Welcome back to the Deep Dive. Today we are setting
aside the titans of the high renaissance, you
know, the Michelangelos and the Leonardos, to
look at the man who really carved the foundation
upon which they built. Absolutely. We're diving
into the cornerstone of the entire movement.
the Florentine sculptor Donatello. Donato di
Niccolò di Betto Bardi, born around 1386. And
our goal today, well, it's to synthesize the
sources, look at his long and incredibly productive
career, and really try to uncover the key innovations
that made him such a foundational figure. Exactly.
What was it that allowed him to sort of drag
Western art out of the Gothic era and launch
it into this, well, this new world of classical
ideas and expressive power? That's what we want
to explore. And it really was quite a journey.
I mean, when you look... at his output, the sheer
versatility is just astonishing. He wasn't just
stuck in one medium. Not at all. Stone, bronze,
wood, clay, stucco, wax. He even found incredibly
inventive ways to use glass, which is pretty
unusual for a sculptor. Truly a pioneer across,
well, pretty much every material available at
the time. And that versatility, combined with,
I think, his singular achievement, the bronze
David, that's what really cemented his status.
Ah, yes, the David. We'll definitely get into
that. The first freestanding nude male sculpture
since antiquity, right? That's the one. It's
like a visual manifesto. It perfectly encapsulates
his vision, you know, blending that classical
monumentality with a completely new kind of naturalistic
expressiveness, radical for its time. But behind
this monumental genius, there's this fascinating...
contradiction in his personality, what we're
calling the persona paradox. Right. The sources
describe him as, well, amiable, generally well
-liked, even generous, not the sort of brooding,
isolated artist you might imagine. But on the
other hand, he was apparently terrible at the
business side of things. Notoriously so. Constantly
overcommitted, often incredibly late delivering
commissions, sometimes just walking away, leaving
works unfinished for years. So how did he manage
to be so fiercely innovative with that kind of
chaos? Patronage. steady, incredibly powerful
patronage. Especially, and this is key, from
the Medici family as they were rising to power.
They seem to have been remarkably tolerant of
his, let's say, eccentricities and his lifestyle.
And that gave him the cushion he needed. Exactly.
The economic cushion required for his endless
experimentation, even when he wasn't, you know,
meeting deadlines. Okay, so let's unpack his
beginnings. Born around 1386 in Florence. His
father, Niccolo di Betto Bardi, was a wool stretcher.
Now that might sound a bit mundane to us. But
it wasn't. Not really. Being a wool stretcher
meant he was part of the Arti della Lana, the
powerful wool workers' guild. That actually gave
the family significant status and presumably
a decent income. Right. And the name Bardi, any
connection to the famous banking family? It's
important to note the connection was distant.
He wasn't part of that Bardi banking dynasty.
However, in Florence, even a distant connection
mattered. Especially later. Especially after
Contesina de Bardi married Cosima de' Medici
around 1415. You have to think, having that Barty
lineage, even distantly, probably didn't hurt
Donatello's standing when he was looking for
those big public commissions later on. Okay,
so not exactly rags to riches, but maybe a helpful
connection. But before the smelting fame, his
first appearance in the records is, well, less
than promising. Ah, yes. January 1401, he's about
15. He's in Pistoia, and he gets formally accused
of hitting a German guy with a stick and drawing
blood. Wow. Not quite the Renaissance man image
we might expect. A rather feisty start for the
artist who would define grace and form. But it's
right around this time, maybe even during that
Pistoia trip, that things start to shift. It's
suggested he struck up his close, lifelong friendship
with Filippo Brunelleschi. Brunelleschi, the
architect, who was about 10 years older. That's
him. And almost as soon as they get back to Florence,
they're potentially involved in something huge.
The 1401 baptistry door competition. Exactly.
The legendary contest that many see as the absolute
starting gun for the Renaissance. The showdown
between Ghiberti and Brunelleschi. And Donatello,
just a teenager, might have been involved. It's
plausible he assisted Brunelleschi with his trial
piece. Imagine him absorbing those early ideas
about perspective and classical form directly
from his older friend. right at the crucible
moment. That's incredible context. But Ghiberti
famously won that commission. He did. And what's
fascinating is what happens next. Donatello and
Brunelleschi don't just hang around Florence
feeling defeated. No. No, they pack up and head
to Rome. Around 1402, 1403. And this wasn't just
a holiday. Right. You mentioned this was a serious
intellectual pursuit. Deeply serious. It was
essentially an archaeological expedition that
would change everything. They were systematically
studying, measuring, digging up ancient Roman
art and architecture, trying to unlock the secrets
of classical proportion, monumentality. Doing
the groundwork, literally. Literally. Much of
ancient Rome was still buried then. And they
supported themselves, the sources say, by working
for Roman goldsmiths. Ugh, goldsmithing. That
sounds like important training for Donatello,
especially for Braun's work later. Crucial training.
Understanding metal casting, intricate detail
work. It was a baptism by fire into ancient techniques,
you could say. Brunelleschi took that knowledge
towards architecture. The dual modem. While Donatello
applied it to the human form, moving away from
that stiff Gothic style. Precisely. But before
he fully launched his own career, there was one
more, slightly ironic step. An apprenticeship.
With Ghiberti. The guy who beat Brunelleschi.
Yep. From about 1404 to 1407, he's listed as
being in Ghiberti's workshop, likely working
on those very baptistry doors Ghiberti had won
the commission for. So he learned the prevailing
style from the inside. Learned it inside out.
The international Gothic style, with all its
detailed drapery and high polish, he mastered
it, which makes his later deliberate move away
from it, starting with his stone carving for
the cathedral's Porta della Mandorla even more
significant. He knew the rules perfectly before
he decided to break them. OK, so early 15th century
Florence, a great time to be a sculptor, lots
of public commissions, but also big challenges,
right? These statues weren't for quiet contemplation
in a gallery. Exactly. They were for public squares
high up on buildings. Donatello had to figure
out how to make these monumental figures communicate
powerfully, clearly to people looking up from
way below. often at sharp angles. His work for
the Duomo, the Florence Cathedral, seems like
the first big test of that, like the colossal
seated St. John the Evangelist from around 1409,
1411. Right. Destined for the old facade, placed
high up the base, was about three meters off
the ground. So the big problem is distortion.
If you just carve a perfectly proportioned statue,
it'll look weird from down below. Precisely.
So Donatello had to adjust the composition. Make
the head, the hands, maybe the upper torso slightly
larger, anticipating how the perspective, the
distance, would make them look visually correct
once they were installed. That sounds incredibly
sophisticated, a real break from just carving
what looks right up close. It's a huge intellectual
leap, rooted in classical ideas about optics
and a humanist focus on visual reality, not just
convention. And it's great that today in the
museum, they often display these sculptures at
something close to their original height, so
you can really appreciate that foresight. Then
came the figures for Giotto's Campanile, the
bell tower, starting around 1415. Even bigger
scale, same visual challenge. Eight life -size
marble figures needed for these very high, narrow
niches. Fine detail would be totally lost from
street level. Donatello ended up doing six of
them. And among those is the famous Zucconi.
Baldy. That's the one. Probably representing
Havokuk or Jeremiah, carved between 1423 -1425.
Reportedly Donatello's personal favorite. Vasari
tells that story about him swearing by it, by
the faith I placed in my Zucconi. Which suggests
how personal this move towards expressive realism
was for him. Absolutely. It wasn't just technical
skill, it was about capturing inner life, character,
even in figures destined to be seen from afar.
And speaking of challenges at height, there's
that amazing story about the White Colossus,
Homo Magnus at Elbis, Donatello and Brunelleschi
working together again. Yes, on this figure of
Joshua, meant for the very highest parts of the
cathedral. It's a perfect example of their practical
engineering minds collaborating. Because marble
is just too heavy for that height. Way too heavy.
They didn't want the kind of structural problems
Michelangelo later faced with his David. They
needed something large but lightweight. So what
was their solution? Radical. A core made of brick.
covered with mottled clay or terracotta, and
then the whole thing painted white. Innovative,
cost -effective, surprisingly modern, really.
It solved the problem and apparently stayed up
there until the 18th century. Incredible. Okay,
moving from the cathedral to Orsanmichel, the
guild church. Here, the statues were lower down,
right? About three meters up? Yes, a different
context, more visible detail, demanding a different
kind of realism. His Marble Saint Mark for the
Linen Weavers Guild from 1411 -1413 is a prime
example. And this is where he uses that classical
contrapposto pose. Beautifully. For anyone listening,
contrapposto is that counterpoised stance, weight
on one leg. hips and shoulders tilting slightly
it makes the figure look relaxed natural alive
ready to move a world away from rigid gothic
figures and we have to tell the bizarre story
about this one the guild members saw it on the
ground first and hated it complained it looked
crude unfinished so what did donatello do classic
donatello he apparently convinced them to let
him put it up in its niche covered it, and promised
to fix it over two weeks. But he didn't actually
change anything. Nope, just maybe polish the
base a bit. Then he unveiled it in position,
and suddenly, from the correct viewing angle,
it looked powerful, sublime. They loved it. It
just shows his deep understanding of how context
and perspective transform the artwork. Amazing.
Then his St. George for the Armorer's Guild around
1415 -17, that had a different problem, a shallow
niche. Right. The space wasn't as deep. So Donatello,
again, turning a limitation into an advantage,
pushes the figure slightly forward, breaking
the plane of the niche. Creating what effect?
A sense of immediacy, alertness. And that anxious
look people noted on his face, it wasn't accidental.
It suggests prontessa readiness, military alertness,
very fitting for the Armorer's Guild. He's tailoring
the psychology of the figure to its patrons.
Such smart choices. And then comes a big shift,
the gilt bronze St. Louis of Toulouse around
1423 -25. This is really the start of his major
documented work in bronze, isn't it? It marks
a definite transition, moving from primarily
stone to mastering metal on a large scale. And
this piece was technically immense. How so? It
was over life -size, and it had to be constructed
from separately cast and gilded sections. Fire
gilding a whole figure that big would have been
incredibly difficult, maybe impossible, certainly
dangerous back then. Which suggests... It strongly
suggests his collaboration with Micheloso, who
was skilled in metalwork and organization, was
likely already underway by this point. He needed
that kind of support for such a complex undertaking.
Okay, but before all these huge public commissions,
there's that famous story again from Vasari about
the wooden crucifix feud with Brunelleschi, the
Santa Croce crucifix. Ah, yes, around 1407, 1408.
Donatello carves this crucifix, and it's startlingly
realistic. Christ is shown in agony, contracted
body, mouth partly open. Not the idealized divine
figure people were used to. Not at all. It was
brutally honest. The image of a dying man. Donatello
proudly shows it to Brunalecki, who'd just come
back steeped in Roman classicism. And Brunalecki
was not impressed. Scornful, apparently. Said
it looked like a peasant on a cross un contadino
in Croce. Ouch. And Donatello's response? That
famous line, take some wood and make one yourself.
Basically daring him. And Brunelleschi did. He
carved his own much more classical, idealized
crucifix for Santa Maria Novella. He did. And
at the time, Brunelleschi's elegant version was
probably seen as aesthetically superior. But
Donatello's raw realism, that was a choice that
pointed directly towards the intense emotional
expression he'd explore much later in his career.
It was prophetic in a way. So Donatello is not
just mastering monumental sculpture. He's simultaneously
revolutionizing relief work. He invents this
technique called stiacciato. Right? Literally
flattened out. And this was a genuinely radical
shift in technique. Think about Ghiberti. His
old master, Ghiberti, used high relief. Figures
almost jumping out from the background. But Stiacciato
is the opposite. Completely. It's an incredibly
shallow bass relief style. We're talking millimeters
deep sometimes. The whole point... was to create
the illusion of depth using perspective, overlapping
forms, subtle carving, not actual physical projection.
And the first big example is on the base of his
St. George statue, the St. George Fring, the
Princess Relief. Exactly. If you look closely
at that piece, the figures are barely raised
off the marble. But Donatello uses overlapping
figures, and this clever partial perspective,
you see that little arcade on the right. to create
this convincing sense of deep space on an incredibly
thin surface. It was like inventing a whole new
visual language. Wow. And he took this even further
with his bronze work for the Siena Baptistery
font, right? The Feast of Herod from 1423 -1427.
He did. And this one was designed to be seen
up close, placed quite low down, near knee level
for the viewer. So even more demanding. In a
way, yes. The composition is masterful. He uses
these three distinct receding planes, defined
by architectural lines, to structure the scene.
But here's where it gets really interesting,
technically, and reveals Donatello's psychological
genius. How so? It deliberately doesn't use a
perfect single vanishing point, the kind Brunelleschi
was theorizing about as the scientific standard
for perspective. Wait, so he's breaking the rules?
Wasn't one -point perspective seen as the correct
way? It was becoming the standard, yes. But Donatello
seems to be breaking the rules intentionally
here. Art historians suggest that using multiple
slightly conflicting vanishing points creates
this subtle spatial disharmony. To what end?
To create a subliminal tension, an unease that
perfectly mirrors the gruesome subject matter.
You know, Herod recoiling in horror from John
the Baptist's head, Salome standing there almost
nonchalantly. The skewed perspective adds to
that psychological punch. It's not unskilled.
It's deliberate emotional manipulation through
technique. That's fascinating. Using perspective
for feeling, not just accuracy. He also used
the acciato for smaller pieces, right, like Madonna's.
Yes, more intimate domestic works like the Pazzi
Madonna or the Ascension with Christ giving the
keys to St. Peter. But as his fame and commissions
exploded, so did his organizational problems.
He was taking on too much. Which leads us directly
to that crucial partnership with Mikulota. The
Mikulota partnership. roughly 1425 to 1434. It
seems like he was born out of pure necessity,
but also a kind of complimentary genius. Donatello,
the creative force, Michelotto, the organizer.
Pretty much. Donatello was brilliant, but as
we said, financially chaotic. Michelotto was
an architect, also a skilled bronze caster. But
importantly, he was organized. He could manage
the workshop, handle the finances, the complex
logistics of these big projects. And their collaboration
produced some landmark works, like the tomb of
Antipope John Tecky III. the Florence Baptistery.
A hugely influential piece. It basically established
the template for the grand Quattrocento wall
tomb. It beautifully integrates Michelazzo's
stone architecture and figures with Donatello's
absolute masterpiece centerpiece, that stunning,
realistic, recumbent bronze effigy of the Pope.
All contained elegantly within a narrow vertical
space. It was a new fusion of sculpture and architecture.
And they weren't just working in Florence. They
took on projects elsewhere. They did. Their workshop
executed the Brancacci Monument for Naples. Though
it seems Donatello's personal involvement was
likely focused on the beautiful Assumption Relief.
The work was actually done in Pisa and then shipped
south. Shows the scale of their operation. But
the partnership didn't last forever. What caused
the split? It seems to have buckled under the
strain of Donatello's infamous delays. The commission
for the outdoor pulpit at Prado Cathedral, received
in 1428, really stretched things thin. This is
the one with the dancing children release. That's
the one. It was meant for displaying a famous
relic, the Sacra Centola, Mary's girdle. But
the reliefs weren't actually delivered until
1438, a whole decade late. So how did Nicoloso
put up with that for nearly nine years? The Medici
might have provided a cushion, but surely Micheloso
needed paying. Well, Micheloso was probably compensated
well for taking on the risk and the management
burden. And the prestige of partnering with Donatello,
securing these major commissions, likely made
it worthwhile for a long time. But the Prado
pulpit seems to have been the breaking point.
It was just an organizational nightmare. And
the reliefs themselves. When they finally arrived,
they were pretty radical, too, weren't they?
Absolutely explosive. Described as a veritable
bacchanalian dance of half -nude putti, pagan
in spirit. Pagan spirit on a cathedral pulpit.
Exactly. This wild, liberated energy. focusing
on rhythmic movement almost completely detached
from traditional Christian themes. It stood in
stark contrast to most religious art of the time.
This shift in Donatello's style, this embrace
of the untamed, probably also contributed to
the partnership ending around 1434. He was just
constantly pushing boundaries, regardless of
deadlines or patron expectations. Around this
time after the partnership ended, Donatello makes
another trip to Rome. His second visit, the Rome
Interlude. Yes, around 1430 to 1433. This seems
to have been primarily for more deep study of
antiquity, perhaps solidifying his direction
after branching out on his own again. And did
this trip influence his work? Significantly.
The marble relief tabernacle surround he created
for St. Peter's basically defined the standard
early Renaissance wall tabernacle type, integrating
classical architectural motifs with these lovely
child angels. It's also speculated this is when
he might have met the great theorist Leon Battista
Alberti. He likely returned to Florence with
an even deeper understanding of classical proportion
and form, which you see feeding directly into
his next major phase, including the Bronze David.
Okay, so mid -1430s, Donatello's back from Rome,
the partnership with Micheloso is over, and he
enters this incredible period focusing on sensuous
bronzes, deeply connected with the Medici circle.
And he seems particularly interested in finds
of children. Yes, Pudi, the classical winged
infants, but also these figures he really championed,
called Spiritelli's... sort of like imps or sprites.
Weren't putting already around in art. They were.
But Donatello gave them a totally new life and
prominence. You see early examples on the cover
he made for the Siena font back in 1429. These
three little bronze spiritelli playing musical
instruments. They're often called the first true
freestanding figurines of the Renaissance. Freestanding,
like small independent sculptures. Exactly. Not
just part of a relief. It was a huge step, bridging
classical motifs with contemporary forms and
incredibly influential for later small bronzes.
A famous exploration of this youthful energy
is probably the Cantoria, the singing gallery
for Florence Cathedral from 1433 -1438. This
was a direct competition, wasn't it? A head -to
-head artistic duel with Luca Della Robbia, who
was creating a matching gallery for the other
side of the choir. And the pressure was on. Intense
pressure. Donatello's contract actually specified
he'd get paid 20 % more if his finished gallery
was judged more beautiful than Della Robbia's.
Wow. So how did their approaches differ? Completely
different. Della Robbia produced these serene,
beautifully ordered, classically restrained figures
of choir boys and musicians. Very elegant, very
controlled. And Donatello? With the absolute
opposite way. His freeze is just bursting with
energy. It's described as... primarily symbols
of Dionysiac abandon. These aren't well -behaved
choir boys. They're wild, bachic figures, almost
frantic, dancing with this incredible rhythmic
intensity. They seem to almost escape the architectural
frame. So one calm and classical, the other wild
and pagan, side by side in the cathedral. Exactly.
It shows the amazing breadth of the early Renaissance,
that these two totally different, high -quality
artistic visions could coexist. Donatello was
deliberately rejecting serene idealism for something
much more untamed, echoing that spirit we saw
in the Pareto release. This pagan, almost untamed
energy seems to flow directly into another really
strange and fascinating bronze figure, the Amor
Addis from around 1440 -1442. Ah, the Amor Attis.
It's such a puzzle of a piece. It's a smallish
bronze figure, but it has wings like Cupid, Amor,
but also this phrygian cap associated with Attis,
a strange little tail, leggings that really emphasize
his nudity and genitals, and he's standing on
a snake. What does it all mean? Nobody's entirely
sure. It blends classical references in a really
unique, maybe even deliberately obscure way.
Its artistic quality is so high that despite
Vasari mentioning it centuries later in the 17th
century, people thought it was a genuine Roman
antique. So it perfectly embodies that blend
of classical form and a new, maybe slightly unsettling,
sensuousness. Precisely. It feels like a bridge
between the playful spiritelli and the complex
sensuality of his next and most famous work.
The bronze, David. C1434, 1440. We have to really
stress the importance of this one. Absolutely.
Cannot overstate it. It's arguably the single
most important sculpture of the entire early
Quadrigendo. The fact that it's the first known
freestanding nude male sculpture made since the
fall of Rome, conceived entirely in the round,
not tied to a niche or a wall. That alone is
history ultimate. Nothing else really prepares
you for it. Nothing. It's this astonishing leap.
That revival of the classical nude combined with
this very particular, almost languid sensuality.
Okay, politically, David was a symbol for Florence,
right? The underdog republic beating bigger enemies,
like Milan. That's the standard interpretation,
yes. David is a symbol of Florentine civic virtue
and liberty. But Donatello does something radical
with the figure itself. He doesn't look much
like a biblical hero king. Not at all. He transforms
the king of Israel into something closer to a
young, beautiful, almost androgynous Greek god.
He's wearing only this rather jaunty hat and
boots. Which just emphasizes the nudity. Exactly.
And the eroticism isn't just general. It's quite
specific and has drawn a lot of commentary. You
mean the detail with Goliath's helmet? Yes. The
gigantic feather from Goliath's helmet crest
runs right up the inside of David's bare thigh.
It's an incredibly deliberate, sensuous touch.
Some see it as homoerotic, others as symbolizing
luxury or pride being overcome, but it's undeniably
charged. He's completely reinterpreting the subject
through a classical humanist and perhaps personal
lens. And David, along with the Amor Addis, seems
to connect with the contemporary gossip about
Donatello's own life and workshop. It certainly
fuels that interpretation. There's a collection
of anecdotes from the period, the Deddy P. Cheveley,
basically celebrity gossip that strongly suggests
Donatello's homosexuality was pretty widely known
or at least rumored. What kind of anecdotes?
Things about him hiring handsome assistants.
And one story claims he used to stain them maybe
with makeup or dye. so that other patrons wouldn't
find them attractive and try to poach them from
his workshop. Seriously? That's the story. There's
even slang used in one anecdote about a quarrel
and then a reconciliation with an assistant that
pretty clearly implies sexual activity. But wasn't
Florence quite strict about sodomy back then?
Denunciations were common, right? Artists could
get into serious trouble. Extremely strict. Denunciations
through the tambourine boxes were frequent, and
penalties could be severe, even death. Think
of Botticelli later facing accusations. This
is where the Medici connection becomes absolutely
critical. They protected him. Seems very likely.
Donatello's freedom to explore these unconventional,
sensuous subjects and to live a lifestyle that
was apparently commented upon was almost certainly
enabled by the powerful shield of Medici patronage,
particularly Cosimo de' Medici's support. So
their tolerance was invaluable, allowing his
genius to flourish without facing the legal repercussions
others might have. Exactly. It meant that Donatello,
despite being, by all accounts, terrible with
money and organization, always had this powerful
ally. And his financial character really was
something else. Legendary. The classic story
perfectly sums it up. He supposedly kept a bucket
full of money hanging from the rafters in his
workshop. A bucket of money. Yeah. And if his
assistants or suppliers needed cash for materials
or... wages, they could just reach up and take
what they needed. No bookkeeping, apparently.
That's incredible. Amiable and generous, but
utterly unconcerned with finances. His 1427 tax
return confirms that his declared income was
way lower than his competitor, Ghiberti's, even
though Donatello was arguably at the peak of
his fame. He was clearly driven by the art, by
experimentation, not by the bottom line. The
Medici provided the safety net that let that
revolutionary spirit thrive. So in 1443, Donatello
makes a big move. He leaves Florence and heads
north to Padua, where he stays for about 10 years.
Why Padua? What was the context there? Padua
was a prosperous city, part of the Venetian Republic's
territory on the mainland. Importantly, it was
politically friendly to the Medici back in Florence.
It's quite possible Cosimo de' Medici encouraged
or facilitated the move. As a way to sort of
export Florentine artistic prestige. Exactly.
Spread the influence. And Donatello's decade
there was incredibly productive, dominated by
huge monumental commissions, none more significant
than the Equestria. statue of Gadamelada. The
equestrian monument of Gadamelada, 1443 -1453.
This is another major landmark piece, isn't it?
A historical watershed, absolutely. It's the
first life -size equestrian statue cast in bronze
since antiquity. Think Roman emperors on horseback.
Donatello revived that tradition. And it became
the model for countless later equestrian monuments
across Europe. Precisely. He'd clearly studied
ancient examples like the famous bronze horses
of St. Mark in nearby Venice and the Marcus Aurelius
statue in Rome. You see those classical influences
in the horse's powerful stance, the details of
the rider's Roman -style armor. Gadamalada himself
was a condottiere, a mercenary captain, named
Erasmo de Narni. That's right. Nicknamed Gadamalada,
which means something like honeyed cat. But there's
a bit of a mystery around the commission itself.
His will, left by his heirs who commissioned
the work, apparently only specified a fearing
modest tomb inside the Basilica of St. Anthony
il Santo in Padua. But Donatella delivered this
massive public monument outside the church. Exactly.
A grand statement in the piazza. The huge expense
ended up being shared by the Venetian government
and the family. It transformed what was meant
to be a private memorial into a very public civic
symbol of Venetian power and military leadership.
Gadamelata is presented almost like an idealized
Roman general, a Caesar. So Donatello's presence
alone in Padua must have had a huge impact. Transformative.
His being there, casting this huge bronze statue,
spurred the development of a whole local school
of bronze casting in Padua. He trained sculptors,
founders. His influence directly led to Padua
becoming a major center for those small, collectible
table bronzes later in the century. He basically
created an artistic ecosystem wherever he worked.
And while he was there, he wasn't just working
on the gata mulata. He also did a massive amount
of work for the high altar. inside Il Santo.
A huge project between 1446 and 1450. We're talking
over 20 bronze reliefs plus multiple life -size
bronze figures. Including the first life -size
bronze crucifix designed to hang above the altar.
Yes, and the main altar composition itself was
incredibly complex. A Madonna and child enthroned,
surrounded by six saints. But the Madonna isn't
just sitting there passively. How is she portrayed?
She's shown in the act of rising from her throne.
It adds this dynamic sense of movement, of presence,
to the whole devotional group. And the throne
itself sounds elaborate. Very. Packed with sophisticated
classical details, sphinxes, symbols of knowledge,
allegorical figures, and fascinatingly, on the
back, a relief depicting the fall of man, Adam
and Eve. It was this dense combination of classical
learning, allegory, and Christian narrative.
Plus, the 21 bronze release telling stories,
including the beautifully detailed scenes from
the life of St. Anthony. a monumental achievement.
Okay, so after this incredibly productive, monumental
decade in Padua, he eventually returns to Florence.
And this is where we see a really dramatic shift
in his style, right? Towards something much starker,
more emotionally raw. Yes. The late Florentine
period shows a move towards a kind of intense,
sometimes disturbing, expressive realism. It's
quite a shock compared to the idealized beauty
of, say, the Bronze David. The prime example
being the wooden penitent Magdalene. Absolutely.
That figure is just... Formidably expressive.
For a long time, people thought it was very late,
maybe from the mid -1450s after Padua. But some
redating, based on his wooden scene John the
Baptist from 1438, suggests the Magdalene might
actually be earlier. From before Padua, maybe
around 1440, 1442. It's possible. Which makes
the stylistic shift even more intriguing if he
was capable of this kind of raw expression alongside
the sensuous bronzes. But regardless of the exact
date, stylistically, it's a world away from classical
ideals. Completely. She's described as looking
like a female figure. Her body is wasted, skeletal,
hidden beneath this mass of long, stringy hair
that acts as her only garment. all the focuses
on her emaciated face, the sunken eyes, the open
mouth conveying pure spiritual agony and penitence.
Physical beauty is utterly rejected. It's all
about the intensity of the soul's suffering.
It must have been profoundly shocking to Florentine's
use to the sweet style he himself had helped
establish earlier. Deeply shocking, I imagine,
and deeply moving. It shows him pushing into
entirely new emotional territory. And this trajectory
towards raw, uncompromised emotion seems to culminate
in his very last major project in Florence, the
bronze pulpits for the Church of San Lorenzo.
Yes, the San Lorenzo pulpits, worked on in the
1460s, probably left slightly unfinished at his
death. These are two large pulpits covered in
bronze reliefs depicting scenes from Christ's
Passion and the events after his resurrection.
And stylistically, they are. Extreme. You see
incredible experimentation, almost abstraction
sometimes. The spatial treatment varies wildly
between panels. The scale of figures changes.
There's a stylistic roughness, a messy, vigorous
energy that feels almost desperate. Described
as showing the absolutely uncompromising use
of every possible means to express emotion and
suffering. It sounds almost painful to experience.
It can be. The figures are contorted. The composition's
crowded and chaotic. There's a suggestion he
was working with incredible speed and urgency,
maybe even casting directly from roughly finished
wax models, Modelli. It seems his final artistic
goal wasn't about polished beauty or classical
harmony anymore, but about conveying the raw,
immediate, overwhelming power of human suffering
and divine drama. We've talked about his mastery
of stone, wood, bronze. But his innovation didn't
stop there. He even experimented with glass,
which seems unusual for a sculptor. Highly unusual.
But yes, around 1434, he was actually commissioned
to design a stained glass window for Florence
Cathedral. He also used little glass cubes, tesserae,
sometimes set into the backgrounds of his release,
like on the Prado pulpit, for textural effect.
But his most inventive use of glass was the Cellini
Madonna. Ah, yes, the Cellini Madonna from around
1450. This is technically fascinating. It's a
bronze round old latando showing the virgin and
child, but it's cast with remarkable precision
so that it has exactly the same thickness all
over. Meaning the front relief matches the back
indentation perfectly. Exactly. The convex relief
on the front has a perfectly matching concave
hollow on the reverse side, and the idea was
that this reverse side could function as a mold.
A mold for what? For casting replicas in molten
glass, or possibly cheaper materials like wax
or plaster. He actually gave this bronze tondo
to his doctor, Giovanni Cellini, in 1456, perhaps
partly as payment. It shows this incredibly forward
-thinking approach, almost like proto -industrial
design, where the original artwork itself serves
as a master mold for potential mass reproduction.
Now, on a different note, what about portraiture?
We have these incredibly realistic figures like
the Zucconi or the Magdalene. Did he do many
actual portraits? It's a bit tricky. Aside from
his very realistic tomb effigies, like the one
for Antipope John III, verifiable portraits by
Donatello are surprisingly scarce. What about
the famous terracotta bust of Niccolo d 'Ausano?
That looks incredibly realistic. It does. It's
dated to the 1430s and shows this really uncompromising
realism, suggesting it might have been made from
a life mask or even a death mask. But modern
scholars really debate the attribution. Some
question if it's actually by Donatello. Some
even question its quality, suggesting it might
be later in the century. That's not a real likeness.
Generally considered not. It's more of a stylized,
idealized, Caesar -like head representing the
idea of a commander rather than a specific portrait
of Erasmo Di Narni. It seems Donatello was more
interested in capturing character, type, or an
idealized form than literal individual fidelity
in many cases. Okay, so much of the story of
Donatello, the anecdotes, the sense of his personality,
comes down to us through Giorgio Vasari's Lives
of the Artists, written about a century after
his death. Vasari is crucial, absolutely. He
fully recognized Donatello's monumental importance
and gave us so many of those memorable stories,
the St. Mark unveiling trick, the bucket of money.
They bring the artist to life. But we need to
read Vasari carefully. Very carefully. Vasari,
writing in the mid -16th century, had his own
agenda. His book contained significant factual
errors. Most notably, he got Donatello's birth
year wrong by 17 years. Why would he do that?
It artificially compressed the timeline of the
early Renaissance, making the progression seem
quicker and more Florentine -centric. Vasari
saw Donatello as the essential starting point
for Florence's artistic dominance, and he wanted
to draw a clear, direct line of influence leading
straight to his own ultimate hero, Michelangelo.
So Vasari is invaluable for the narrative, but
not always reliable on the facts. Got it. But
inaccuracies aside, Donatello's actual influence
was immense and undeniable. Absolutely fundamental.
His sheer variety, think of the range from the
classical David to the expressive Magdalene,
influenced basically all Florentine sculpture
throughout the 15th century. Yeah. Everyone had
to react to Donatello. Even if they didn't always
understand his later work. Right. That late,
incredibly bold, expressive style. The boldness
of imagination and execution. in the San Lorenzo
pulpits that seemed to have been difficult for
his immediate successors. Many of them reverted
to a safer, sweeter style, a kind of refined
classicism that, ironically, Donatello himself
had helped create decades earlier. But later
artists picked up on it. Yes, the next generation,
the more progressive masters like Verrocchio,
who taught Leonardo, and Antonio del Palaiolo,
they clearly studied and absorbed the power and
emotional intensity of Donatello's late work.
They carried that challenging legacy forward.
and his influence spread geographically too because
of his time away from florence definitely his
decade in padua and time spent working for sienna
earlier wasn't just a personal detour it was
like planting artistic seeds by training local
sculptors and bronze founders in those cities
he helped transform them into significant art
centers in their own right He effectively exported
the Florentine Renaissance across Italy. So it's
really no surprise then that when Michelangelo
comes to carve his own colossal David in 1501,
he's not just making a statue. No, he's absolutely
making it in dialogue with Donatello. Michelangelo's
David is both an ode to Donatello's achievement
and a direct challenge to it. It confirms Donatello's
enduring relevance, setting the benchmark for
mastering the human form that all future artists
would have to measure themselves against. Hashtag
tag outro. So, wrapping this up. We've journeyed
through the incredibly long and varied career
of Donato di Niccolo di Betto Bardi, the master
of pretty much every material imaginable, the
pioneer who went back to Rome to rediscover classical
forms, the genius inventor of stat shadow relief,
and this complex character whose revolutionary
art was protected by that crucial Medici shield.
He really was the ultimate artistic chameleon,
wasn't he? Fearless in tackling political statements
like the Gattamelata, intimate devotional works,
classical erotica like the David, sometimes all...
seemingly at the same time. His body of work
is just this amazing study in contrast and relentless
technical ambition. And maybe that contrast is
the real core insight here, the thing to take
away. How could one single artist contain such
radically different, almost contradictory artistic
visions within one lifetime? It's an amazing
question. You have the polished, sensuous, near
-perfect beauty of the bronze David on one side,
and then on the other, the stark, suffering,
almost painfully honest realism of the penitent
Magdalene, or the raw, chaotic energy of those
late San Lorenzo pulpits. And perhaps that very
versatility, that ability to pivot so completely
from idealized classical beauty to brutally raw
expression. Driven by his own interests and his
incredible technical skill, perhaps that's what
truly defines the spirit of the Renaissance itself.
Calso. It was an era obsessed with humanity,
with man at the center. But maybe Donatello was
the first artist who dared to show humanity in
its full spectrum. The beautiful, the ideal,
the sensual, but also the suffering, the flawed,
the intensely agonizingly real. All of it. A
truly profound way to look at his legacy. A fantastic
deep dive into the man who really launched it
all. Thank you so much for sharing all that.
My pleasure. Always fascinating to talk about
Donatel.