Giacobbe Giusti, ‘Lysippe’

Giacobbe Giusti, ‘Lysippe’

Lisippo

Socrate, busto scolpito, copia romana

Lisippo (in greco anticoΛύσιππος; Sicione, 390/385 a.C. – dopo il 306 a.C.) è stato uno scultore e bronzista greco antico. Ultimo tra i grandi maestri della scultura greca classica, fu attivo dal 372-368 a.C. fino alla fine del IV secolo a.C. Lavorò per Alessandro Magno, che ritrasse numerose volte, e terminò la propria carriera al servizio di un altro re macedone, Cassandro I, tra il 316 e il 311 a.C.

Cenni biografici

Originario di Sicione, città dell’Arcadia sul golfo di Corinto, nacque nei primi anni del IV secolo a.C. e si formò verosimilmente sulle opere di Policleto e sulla scultura peloponnesiaca, nonostante Duride di Samo lo dicesse formato al di fuori di ogni scuola e maestro, ovvero studioso della natura su consiglio di Eupompo, forse enfatizzando troppo il tema letterario del genio autodidatta.

Fu soprattutto bronzista e lavorò a lungo nella sua città per poi spostarsi in vari centri della Grecia (Olimpia, Corinto, Rodi, Delfi, Atene) e dell’Italia (Roma e Taranto).

Morì in data non precisata, ma sicuramente in età molto avanzata, come testimonia la notizia di un ritratto di Seleuco I Nicatore, quindi fino alla fine del secolo

Lysippe de Sicyone (v. 395 av. J.-C.– v. 305 av. J.-C.) est un sculpteur et bronziergrec. Il est notamment le portraitiste attitré d’Alexandre le Grand, père et maître de Laippos, Boédas, Euthycratès.

Biographie

Sa carrière s’étend de 372 av. J.-C., date à laquelle il réalise une statue de Troïlos, un vainqueur des Jeux olympiques, à 306 av. J.-C. environ. Pline l’Ancien situe son apogée lors de la 113eolympiade, c’est-à-dire vers 328 av. J.-C.[1]

Théoricien, il reprit les calculs de proportions de Polyclète et les modifia, en établissant un nouveau canon plus élancé du corps humain, avec une hauteur de huit têtes : la tête fait un huitième du corps au lieu de un septième. Multipliant les recherches sur le mouvement et le rôle de la lumière, il se fit le champion d’un art expressif et réaliste.

Il est réputé pour avoir produit 1 500 œuvres[2], et ne semble appartenir à aucune école de bronziers[3].

Parmi les œuvres ayant survécu, Lysippe est usuellement reconnu comme l’auteur de l’Apoxyomène, de l’Hercule Farnèse, de l’Éros bandant son arc, du monument votif de Daochos, du Pugiliste des Thermes, du type de l’Alexandre Azara ou encore de l’Hermès à la sandale.

 

 

Hermès d’Atalante, copie romaine d’un original attribué à Lysippe, Musée national archéologique d’Athènes

http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lisippo

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Giacobbe Giusti: ‘Laocoön and his sons’

Giacobbe Giusti: ‘Laocoön and his sons’

 

Laocoon and His Sons.jpg
Laocoön and his sons, also known as the Laocoön Group. Marble, copy after an Hellenistic original from ca. 200 BC. Found in the Baths of Trajan, 1506.

Laocoön and His Sons

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Laocoön and His Sons
Laocoon and His Sons.jpg
Material marble
Dimensions 208 cm × 163 cm × 112 cm (6 ft 10 in × 5 ft 4 in × 3 ft 8 in)[1]
Location Vatican Museums, Vatican City

Laocoön’s head

The statue of Laocoön and His Sons (Italian: Gruppo del Laocoonte), also called the Laocoön Group, has been one of the most famous ancient sculptures ever since it was excavated in Rome in 1506 and placed on public display in the Vatican,[2] where it remains. Exceptionally, it is very likely to be the same object as a statue praised in the highest terms by the main Roman writer on art, Pliny the Elder.[3] The figures are near life-size and the group is a little over 2 m (6 ft 7 in) in height, showing the Trojan priest Laocoön and his sons Antiphantes and Thymbraeus being attacked by sea serpents.[1]

The group has been “the prototypical icon of human agony” in Western art,[4] and unlike the agony often depicted in Christian art showing the Passion of Jesus and martyrs, this suffering has no redemptive power or reward.[5] The suffering is shown through the contorted expressions of the faces (Charles Darwin pointed out that Laocoön’s bulging eyebrows are physiologically impossible), which are matched by the struggling bodies, especially that of Laocoön himself, with every part of his body straining.[6]

Pliny attributes the work, then in the palace of Emperor Titus, to three Greek sculptors from the island of Rhodes: Agesander, Athenodoros and Polydorus, but does not give a date or patron. In style it is considered “one of the finest examples of the Hellenistic baroque” and certainly in the Greek tradition,[7] but it is not known whether it is an original work or a copy of an earlier sculpture, probably in bronze, or made for a Greek or Roman commission. The view that it is an original work of the 2nd century BC now has few if any supporters, although many still see it as a copy of such a work made in the early Imperial period, probably of a bronze original.[8] Others see it as probably an original work of the later period, continuing to use the Pergamese style of some two centuries earlier. In either case, it was probably commissioned for the home of a wealthy Roman, possibly of the Imperial family. Various dates have been suggested for the statue, ranging from about 200 BC to the 70s AD,[9] though “a Julio-Claudian date [between 27 BC and 68 AD] … is now preferred”.[10]

Although mostly in excellent condition for an excavated sculpture, the group is missing several parts, and analysis suggests that it was remodelled in ancient times as well as undergoing a number of restorations since it was excavated.[11] It is on display in the Museo Pio-Clementino, a part of the Vatican Museums

Subject

Oblique view

The other oblique view

The group as it was between c. 1540 and 1957, with Laocoön’s extended arm; the sons’ restored arms were removed in the 1980s.

The story of Laocoön, a Trojan priest, came from the Greek Epic Cycle on the Trojan Wars, though it is not mentioned by Homer. It had been the subject of a tragedy, now lost, by Sophocles and was mentioned by other Greek writers, though the events around the attack by the serpents vary considerably. The most famous account of these is now in Virgil‘s Aeneid (see the Aeneid quotation at the entry Laocoön), but this dates from between 29 and 19 BC, which is possibly later than the sculpture. However, some scholars see the group as a depiction of the scene as described by Virgil.[12]

In Virgil Laocoön was a priest of Poseidon who was killed with both his sons after attempting to expose the ruse of the Trojan Horse by striking it with a spear. In Sophocles, on the other hand, he was a priest of Apollo, who should have been celibate but had married. The serpents killed only the two sons, leaving Laocoön himself alive to suffer.[13] In other versions he was killed for having had sex with his wife in the temple of Poseidon, or simply making a sacrifice in the temple with his wife present.[14] In this second group of versions, the snakes were sent by Poseidon[15] and in the first by Poseidon and Athena, or Apollo, and the deaths were interpreted by the Trojans as proof that the horse was a sacred object. The two versions have rather different morals: Laocoön was either punished for doing wrong, or for being right.[7]

The snakes are depicted as both biting and constricting, and are probably intended as venomous, as in Virgil.[16] Pietro Aretino thought so, praising the group in 1537:

…the two serpents, in attacking the three figures, produce the most striking semblances of fear, suffering and death. The youth embraced in the coils is fearful; the old man struck by the fangs is in torment; the child who has received the poison, dies.[17]

In at least one Greek telling of the story the oldest son is able to escape, and the composition seems to allow for that possibility.[18]

History

Ancient times

The style of the work is agreed to be that of the Hellenistic “Pergamene baroque” which arose in Greek Asia Minor around 200 BC, and whose best known undoubtedly original work is the Pergamon Altar (dated ca 180-160 BC, now Berlin).[19] Here the figure of Alcyoneus is shown in a pose and situation (including serpents) which is very similar to those of Laocoön, though the style is “looser and wilder in its principles” than the altar.[20] The execution of the Laocoön is extremely fine throughout, and the composition very carefully calculated, even though it appears that the group underwent adjustments in ancient times. The two sons are rather small in scale compared to their father,[20] but this adds to the impact of the central figure. The fine white marble used is often thought to be Greek, but has not been identified by analysis.

Pliny

In Pliny’s survey of Greek and Roman stone sculpture in his encyclopedic Natural History (XXXVI, 37), he says:

….in the case of several works of very great excellence, the number of artists that have been engaged upon them has proved a considerable obstacle to the fame of each, no individual being able to engross the whole of the credit, and it being impossible to award it in due proportion to the names of the several artists combined. Such is the case with the Laocoön, for example, in the palace of the Emperor Titus, a work that may be looked upon as preferable to any other production of the art of painting or of [bronze] statuary. It is sculptured from a single block, both the main figure as well as the children, and the serpents with their marvellous folds. This group was made in concert by three most eminent artists, Agesander, Polydorus, and Athenodorus, natives of Rhodes[21]

It is generally accepted that this is the same work as is now in the Vatican.[22] It is now very often thought that the three Rhodians were copyists, perhaps of a bronze sculpture from Pergamon, created around 200 BC.[23][24] It is noteworthy that Pliny does not address this issue explicitly, in a way that suggests “he regards it as an original”.[25] Pliny states that it was located in the palace of the emperor Titus, and it is possible that it remained in the same place until 1506 (see “Findspot” section below). He also asserts that it was carved from a single piece of marble, though the Vatican work comprises at least seven interlocking pieces.[26][27] The phrase translated above as “in concert” (de consilii sententia) is regarded by some as referring to their commission rather than the artists method of working, giving in Nigel Spivey‘s translation: ” [the artists] at the behest of council designed a group…”, which Spivey takes to mean that the commission was by Titus, possibly even advised by Pliny among other savants.[28]

The same three artists’ names, though in a different order (Athenodoros, Agesander, and Polydorus), with the names of their fathers, are inscribed on one of the sculptures at Tiberius’s villa at Sperlonga (though they may predate his ownership),[29] but it seems likely that not all the three masters were the same individuals.[30] Though broadly similar in style, many aspects of the execution of the two groups are drastically different, with the Laocoon group of much higher quality and finish.[31]

It used to be thought that honorific inscriptions found at Lindos in Rhodes dated Agesander and Athenedoros, recorded as priests, to a period after 42 BC, making the years 42 to 20 BC the most likely date for the Laocoön group’s creation in the view of some scholars.[23] However the Sperlonga inscription, which also gives the fathers of the artists, makes it clear that at least Agesander is a different individual from the priest of the same name recorded at Lindos, though very possibly related. The names may have recurred across generations, a Rhodian habit, within the context of a family workshop (which might well have included the adoption of promising young sculptors).[32] Altogether eight “signatures” (or labels) of an Athenodoros are found on sculptures or bases for them, five of these from Italy. Some, including that from Sperlonga, record his father as Agesander.[33] The whole question remains the subject of academic debate.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laoco%C3%B6n_and_His_Sons
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Giacobbe Giusti, ‘Defining beauty’ , ‘Power and Pathos’

Giacobbe Giusti, ‘Defining beauty’ , ‘Power and Pathos’

0065581D

Belvedere Torso, 1st century BC. Copyright: Vatican, Museo Pio-Clementino

Reimaging the lost masterpieces of antiquity

Martin Gayford visits two tantalising – and jaw-dropping – new surveys of Greek and Roman sculpture at the British Museum and Palazzo Strozzi

Arts feature Martin Gayford 28 March 2015
For centuries there has been a note of yearning in our feelings about ancient Greek and Roman art. We can’t help mourning for what has irretrievably vanished. In 1764 Johann Joachim Winckelmann wrote that we have ‘nothing but a shadowy outline left of the object of our wishes, but that very indistinctness awakens only a more earnest longing for what we have lost’. In the same spirit, Power and Pathos, an exhibition of Hellenistic bronze sculpture at the Palazzo Strozzi, Florence, begins with an empty plinth.

It is the marble base of a statue, found in Corinth, on which are written the words ‘Lysippos made [this]’. The inscription is poignant for a series of reasons. The statue that once stood on that plinth has disappeared, probably melted down more than a thousand years ago. So has every other bronze made by Lysippos, of which there were — according to Pliny the Elder — once some 1,500. And Lysippos (born around 390 BC), by the accounts of Pliny and other ancient authors, must have been one of the greatest sculptors who ever lived, an artist who — like Michelangelo and Bernini — fundamentally changed the art he practised.
0065581DBelvedere Torso, 1st century BC. Copyright: Vatican, Museo Pio-Clementino
That, in a way, is what Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art at the British Museum begins and ends by doing. It has two of the most powerful first and last rooms any exhibition of classical sculpture can ever have mustered. It starts with a juxtaposition that would have blown Winckelmann’s mind, and finishes with one that would have given Michelangelo Buonarroti food for serious thought.We are in the odd position with Lysippos, and just about every other notable figure in ancient art, of having the art criticism and history but not the art. It is as if the works of Michelangelo, Raphael, Fra Angelico and all the Renaissance masters had been destroyed in toto, leaving just the writings of Vasari and Bernard Berenson (plus a scattering of more or less mediocre later copies). It’s a tantalising situation, and one that has been extremely productive. Many great works of art have been made over the years by people trying to imagine what the lost masterpieces of antiquity could have been like.

You enter and see — straight ahead — ‘Illissos’ from the west pediment of the Parthenon (part of the Elgin Marbles), and to your right an almost completely intact classical bronze retrieved from the sea off the coast of Croatia in 1999. Nearby are copies of famed, but no longer existent, works including the ‘Discobolus’ (or discus-thrower) by Myron. Just before the exit there is a comparison between ‘Dionysus’, from the Parthenon, and the ‘Belvedere Torso’ (pictured on p35), one of the most celebrated antiquities in the Vatican collection, which has never previously been seen in Britain.

6 weeks for £6 + free cartoon

Each of these demonstrates the insights that can be obtained by temporary loans between museums (and so, every bit as spectacularly, does Power and Pathos). ‘Illissos’, of course, has just returned from the Hermitage, St Petersburg.

There are several conclusions to be drawn from these exercises in compare-and-contrast. One is that — leaving aside the unending discussion about the reuniting or not of the Elgin Marbles — the British Museum could be displaying them much better than they normally do.

The ‘Illissos’ looks particularly fabulous. There is a living, flowing quality to the skin of the marble that makes everything else in the room look a little dead. It outclasses even the bronze from Croatia, which is probably a later replica of a sculpture from the 4th century BC, known as the ‘Apoxyomenos’ (perhaps by Lysippos). But it in turn looks hugely more sensitive and subtle than another bronze, a copy made in Germany in 1920 of one of the most renowned works of antiquity, the ‘Doryphoros’ — or spear-bearer — by Polykleitos: scholarly and accurate but with the machine-tooled look of an item manufactured by Mercedes-Benz.

Surface is everything, that’s the lesson. But the paradox is that the exteriors of surviving classical works have been drastically altered by time. The marbles were painted, the bronzes in some cases gilded, with results that are hard to picture. Attempts to recreate these effects always look ghastly — as is unintentionally demonstrated in the second room of the BM exhibition.

This was one of the works that taught Michelangelo how a mighty visual drama could be made from dynamism of a single body (a drawing by Michelangelo for the Sistine Ceiling hangs on the wall to make the point). Perhaps I see it too much through Michelangelo’s eyes, but then we all do. That is one of the points of the exhibition: a great deal of western art has been created by people peering at, and reimagining, these fragments of antiquity.We have grown used to seeing works that are fragmentary and worn by time; in fact, may prefer them that way. The Parthenon ‘Illissos’ has perhaps been helped by the erosion it has suffered, giving a fluid surface to the body of this river god. But the Parthenon ‘Dionysius’ at the other end of the show, to my mind anyway, loses his competition with the ‘Belvedere Torso’. Both have been dreadfully battered, but the ‘Torso’, though minus head and limbs, retains the marvellously corrugated musculature of his chest largely intact.

This could — and should — have been the whole focus of the show. In between, Defining beauty tends to lose its way, meandering into ploddingly didactic displays about such subjects as childhood and ‘rites of passage’: in other words, everyday life in ancient times. This is an exhibition that should be seen for its jaw-dropping moments, but overall feels like an opportunity missed. In contrast, Power and Pathos, brilliantly conceived by a team from the Getty Museum, Los Angeles, to which it will move on, is utterly focused.

It sets itself the task of discovering more about what bronzes of the Hellenistic period — that is, from the era of Alexander the Great to the rise of the Roman Empire — really looked like. To that end, it has assembled something approaching half the surviving examples.
Screen Shot 2015-03-26 at 12.36.55Portrait of a Man, 50–25 BC
The exhibits, sumptuously lit and often recently conserved, give a hint — and sometimes much more than a hint — of the sensuous realism of Hellenistic art: the copper lips and nipples, the inlaid eyes and even tear ducts. You leave feeling closer to Lysippos; beginning to imagine what was on that plinth. Perhaps this is deceptive. As Winckelmann noted, when it comes to classical art, ‘we are very much like those who wish to have an interview with spirits’. That hasn’t changed.The total of these is steadily, if slowly, ticking up. Sculpture in bronze, too valuable not to melt down, has suffered even more severely than marble. In later antiquity, however, it was the most prized material for sculpture. So much so that quantities of it were shipped westwards to Rome — rather as European old masters have been transported more recently to America. A number of these sank in shipwrecks and every few years one is recovered by underwater archaeologists.

‘Defining beauty: the body in ancient Greek art’ is at the British Museum until 5 July. ‘Power and Pathos: Bronze Sculpture of the Hellenistic World’ is at the Palazzo Strozzi, Florence, until 21 June.

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