interesting sculptor because of his work, and on account of his being the last one whose manner was like that of Juni and Hernandez. His first celebrated work was the high-altar in the chapel of the Biscayans in the Franciscan convent. When the Caridad, or Hospital of Charity, was restored, Roldan executed the last great work in painted sculpture; it was an immense piece for the centre of the retablo of the high-altar of the church, and represented the Entombment of Christ.

Seville abounds in his works, and he executed bas-reliefs in stone for the exterior of the Cathedral at Jaen. He was so devoted to his art that he felt every moment to be lost that was not spent in its service. He married a lady of good family, and lived in the country; when obliged to go to Seville he was accustomed to carry a lump of clay, and model from it as he rode along. Roldan was not by any means the best of Spanish sculptors, but he had great skill in the composition of his works, and the draperies and all the details were carefully studied. His daughter, Doña Luisa Roldan, studied sculpture under her father's instruction, and became a good artist; he was accustomed to allow her to superintend her studio and his pupils. She often aided him by her suggestions, and on one occasion, when a statue that he had made was rejected, she pointed out to him certain anatomical defects, which he remedied, and the whole appearance of the work was so changed that it was thought to be new, and was accepted for the place for which it had been ordered.

The works executed by Doña Luisa were principally small figures of the Virgin, the Adoration of the Shepherds, and kindred subjects. Several of these were presented to King Charles II., and he was so pleased by them that he ordered a life-size statue of St. Michael for the Church of the Escorial. She executed this to his satisfaction, and he then appointed her sculptress in ordinary to the king. She died at Madrid in 1704, surviving her father but four years. She left works in various convents and churches.

In Italy at the beginning of the seventeenth century a new era in sculpture was inaugurated. Art was now required to serve the Church in the way of appealing to sentiments and feeling in a far coarser and more sensational a manner than formerly. Painting was suited to these purposes far more than sculpture, and it had been raised to great heights, in Spain, by Murillo, in the North by Rubens and his followers, and in Italy by numerous masters.

Lübke says of this period: "All that was now demanded of art was effect and feeling at any price. The one was attained through the other. A passionate excitement pulsates throughout all artistic works; the ideal repose of the former altar-pieces no longer satisfied. Longing, devotional ardor, passionate rapture, enthusiastic ecstasy—these are the aims of the new art. No longer the solemn dignity of the saint, but the nervous visions of enraptured monks, are its ideal. It delights in thrilling delineations of martyrdom, seeking to render such scenes as effective and touching as possible. A desire for substantial power, a political-religious tendency, had taken possession of art, and had adapted it to its own objects. That, under such circumstances, painting reaches a new and truly artistic importance may be traced above all to the great masters who now cultivated the art, and still more to the tone of the age, which promoted it in a rare measure.... The same spirit, however, which imparted such genuine importance to painting produced the ruin of sculpture. This epoch, more than any other, is a proof that the greatest men of talent, appearing in a perverted age, are carried by their very genius all the more certainly to ruin. All that, in a more favorable period, would have raised them to be stars in the art firmament, now made them fall like some ignis fatuus, the brilliant light of which owes its illusory existence only to miasma. This striking fact appears, at first sight, inexplicable; but it is easy to understand, if we consider the different character of the two arts. Plastic art had formerly emulated painting, and thus, especially in relief, had suffered unmistakable injury to its own peculiar nature. At that time, however, painting itself was full of architectural severity and plastic nobleness of form. Now, when everything depended on striking effect and speaking delineation of passionate emotions, it was compelled to have recourse to naturalistic representation, to freer arrangements and to more striking forms that emulated reality. If, however, sculpture, which could not keep pace with its rival in the enamelled coloring and mysterious charm of the chiaro-oscuro which it brought into the field, would, in anywise, do the same as painting, it was compelled to plunge regardlessly into the same naturalism of forms and into the same bold display of passion with which painting produced such grand effects. And this sculpture did without the slightest scruple, and in this lack of an artistic conscience its whole glory perished. It is true in this passion for excited compositions an excess of splendid works were produced; it is true immense resources were expended, and able artists were employed; but such inner hollowness stares at us with inanimate eye from the greater number of these works that we turn from them with repugnance, and even often with disgust."