Every Day in Tuscany (26 page)

Next door in the Town Hall, a fabulous Luca awaits,
San Francesco che riceve le stimmate, Saint Francis Receiving the Stigmata
. This painting fascinates me because of its lost context. Francis and a companion are kneeling while the angel—or Christ—flies down in exuberant coral robes. The color catches my eye because the lunette-shaped painting is said to have topped an
armadio
, armoire, that held the venerated
Albero della Vita, Tree of Life
, a striking six-foot-tall reliquary preserved in the next room. The tree branches are made of gilded copper, silver, and gold, and are adorned with coral, rock-crystal medallions, and miniatures. The tree is crowned by Christ on the cross, and just above is the curious figure of a pelican in a nest. A pelican? The bird, who pecks its own breast to feed its young, symbolizes selfless devotion to family.

Castiglion Fiorentino
suffers from proximity to Cortona, which has such a plethora of art treasures. But Castiglion Fiorentino has solid virtues—an intact medieval village perched above the undulant Val di Chio, where groves produce optimal olive oil. Inside the walls, cart-wide streets lead to one of those balcony-of-the-world lookouts framed through an impressive loggia designed by Vasari. The untouristy town tastes of the “real” Tuscany. Fortunately, Luca stopped in around 1505, leaving at the Collegiata di San Giuliano a
Lamentation Over the Dead Christ
.

Could
this
body of Christ be modeled on his own dead son Antonio, who died of the plague in 1502? Vasari connected the drawing Luca made of his son to the
Lamentation
in Cortona, but according to Kanter, the Cortona painting was completed a few months before Antonio died. Perhaps Vasari confused it with a later work. Whatever the truth, Luca’s Christs often look like local boys. This one must have been at least inspired by Antonio’s body. It’s interesting, too, that the
Virgin of the Misericordia
here may be the only remaining painting by the unfortunate son, Antonio Signorelli.

Arezzo
, capital of our province, sponsors a huge monthly antiques market. Vendors’ stands sprawl from the Vasari arcade, out into the Piazza Grande, and through many narrow streets. When I was given honorary citizenship in Arezzo, the mayor also bestowed on me the title “godmother of the fair.” He didn’t know how aptly he spoke. I’ve Christmas-shopped, birthday-shopped, and house-shopped there for all the years I’ve been in Italy. Almost my entire collection of religious art and artifacts comes from two dealers who pull out their
ex votos
when they see me. Finally restored, Piero della Francesca’s
Legend of the True Cross
cycle shines in San Francesco, but now we are pursuing Luca.

Vasari writes about a Cortona procession bringing on their shoulders a commissioned Signorelli painting all the way to Arezzo. At the age Vasari puts at eighty-one, Luca walked, too. He wanted to oversee the installation. Vasari was then a child just learning to write. He retained a vivid memory of Luca giving him a piece of jasper to wear to prevent nosebleeds and admonishing the father to allow young Giorgio to draw. In the Pinacoteca Comunale we can admire the
Virgin and Child with Saints Donatus, Jerome, Nicholas of Bari, the Prophets David, Ezechiel, Isaiah, and Niccolò Gamurrini
. A host of saints, music-playing angels, and prophets—and even God looking down on all. What music did Luca meditate on as he painted? Look, too, at
Virgin and Child with Saints Francis, Clare, Margaret, Mary Magdalene, and Four Angels
.

In
Sansepolcro
, you might be overwhelmed by Piero della Francesca and not take the ten-minute walk to the small church of San Antonio, where the
Crucifixion with Saints
by Piero’s pupil, our Luca Signorelli, hangs over the altar. As in many Renaissance paintings, time collapses on the canvas: In the background Christ is removed from the cross; in the foreground he is crucified and his mother has fainted into the lap of a woman whose red skirt cradles her—while reminding the viewer of blood. Luca slashes the sky behind the head of Christ with a long dark cloud paralleling the bar of the gibbet. Look closely. In one of the two puffy clouds you see the shape of a face. Since there’s nothing fanciful in the painting, this must represent God. The painting was a procession standard, two-sided, and the two saints who were once on the other side of the crucifixion are displayed as well.

At
Città di Castello
in the Pinacoteca Comunale, we find
The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian
. The subject might have been chosen to stop the plague of 1497. Sebastian often was invoked as a protector against the Black Death. He survived the longbow and crossbow enthusiasts who riddled his body. (And if you survive, are you able to claim martyr status?) His heroic recovery may have given hope to those stricken with plague, but it was the association of the plague with the arrow that created his mystique. Throughout these horrific pandemics, the first sign of the disease was described as hitting like an arrow. I also found the death icon of the arrow in a history of the plague in the Ottoman Empire. I’ve also come across an anonymous medieval painting of a skeleton on horseback shooting arrows at plague victims.

Luca’s Sebastian is pilloried with several tormentors ranged below him. Two showcase Luca’s fascination with the male body—a man in striped leggings faces us and one shows his back to the viewer. His second-skin gold leggings make his shapely legs and taut buttocks the actual focal point of the painting. If Sebastian had any armed supporter, the archer’s rear would have made a prime target. Two other archers are dark-skinned and almost naked, aiming bows, while the well-dressed boys aim crossbows. The dark ones must have been slaves. The background street scene depicts medieval houses, classical buildings, and a glacial landscape based on—who knows—fantasy, or perhaps the Dolomites. From heaven, God looks down from a squashed yellow ovoid, while Sebastian casts his eye upward. Although only six arrows have hit him so far, he would be hard to miss from such proximity.

D
OES THE FIRST
work of Luca Signorelli remain here, a sacred fresco in the museum? No one knows if this bit of the Virgin’s face was painted by Signorelli. The artist almost certainly studied under Piero. In his early career, Luca worked in this Umbrian area for as long as a decade. On his paintings at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., Luca is identified as Umbrian, though his birthplace, Cortona, sits firmly in Tuscany.

There are other traditionally assigned works of Luca in Città. Because Luca’s early years are such a mystery, I like to think his hand created some of these.

The
Virgin and Child with Saints Francis, Bonaventure, Louis of Toulouse, Anthony of Padua, Cecilia, Clare, Catherine, and Elisabeth of Hungary—
what a crew—previously was omitted from Signorelli’s oeuvre, but Kanter affirms it as Luca’s. The painting is resplendent in Renaissance fabrics. I love the Virgin’s star-scattered dress and the fleur-de-lis cape over Clare’s poor dress. The infant Child holding out a crown turns toward St. Cecilia. The women’s hands are eloquent; there always must have been a language of gesture in Italy. The six accompanying panels of saints Kanter assigns to the nephew, Francesco Signorelli. Two of those, to me, give off the perfume of Signorelli.

At
Umbertide
, Luca’s
Deposition from the Cross
remains on the altar at Santa Croce, as he intended, bestowing its mellow golds, ochres, and browns on all who come to visit. In front of this painting, I always think of the smooth Italian word
ambrato
, ambered. The intimate details of this scene startle me. A holy woman holds out her hand to catch blood dripping from Jesus’s feet. Two robust men on ladders detach his arms from the cross as he slumps forward. The three predella scenes recall Piero della Francesca’s treatment of the Holy Cross themes in Arezzo’s San Francesco, but Luca’s realism shows how far he moved from the precepts of his former teacher.

Luca was paid around seventy florins for this fine work. How did he spend those gold coins? Vials of ground lapis lazuli for the blue of a Madonna’s dress, a stone roof for his studio, a brace of woodcocks for a feast, and lambskin slippers to wear in front of the fire?

The
Perugia
altarpiece in the city’s Museo Diocesano has great charm and impact. The Virgin reads a book while the Child holding a lily looks down at the pages. Below her, an angel strums a lute. He is seated on a dais with glasses of wild-flowers on either side of him. The four surrounding saints—John the Baptist looks quite wild—resemble cutouts pasted on the canvas. They would appear almost Byzantine if they were not so active and expressive. There’s another Signorelli
Virgin and Child
with a passel of saints in the Perugia’s Galleria Nazionale. This one is rare for being in its original frame with the predella scenes intact below.

Capital of Umbria, Perugia draws people from all over the world to its Università per Stranieri, a tough language school for those with the stamina for immersion. Ed’s course bumped his Italian to the next level, though the hour commute was agony. The museums house a comprehensive collection of Umbrian art. Perugia has great street life, a marvelous fountain, the duomo where the wedding ring of the Virgin resides, pastry and chocolate shops, and good-looking people. You could idle awhile, spend a few days (or a year) exploring Umbria, especially Assisi, Spello, Spoleto, and the ceramic centers, Deruta and Gualdo Tadino.

The contiguous trail ends in Perugia.

B
UT
, please, pursue Luca further:

Devote a half day to the great
Abbadia Monte Oliveto Maggiore
near Asciano, and less than twenty miles south of Siena. The Signorelli and Sodoma frescoes, painted on cloister walls surrounding a courtyard of lemon trees, highlight the life and miracles of San Benedetto, St. Benedict. Several scenes involve falling rafters and stones and monks miraculously saved from death by the good Benedetto. (Very appealing subject matter for this serial restorer. He should be the patron of builders.) One involves a bucket brigade putting out a fire. The most touching fresco,
How Saint Benedict Reproved the Monks for Eating Outside the Monastery
, appeals to me not for it’s didactic purpose but for the homey interior scene of a meal being served by two graceful women—surely a minestrone, a savory leg of lamb, field greens, and plums. Benedetto must have been, well,
a saint
—sweet, helpful, steady—because his miracles were not show-stoppers. His were everyday, even mundane, not flashy instant cures or water-into-wine dramas.

The other half of the day, if you wend your way to
Pienza
you will be startled by this harmonious Renaissance town that smells of pecorino. Shops with open doors lure me toward their cheeses in jackets of hazelnut leaves or ashes. From various outlook spots, you can see grazing all the huddles of sheep that gave the town fame for cheese. I never leave without a hunk of semi-aged pecorino.

The Madonna lost her crown during a restoration of
Madonna della Misericordia with Saints Sebastian and Bernadine
. This painting in San Francesco is worth seeing for the calm Sebastian, standing beside the Virgin, his arrow wounds punctuating his pale body. Mary throws up her hands in a
that’s enough
gesture.

Luca loved fabric. Sometimes I flip through Henry and Kanter’s
Luca Signorelli
just focusing on the lavish patterns and colors worn by his figures. Catch the wild fabric on her dress in Pienza.

In the wine town of
Montepulciano
, seek out, along with a bottle of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano, Chiesa di Santa Lucia and the simple and regal
Virgin and Child
.

Don’t stop now, because his most astounding work, his
sopratutto
, above all, masterpiece is outside Tuscany, in dramatic
Orvieto
, a magnificent town suspended over the countryside on a tufa precipice.