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An Expertise by Roberto Longhi

The Virtual Museum
of Art Expertise –
An Expertise by
Roberto Longhi

Roberto Longhi (1890-1970)

An Expertise by Roberto Longhi

How to read, to assess, to interpret an expertise? – What we are suggesting here is a system for which I am claiming a copyright. Not for the expertise itself, of course, which is by as legendary a connoisseur/art historian as Roberto Longhi. But for our scroll system, which allows to visualize all visual comparisons within this, within every expertise.
May we say that it does reveal all the comparisons? Since, once again, by making something transparent, we actually work against the power of an expert, since the plausibility of every visual clue can be scrutinized here. Which would not be possible if we only would be able to read this expertise.

(Picture: pasolinipuntonet.blogspot.com; background picture: DS)

Welcome to the Sala Longhi

(Source: Fern Rusk Shapley, Paintings from the Samuel H. Kress Collection (Italian Schools, XV-XVI century), 1968; bg picture: galleryhip.com)

Thank you, visitor, for visiting the Sala Longhi of our Museum of Expertises (›I see you have The Eye, I too have The Eye, we shall be friends‹, as the old gentleman once said to Sotheby’s expert Bruce Chatwin). And now: let us walk through an expertise by Italian connoisseur Roberto Longhi. By which I mean: We shall walk now through a ›Pagan Rite‹, a visualization of what Roberto Longhi once wrote, about a not at all prominent picture. And I am working hard to get all the reference material together that Longhi then referred to. With or without the reader of his expertise then having it, but this doesn’t bother us, since technology has moved on, and we are now able to treat words as architecture that is going to take on a particular shape: the shape of the virtual Sala Longhi. But virtual or not, I hope that we are going to see something.

»The chiaroscuro that I recently discovered in a Milanese collection (…) is painted in gradations of sepia with highlights of white lead, and this quasi monochromatic treatment, in addition to the remarkable thickness of the panel (…) leads me to think that what we have here is a fragment of the old decoration of a ›cassone‹ or a ›restello‹.«

Here the narrator has to interfere for the first time, I am afraid, to say a couple of things:
First of all: we are quoting Longhi after

Elisabetta Landi, The Antiquarian Carlo Alberto Foresti of Carpi, a Correspondent of Bernard Berenson, in: Joseph Connors and Louis A. Waldman (Ed.), Bernard Berenson. Formation and Heritage, 2014, p. 325f.

The author, Elisabetta Landi, is a granddaughter of Carlo Alberto Foresti, and the »Milanese collection« that Longhi is referring to is of course the collection (or the studio) of Carlo Alberto Foresti.
It might be also, or it might not be mentioned that others had known the painting in question before Longhi ›discovered‹ it. Discovering it, thus, means here: he, Longhi, did not know the painting before (but others did).

Last but not least: I hope that we won’t have many interruptions of this kind, but in the very moment that I am writing this, I have absolutely no clue what the results of our exploration into this Longhi expertise will be.

Another digression (I am so sorry): Longhi had expressed his opinion as to the painting in a letter to Foresti before he was writing the review, that was published in 1927, from which we are (indirectly) quoting. And while, in the letter, Longhi referred to the painting as »a work close to Giovanni Bellini, even if not (…) entirely his (…)«, the published review, opinion or expertise does give the painting to Giovanni Bellini. And if we are saying this right now, we are in some sense revealing who the murderer was, but only in some sense, because only if we consider Longhi as the only Sherlock Holmes. But actually, and this I know already and in this very minute that I am writing: we are going to finish our review with a list of differing opinions of who the murderer might have been.

Now we may proceed.

(Picture: Sailko)

And thanks to Sailko (Francesco Bini), the indefatigable photographer, the unknown donor (it is incredible what you do), we have: a cassone (thank you, Sailko).

The term ›restello‹, by the way, refers to a piece of Renaissance furniture to be found in toilet rooms, especially in Venice (see for example: Costanza Caraffa/Almut Goldhahn, Fotografien als Forschungsobjekte – Der Nachlass Gustav Ludwigs in der Photothek des Kunsthistorischen Instituts in Florenz, in: Irene Ziehe et al. (Ed.), Fotografie und Film im Archiv: Sammeln, Bewahren, Erforschen, 2013; the German art historian Gustav Ludwig was, among other things, the specialist for Renaissance Venice household inventories).

And back to our Longhi expertise (bg picture: Sailko)

»To the sides of an altar, or rather of the stepped pedestal of a flaming tripod, are four figures arranged in couples; to the left a warrior armed with a spear and shield, next to him a very ungainly old man (pappo) (…) at right two fauns or sylvans (…) while a fifth figure, a rustic type (…) sits behind the tripod with his back turned to it, on the lowest step of the marble pedestal. The scene is set against a brown background, as though feigned marmo mischio.
There is no doubt that the artist of this painting defers, at least iconographically, to Mantegna: the illusionistic reliefs in the architecture of the Eremitani are the precedents (…). But in making the comparison with Mantegna one cannot go beyond this generic observation (…). Look at the delicate reliefs, treated almost as if they were monochrome paintings, in the parapet of the scene of The Blood of the Redeemer in London. And now look at the panel [our picture in question; DS], likewise of an obscure antique subject, which was formerly in the Stroganoff collection under the name of the Ferrarese de Roberti (…). And then we have (…) from around 1475, those combatants, on foot and on horseback (…) in the relief decorating the upper part of the throne in the Pesaro altarpiece. The figures on the right already appear substantial enough to presage the manner of the San Giobbe altarpiece; in particular, the faun in profile on the right already alludes to the form of St. Sebastian in the Uffizi Allegory; at the same time the draperies of the sylvan on the left (…) are handled in a way that recalls the Madonna of Bergamo (Lochis), and his hair, like that of the warrior, with curls that almost appear drawn with the sculptor’s tool rather than that of a painter, is the same as the hair of the putti in the Madonna dell’Orto, or in the similar work in Berlin. And wholly in the spirit of the young Giovanni, son and assistant of Jacopo, is the figure of the warrior, so slender and angular (…) as not to displease Dürer (…) [and] which could be inscribed, roughly, in a starfish, like those gothic men of Villard de Honnecourt. All this leads us to conclude, therefore (…) that this work was painted by Bellini shortly after the Pesaro altarpiece (…) the five-year period 1475-1480 seems to us to offer a general time frame for the probable date of this Milanese chiaroscuro.«

»And then we have (…)«, Longhi is saying once. And I am afraid that the narrator has to step in also subsequently, but I am getting a bit upset as I am feeling that a lot of things we actually have not.
First of all: in our city we have no copy of the journal in which this text by Longhi was originally published. So I have no inkling for the moment, if this text was, originally, illustrated at all.
Secondly: if I can spare time I am going to check what Longhi says in the many passages that Elisabetta Landi did leave out, since I am assuming that this text is also to be found within the edition of works by Longhi (that we have; and I am also curious if this text might have illustrations with it).
Because, frankly, I have to admit that while merely reading Longhi’s words (and while copying these words), I am feeling that I have not stored all the details he mentions in my visual memory, and I am saying this, of course, before I am going now to get all these details, in case I can.
And speaking of pictures and illustrations, one might also mention that Longhi mentions London, Berlin, Milan and implicitly other places in Italy, where the originals he is referring to are actually to be found (if not damaged in war times or, as in one case, stolen). Not to mention the original of the painting in question (it’s in the United States) of which we have, fortunately, a picture, a black and white picture, but not a picture that I am actually thrilled of (zooming into the hair might result in finding pixel nits of rustic type).

Reference Material I: a generic comparison with Mantegna

(as to war damages and to attempts of virtual or actual reconstruction see here)

Reference Material II: focussing on Mantegna-influenced young Giovanni Bellini

The Blood of the Redeemer in London (picture: pinterest.com)

»…the relief decorating the upper part of the throne in the Pesaro altarpiece«

(Picture: cbccoop.it)

(as for the Pesaro altarpiece see also here)

Reference Material III: elaborating the comparison

»…to presage the manner of the San Giobbe altarpiece«

»…the faun in profile on the right already alludes to the form of St. Sebastian in the Uffizi Allegory«

»…the draperies of the sylvan on the left (…) are handled in a way that recalls the Madonna of Bergamo (Lochis)«

»…and his hair, like that of the warrior, with curls that almost appear drawn with the sculptor’s tool rather than that of a painter, is the same as the hair of the putti in the Madonna dell’Orto, or in the similar work in Berlin«

A Sideglance to Dürer and Villard de Honnecourt

(Picture: dickduenn.de)

(Picture: Lokilech)

Finally: a list of those who did not (exactly) agree

Elisabetta Landi is writing that Bernard Berenson did not agree with Longhi’s attribution (and classified the painting in question as a »study«, which probably means: by an Anonymous, and probably after Bellini or after Mantegna, this is not quite clear). But ›not agreeing‹ is also a relative notion here:
The painting had been given to Ercole de’ Roberti, then to ›School of Mantegna‹ (by Paul Kristeller), then Longhi came; and after Longhi there was Mason Perkins agreeing with Longhi, and then Berenson.
Then came Fritz Heinemann preferring ›Anonymous Painter, working in the style of Bellini‹, upon which Fern Rusk Shapley named the painting as ›Venetian School‹ (two namings that have a somewhat diplomatic ringing as they not actually wanted to disagree with Longhi or Berenson, or at least not openly or too much). And the list could probably be continued and updated. But this is the moment for a personal judgment.

My personal judgment, not as to the attribution, but as to what I have been preparing here, is that I have learnt a lot. That I am learning a lot. I am happy that I’ve found a principle to assemble the reference material as a sort of scroll (and we sing a praise to the magic mouse), with the painting in question appearing again and again in between. To comprehend the axes of Longhi’s comparisons a slight movement of the index fingertip is actually enough. Who would have foreseen that (and who would have foreseen a starfish to appear)?
Frankly: I dont’t know if the painting in question was made by young Giovanni Bellini, and frankly: I can live with IF and THEN. Which means: if you accept a premise, the one or other axis of the system of comparisons might be convincing, or more or less be convincing. It is a system of hypothetical constructions. We work with possibilities, probabilities, relative certainties here, and also frankly (and somewhat provocatively): Is it not more interesting to have more possibilities, more perspectives?
This might be the philosophy of a sceptical observer of connoisseurship who is more interested in learning what results from the process of attribution and less in the actual results, and not that of someone who actually does practice attributing, but it is also the philosophy of someone who does like learning in general and who does like to see something with someone else’s eyes. A lot of different opinions might be a horror for someone seeking certainty. I am not seeking certainty, at least not in this case and here, but I am seeking interesting perspectives to make the perception of art more interesting, and connoisseurship something that actually does not empoison life, but, as Berenson had it (with Nietzsche), as something to enhance life, and ideally for everyone who likes this too.

(Picture: Lokilech)

(Picture: pasolinipuntonet.blogspot.com; background picture: DS)

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An Expertise by Roberto Longhi