Bronzes

In the university town of Padua, the noble courts of Mantua and Rome, and Medici Florence, erudite collectors prized bronze statuettes for their evocation of the vanished grandeur of antiquity.

Attributed to the scholar and portrait-medalist Hermes Flavius de Bonis, Hercules Resting is a recreation of a lost, monumental bronze statue by Lysippus that was known from classical copies. By assuming the nickname “Lysippus,” the medalist compared his artistry to that of Alexander the Great’s personal sculptor.

Intended as models for both fellow artists and physicians, écorchés (flayed figures) challenged Renaissance sculptors to articulate the body’s exposed muscles and delineate their interaction. This figure, who rests his foot upon a skull, may be the apostle Bartholomew who was martyred by flaying. His large, closed eyes—unusual for an écorché—and expression of longing transform an anatomical model into a compelling work of art.

Sighting the enemy, Mars halts his stride and swings his sword arm backward to attack. This statuette of the god of war symbolized princely power.

As sculptor to the Medici grand dukes of Florence, Giambologna established the benchmark for the late Renaissance bronze statuette. Mars is a superb example of the many that were cast from Giambologna’s model by his principal assistant, Antonio Susini. The figure’s polished craftsmanship and details, such as the refined engraving of Mars’s eyes and furrowed brow, evidence Susini’s skill.

Lost Wax Bronze Casting
Duration: 5 minutes
© Victoria and Albert Museum, London

In the Renaissance, Hercules’s exemplary feats — the Twelve Labors — symbolized princely virtue. This composition was modeled by Giambologna for a series of silver statuettes (now lost) for the state offices of the Medici grand dukes in Florence.

Hercules grasps the hydra’s tail and twists around to take aim at its snapping heads. The battle’s spiraling tension will explode with the downward smash of Hercules’s club. The composition’s taut contours and tiny details, like the veins on Hercules’s hands, suggest that the bronze was cast by Giambologna’s principal assistant, Antonio Susini. The matte punching on the hydra’s heads, probably executed by Antonio’s nephew, Gianfrancesco, creates the illusion of delicate scales.

The smiling goddess of the harvest and the lord of the vine stride forward, heralding the promise of abundance, revelry, and love. Tacca’s statuette, like those by Piamontini in this gallery, exemplifies the novel subjects and immaculate craftsmanship that are characteristic of the finest Florentine Baroque bronzes. Ceres and Bacchus are united by their gaze and affectionate embrace and by the formal repetition of their graceful linear contours.

In Cy Twombly’s untitled “Chalkboard” painting, lines drawn in continuously curving loops create a syncopated effect that harmonizes with the elegant rhythm of Tacca’s figures. The subdued palette of this and the other two canvases displayed here also draws attention to the often overlooked beauty of the varied colors of bronze sculptures.

Hercules has subdued Cerebus, the three-headed guardian of Hades, who howls in anger and bites the hero’s club. The pyramidal massing of figures makes Hercules appear as if he is a muscular mountain of bronze. The statuette’s sheer bulk contrasts with its precise tooling. Matte punches were used to differentiate textures and chisels to establish vibrating linear rhythms.

Piamontini’s formal exploitation of the weightiness of bronze and his elegant working of its surface resonate with the 1959 painting displayed nearby, in which Cy Twombly plays the heavy roughness of thickly applied paint against delicately drawn calligraphic inscriptions.

The ancient Roman author Valerius Maximus tells of how Milo of Croton tested his strength against that of a riven oak only to be pinned within it and perish. Piamontini portrays Milo’s anguish as he struggles against the tree, his feet sliding beneath him, and discovers his power useless. Piamontini’s masterful rendering of a helplessly suspended heroic figure emphasizes the tale’s moral on the downfall of pride. His refined tooling of the metal’s surface sets the glowing polish of Milo’s flesh against the dark tree’s rough bark, creating textural frictions that evoke a sense of pain.

Algardi depicts Christ sacrificing himself on the cross to redeem mankind. Twisted, billowing draperies echo the pain contained within the Savior’s idealized, outstretched body. Christ directs his gaze toward God, his calm features expressing submission rather than agony. Algardi’s compelling depiction was modeled as a gift for Pope Innocent X. Bronze casts like this superlative example, which reflect the fervent tenor of Catholic devotion, became the most popular crucifixes in Baroque Rome.

Algardi’s Cristo Vivo is juxtaposed with a terracotta of the 1950s titled Crocifisso, by Lucio Fontana. Joining jagged, twisting shards into a cruciform body, Fontana composes a religious image whose spiritual intensity invokes its figurative precedents.

This ferocious nude hidden behind a grotesque mask personifies Bacchus, the god of wine and theater. Surmounting a fountain, he presided over a Milanese academy dedicated to the pursuit of artistic freedom during the repressive years of the Catholic Reformation. The depiction of Bacchus as a frightening, muscular figure who crushes grapes like a workman was unprecedented. Attributed to the youthful Adriaen de Vries, this extraordinary bronze was made to shock and to inspire creativity.

Cy Twombly’s and Ed Ruscha’s canvases in this exhibition similarly upset traditional artistic conventions to challenge expectations and inspire new ways of seeing.

Reichle studied in Florence with Giambologna and in his native Germany created statuettes following the practices of his teacher. Here, Reichle adapts the Italian devotional subject of Christ standing alone at the column to suit his German audience, which favored emotional depictions.

Christ’s left hand is bound to the column (now lost) behind him, his angular gestures and agitated movements revealing his torment at the Flagellation. His large features, unbalanced pose, and over-sized hands depart from Giambologna’s calm, idealized figures, as seen, for example, in the gilded crucified Cristo Morto.

A gifted animal sculptor, Prieur introduced the Italian art of the statuette to his native France. His inventories of 1583 and 1611 list models of dogs, goats, stags, cows, bulls, lions, and horses. The composition of the Rearing Horse presented a daunting challenge because it required the sculpture’s weight to be balanced on the two points of the horse’s back hooves. The subject was so difficult that during the late Renaissance it came to symbolize the art of sculpture. This example from Prieur’s workshop exhibits the formal stylization typical of the master.

Lifted by cherubim, the Virgin rises from her tomb while the apostles look up in astonishment. The sculptor based his composition on an engraving, and he expertly employed his repertoire of tools to achieve the bronze relief’s pictorial effects. He sharpened the figures’ flaring robes with chisels, creating a sparkling contrast of light and shadow that offsets the polished backdrop of pilasters, steps, and tomb. Meticulous matte punching conveys the cloudburst’s radiance.

This French bronze is paired with an oil sketch by Rubens of the same subject and size. The bold three-dimensionality of Rubens’s figures and the pictorial illusionism of the relief underscore the fluid interplay between painting and sculpture during the Baroque period.