Day 244 - Giovanni Battista Moroni
April 5, 2021
Although Gallery 626 houses a number of paintings with religious themes, including Lucas Cranach the Elder's painting of Saint Maurice (shown as a Black knight in armor), it centers on 16th century portraiture north and south of the Alps. The signage notes the efforts of painters to infuse these portraits with a vital sense of the sitter's presence.
I'm particularly drawn to two portraits by Giovanni Battista Moroni (1524-1578), an artist I'd barely heard of before who came from the town of Albino, near Bergamo. The first work, executed in oil on canvas and measuring about 40 inches high and 32 inches wide, is of Bartolomeo Bonghi, a legal scholar and professor. Seated sideways in a wooden chair with red (velvet?) upholstery and brass fittings, Bonghi turns to look outward at the viewer, his face framed by a three-cornered black hat. His reddish mustache and luxuriant beard are similar in color, but differentiated in texture, from the fur collar that tops his black robe. Two things especially attract me to the painting. The first is that we can't escape Bonghi's piercing, intelligent gaze. The second is the view of Bergamo through the open window beside which Bonghi sits. After seeing portrait after portrait in which the subject's face is shown against a dark ground, it's nice to see a portrait that lets the setting -- and fresh air -- into the picture.
The second portrait is of Lucrezia Agliardi Vertova, a widow who founded a Carmelite convent in Albino. Also painted in oil on canvas and slightly smaller than the Bonghi portrait (perhaps 36 inches high and 28 inches wide), the portrait shows an old woman leaning on a parapet reading a small book (a breviary? a missal? I should look up these terms!). Moroni has made absolutely no effort to prettify his subject; what stand out most prominently are the large goiter in Lucrezia's neck, her lined face, and the bags beneath her eyes. Her wrinkled hands are also those of an older person. (She was 67 or 68, a year away from death, when the portrait was painted.). Perhaps her willingness to have herself presented in such a realistic, unromanticized fashion, commands our respect for her all the more. It makes me wonder: Would I ever have the courage to have myself painted with such scrupulous honesty?
I'm particularly drawn to two portraits by Giovanni Battista Moroni (1524-1578), an artist I'd barely heard of before who came from the town of Albino, near Bergamo. The first work, executed in oil on canvas and measuring about 40 inches high and 32 inches wide, is of Bartolomeo Bonghi, a legal scholar and professor. Seated sideways in a wooden chair with red (velvet?) upholstery and brass fittings, Bonghi turns to look outward at the viewer, his face framed by a three-cornered black hat. His reddish mustache and luxuriant beard are similar in color, but differentiated in texture, from the fur collar that tops his black robe. Two things especially attract me to the painting. The first is that we can't escape Bonghi's piercing, intelligent gaze. The second is the view of Bergamo through the open window beside which Bonghi sits. After seeing portrait after portrait in which the subject's face is shown against a dark ground, it's nice to see a portrait that lets the setting -- and fresh air -- into the picture.
The second portrait is of Lucrezia Agliardi Vertova, a widow who founded a Carmelite convent in Albino. Also painted in oil on canvas and slightly smaller than the Bonghi portrait (perhaps 36 inches high and 28 inches wide), the portrait shows an old woman leaning on a parapet reading a small book (a breviary? a missal? I should look up these terms!). Moroni has made absolutely no effort to prettify his subject; what stand out most prominently are the large goiter in Lucrezia's neck, her lined face, and the bags beneath her eyes. Her wrinkled hands are also those of an older person. (She was 67 or 68, a year away from death, when the portrait was painted.). Perhaps her willingness to have herself presented in such a realistic, unromanticized fashion, commands our respect for her all the more. It makes me wonder: Would I ever have the courage to have myself painted with such scrupulous honesty?
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