Nicky Charlish
posted 19 November 2007

Rediscovering art that’s been sidelined in favour of more well-known material always raises exciting possibilities. There’s speculation over what goodies may have been left in obscure churches or galleries, awaiting the time when they can bask in the glory of the exhibition hall. This exhibition fufils such expectations. But it does much more besides.

Traditionally, Florence’s contribution to the Renaissance has tended to be taken as the benchmark of what art should be like. This exhibition takes work from Siena covering a period roughly between 1460 and 1530 – the volatile last century of this ambitious independent city – telling the story of a Renaissance that’s been not so much lost as side-tracked. But it does something else: it draws our attention to the ideas which inspired it, for it was deliberately formed to give the Sienese Republic an artistic idenenty. Painters such as Fransisco di Giorgio and Domenico Beccafumi used a style to show distinctive themes and symbols. Reference to well-known Catholic symbols is to be expected in Renaissance art, but they take on extra significance when their place in the city’s history is known. The Virgin Mary was regarded as a protector of the city since its citizens defeated the Florentines at the Battle of Montaperti in 1260. Saint Catherine of Siena (1347 – 1380) was noted not only for her charitable work but for he high-level engagement in wordly and ecclesiastical affairs (including the period of the rival Rome/Avignon papacies). Saint Bernardo (1380 – 1444), who was born in the city, was a peripatetic, powerful preacher. What stands out in the exhibition as exemplars, not only of these themes, but also of the budding Renaissance in general?

Sano di Pietro’s ‘The Virgin recommends Siena to Pope Callixtus III’ (1456) shows her above the red walls of the city as she leans towards a rather sceptical-looking pope who looks as if he’s in need of some firm proof of the city’s worth. Perhaps it lies in the pack animals – symbols of trade? – that are approaching the city. Meanwhile, di Giorgio’s Saint Bernardino Preaching from a Pulpit (about 1473) shows the preacher in a stark pulpit made of naked, nailed planks, his downturned mouth simultaneously emphasising a tough message and expressing a doleful view of the spiritual state of its recipients. Neroccio di Bartolomeo de’ Landi’s wood statue of Saint Catherine of Siena (1474) shows the saint enveloped in baroque folds but having an expression that is – at first glance – blank, but really has a sort of steely firmness, as if underlining a tough spiritual outlook which ought not to be overwhelmed by the exuberance of artistic expression.

Matteo di Giovanni’s The Assumption of the Virgin (1474) shows the calmness and uncertainty competing in her face as a coupe of baroque cherubs swirl at her feet whilst desolation tears apart the face of an onlooker. The black cast bronse by di Giorgio of Saint Jerome in Penitence (about 1472-3) shows the theologians body bent in exhaustion, his head leaning back, open-mouthed, as he rests by a tree (upon which hangs an episcopal hat, reminding us of his status as a church father, but which seems to have been symbolically laid aside here as a penitential act) and yet his face has some slight hope of forgiveness relaxing its features.

We’re not limited to spiritual subjects here; Renaissance concerns with non-religious topics are beginning to emerge. The statue by di Giorgio of a Male nude with a Snake (Aesculapius?) (about 1490-5) shows him handling a snake as if he’s examining a fashion accessory. Di Giorgio and an assistant gave us Volume of Designs for Machines for use in Peace and War: Opusculum de architectura (about 1475-6). One page shows a frame holding a bell: the opposite one depicts a winged figure surmounting what seems to be an early armoured car with sickles in its wheels and more rachet-operated sickles protuding from its sides to scythe-down any oncoming opponents in its path. In Pinturicchio’s Penelope with the Suitors (about 1509) she looks sceptical whilst the nearest suitor tries to sell himself and the others seem to be wondering if it’s going to be worth the effort.

Domenico Beccafumi (1484/6-1551) gets a room to himself here in which we can see the emergence of early Mannerism from the last great Sienese painters. In Venus and Cupid (about 1519), Cupid’s face burns with lasiviousness as he suggests to Venus some sexual delights which she seems to be weighing-up favourably. Nearby, in The Virgin and Child with Saint Jerome and Infant Saint John the Baptist (about 1519) the Child shows the saint what appears to be the Scriptures (Saint Jerome produced the vulgate, the Latin translation of the Bible), whilst the Virgin seems to be wondering what the Child’s precocity holds for the future.

Siena’s civic art was inspired by religion and trade, mythology and war. In comparison, today’s artistic presentation of civic self-understanding art is rather different. Symbolism is limited, more plate-glass than gold-leaf. Religion is off-limits and, in any case, mainstream Christianity no longer wants teachings to be expounded with artistic splendour. Trade is a problem: its modern practitioners seem to lack confidence, for their profession is looked-down on, the victim of ecological and social concerns interlaced with a good deal of snobbery. Modern social concerns seem to be threadbare compared with the myths of old, and hardly worth defending. The exhibition simultaneously enriches us with beauty and heightens our sense of loss.

Till 13 January 2008.