Duccio (Sienese: about 1260-1340). See 566.
This picture shows us the side of Duccio on which the early School of Siena still adhered to the traditions of Byzantine art. For instance, the Greek method of symbolising light on drapery is seen in the gold lines of Mary's dress, a decorative method which Duccio was the last to use. So, too, in the gold background, which was universal in Byzantine mosaics. This survival may be seen in all the early Sienese pictures in the Gallery. In 1188, for instance, all the landscape background is gold; so in 1140 are all the spaces between the houses; whilst 1113 resembles a brilliant mosaic with gold for its groundwork.
We have here the earliest representation in our Gallery of one of the most frequent subjects in mediæval art, and a few remarks on its development may be interesting. The subjects which artists had at their disposal in those days were prescribed to them by religious uses and religious conventions. Not in novelty of subject, but in individuality of treatment, was scope for the artist's ingenuity to be found. Hence a comparison of pictures of the same subject by different artists and different schools affords a suggestive study in the evolution of art. One may trace by such comparisons something of the same process of "descent with modification" that Darwin has exhibited in the case of fish and insect, fern and flower.[222] Thus we may compare the present picture—the earliest and simplest "Annunciation" in our Gallery—with Crivelli's (739), which is the most ornate, and which was painted 200 years later. Two pictures of the same subject could hardly be more unlike. Duccio's is severe and simple; Crivelli's, florid and picturesque. The one is rigidly confined to the main matter in hand; the other is crowded from corner to corner with dainty detail and lively incident. Halfway, as it were, between the two stands Lippi's "Annunciation" (666); there also there is much lovely detail, but we see in a moment that "in the Florentine, the detail is there for the sake of the picture; in the Venetian, the picture is there for the sake of the detail." Crivelli's picture shows us the furthest point of departure from the original type. Yet observe how much of the original survives. First, and this point is absolutely fixed in all mediæval representations of the subject, the angel Gabriel occupies the left-hand side, and the Blessed Virgin the right-hand side of the picture. Often (as in Giotto's frescoes in the Arena at Padua) the subject is divided into two halves by the intervention of the choir arch. In Italy, the Annunciation was always the subject employed for the decoration of the main entrance of church. For this purpose, the convenient architectural arrangement was to place a relief of the angel on one side, a relief of the Madonna on the other, and the doorway between them.[223] Similarly inside, the Annunciation was constantly employed to decorate the blank space beside an archway, and hence arose the custom of dividing the treatment. We may see examples in our Gallery in the wings (interior side) of the "Coronation" by Justus of Padua (701), and in the terminal panels of Landini's altar-piece (580A). To this peculiarity is perhaps due the wall, barrier, or column which so often marks off the figure of the Virgin from that of the angel. We find it here in the Duccio; also in Fra Angelico's picture (1406), and again in Crivelli's. Sometimes, however, there is no such division. See, for instance, Lippi's picture (666), and Manni's (1104). There is a reason for this difference. Lippi's, no doubt, was painted to fill the space over a doorway; Manni's was the apex of an altar-piece. The decorative function of the pictures governed their composition. Returning to the Duccio, we may notice as a third and nearly constant element, the angel's lilies—Annunciation lilies, as the Italians call them. Sometimes they are in a vase as here; sometimes (as in the Crivelli), the angel bears a lily in his hand. Next, it is noticeable that the action almost invariably takes place in a loggia—an arcade or cloister. The lectern or prie-dieu, which in Crivelli's picture and in very many others of the subject stands beside the Madonna, is a refinement on the earliest type as seen in Duccio and Fra Angelico. But whether with lectern or without, the Virgin is always represented with a book engaged in her devotions. Visitors who desire to trace the evolution of this subject should conclude their studies at the Tate Gallery, where, in Rossetti's "Ecce Ancilla Domini" and Mr. Hacker's "Annunciation," modern versions of the old subject are given. Rossetti's is one of the most imaginative in the whole range of art (see Ruskin's analysis cited in vol. ii. of this handbook, No. 1210).
1140. CHRIST HEALING THE BLIND.
Duccio (Sienese: about 1260-1340). See 566.
The departure from conventional forms, which was characteristic of Duccio, is conspicuous in this picture. Each of the disciples has an individual character, the entire group representing not conventional forms but living types of men. There is a piece of symbolism in the blind man who has already been healed which should not escape notice. Duccio is not content to represent the bare act of healing, but insists further upon the efficacy of the touch of Him who was the Light of the World, by making the blind man drop the staff of which he has no longer need. There is another piece of symbolism in the gradated scale by which he draws attention to the respective dignities of his characters—Christ being the tallest in the picture, the blind man the shortest (A. H. Macmurdo in Century Guild Hobby Horse, 1886, p. 119).
1141. SUPPOSED PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST.
Antonello da Messina (Venetian: 1444-1493). See 673.
A portrait in Antonello's second or Venetian manner. The portrait is the more interesting from the probability that it is of the painter himself. The inscription which so stated is said to have been sawn off by a former owner to fit the picture into a frame.[224] "It is the likeness of a man who is entirely self-possessed, nowise an idealist, yet one who would never be prompted to impetuous action. He has plenty of intelligence; nothing would escape those clear gray eyes;—scarcely, however, do they seem as if they would penetrate below the outward show of things. Considered from a technical point of view, the same subdued feeling is apparent. In the Louvre masterpiece (which this picture at once recalls), Antonello evidently braced himself for a supreme effort; in the National Gallery portrait we have an excellent example of his powers at his best period" (Times, May 31, 1883).