painting – Articles of Art History

Renaissance Porn and the Pope’s bathroom

Figure 1: Illustration by Lesley Thelander, recreation of the Stufetta del Bibbiena vatican palace, today, several of the fresco panels have been damaged and the bath removed

Porn and the Pope might seem an unlikely combination (or at best just bad alliteration), however within Rome’s Papal Palace lies a room full of frescoed sex scenes (Fig 1-2). Painted by Raphael in 1516, this Renaissance porn depicts Roman gods in ‘compromising’ positions. Commissioned for the private bathing chamber (Stufetta della Bibbiena or ‘small heated room’) of Cardinal Bibbiena, only a handful of people have viewed the work since its creation. Considering the content, it’s no wonder the frescoes have been kept firmly behind closed doors since their mid-19^th century re-discovery.

Figure 2: Stufetta del Bibbiena, public domain image

However, Tony Perrottett is an exception to this rule as he relayed his successful (albeit difficult to come by) visit in a Slade Magazine article. Together, with artistic reconstructions, the fresco can slowly be visualised. Perrottett describes the scenes of a ‘naked’ Venus ‘stepping daintily into her foam-fringed shell’; her ‘admiring herself in a mirror’ and swimming between Adonis’ legs in ‘sensual abandon’ .(1) He also acknowledges a now destroyed (and controversial) scene of Vulcan attempting to rape Minerva.(2) However, one of the most explicit and humorous scenes is Pan, the Satyr God, leaping out from the bushes with a ‘noticeable appendage’, now scratched away and replaced with eye-catching white paint.(3)

Many people know that the classical was a key aspect to the Renaissance, however you may be less aware that classical motifs were used in early forms of porn, Jacqui Palumbo describing how ‘the Greeks and Romans had imagined their gods as sexual beings, and it became in vogue to do so again in the Renaissance’.(4) Raphael was certainly aware of the sexual power of mythological images, for example, upon the completion of the Agostino Chigi Loggia (1511), he was asked by a lady as to why he didn’t paint ‘a nice rose or perhaps a fig leaf’ over Mercury’s ‘shame’(penis).(5) He replied, why had she not asked the same for ‘Polyphemus, for whom you praised me so much and whose shame is so much greater?’ (it seems size mattered from an early era).(6)

Figure 3: Artemisia Gentilesch, Venus and Cupid , c. 1625, 96.5 x 143.8 cm, Virginia Museum of Fine Arts

Figure 4: Titian, Venus of Urbino, 1534, oil on canvas, 119 x 165 cm, Uffizi, Florence

This sexual power of the classical gods most clearly manifested in the image of Venus. Where, as one of the only female figures to be painted nude, her body became a motif for sexual desire for both male and female artists (Fig.3-4 ). However, frescos, like Bibbiena’s and the Farnese ceiling, presented these sexual scenes a new format, beyond the scale of a single canvas. For example, the viewer of the Farnese ceiling could trace their eyes from the outstretched figure of Venus grasped by Triton, to Jupiter, reaching sensuously for his wife’s legs (with the erect phallic form of an eagle by his feet) (Fig. 5-6). One can imagine the impact upon the wealthy or noble male viewer as he roved his eye from scene to scene, confused by the lifelike sensuousness of the images.

Figure 5: Agostino Carracci. Venus and Triton. c1600. Fresco. 150 x 300 cm, Palazzo Farnese, Rome

Figure 6: Annibale Carracci, The Farnese ceiling, c 1597- 1608 , fresco, Palazzo Farnese, ‘Juno and Jupiter’

Therefore, it is no surprise that the Bibbiena frescoes are linked to the first mass publication of Renaissance porn. I Modi (The Ways, 1524), also known as ‘The Sixteen Pleasures’, was an illustrated sex guide by Marcantonio Raimondi (Fig. 7). As the first published porn to be banned by the Catholic Church, and its author imprisoned by the Pope, it had a short but infamous lifetime. However, what’s relevant to us is that the work was based upon some Vatican paintings by Raphael’s pupil, Guilio Romano. These paintings, said to be a reaction to Clement VII’s late payments, were made in the Sala di Constantino, a room from Raphael’s 1508-09 commission that he left to his apprentices to complete upon his death. As Raphael completed the Bibbiena frescoes as part of the same papal commission as the Sala di Constantino, Romano possibly even helping him paint them, it’s plausible that he took inspiration from them for the Sala. Hence, rather ironically, the Bibbiena frescos inadvertently inspired the first mass publication of Renaissance Porn.

Figure 7: Marcantonio Raimondi, *I Modi* (*The Ways)*, ‘The Sixteen Pleasures’, 1524, taken from Palumbo, 2019

But if Raimondi’s porn was banned, then why were similar images allowed to be commissioned for the rooms of a cardinal (a supposedly celibate individual)? Firstly, Renaissance celibacy and propriety were not as serious as one might expect. Many Popes, before and after their ascension, famously did not keep to their chastity vows and had many illegitimate children, for example the Pope at the time of this commission, Leo X, was known for his relationships with men. Boccaccio parodies this hypocrisy in the ‘Decameron’, detailing the tale of two priests who ‘sported’ with a young maid, one declaring ‘no-one’s ever going to know, and a sin that’s half-hidden is half forgiven’.(8) Therefore, it is likely that Bibbiena, known for his sexually risqué plays, saw nothing wrong with ‘half-hidden’ pornography.

However, he wasn’t alone in enjoying gazing at sexual images. Whilst paintings of Venus were popular with the male patron, the previously mentioned Farnese Ceiling is especially comparable to the Bibbiena frescoes as their patron, Oudardo Farnese, was also a cardinal. Campbell suggests that these sexual works were appealing as the ‘virtue of the viewer’ was demonstrated by the ‘ability to admire the skill behind the artwork rather than give in to bodily desire’.(9) Therefore, perhaps Cardinal Farnese enjoyed the power of looking at these ‘carnal pleasures’ (as later described by Salvator Rosa), without being aroused. (10) Or maybe it was the opposite: as Bibbiena sat in his tub and Farnese stared at his ceiling, it was possibly the excitement of the forbidden that appealed to them.

The animalistic, primal nature of the Roman gods, that was in such opposition to the teachings of the Catholic faith.The Cambridge dictionary defines porn as ‘books, magazines, films, etc. with no artistic value that describe or show sexual acts or naked people in a way that is intended to be sexually exciting’. What about renaissance artworks? The explicit sexual intentions of the Bibbiena frescoes arguably make them an early form of porn. As Pietro Aretino (1492-1556) in a sonnet of the second edition of I Modi wrote: ‘Come view this you who like to fuck without being disturbed in that sweet enterprise’.(11)

Footnotes

Perrottet, 2011
Ibid.
Dasal, 2020.
Palumbo, 2019.
Zucker, 2010.
Ibid.
Strike, 2017.
Boccaccio, 1982.
Palumbo, 2019.
Feigenbaum, 1999.
Strike, 2017.

Bibliography

Boccaccio, Giovanni, Decameron (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982)
Classen, Albrecht, ‘Sexual Desire and Pornography: Literary Imagination in a Satirical Context. Gender Conflict, Sexual Identity, and Misogyny in “Das Nonnenturnier”’, in Sexuality in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times: New Approaches to a Fundamental Cultural-Historical and Literary-Anthropological Theme (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2008) <https://www.degruyter.com/view/title/32824> [accessed 27 October 2020]
Dasal, Jennifer, ‘The Pope’s Secret Sexy Bathroom’, ArtCurious
Feigenbaum, Gail, ‘Annibale in the Farnese Palace: A Classical Education’, in The Drawings of Annibale Carracci, ed. by Frances P Smith and Susan Higman (Washington: National Gallery of Art Washington, 1999)
Frantz, David O., ‘“Leud Priapians” and Renaissance Pornography’, Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, 12.1 (1972), 157–72 <https://doi.org/10.2307/449980>
Palumbo, Jacqui, ‘How Renaissance Artists Brought Pornography to the Masses’, Artsy, 2019 <https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-renaissance-artists-brought-pornography-masses> [accessed 27 October 2020]
Perrottet, Tony, ‘The Pope’s Pornographic Bathroom: My Visit to the Vatican’s Most Secret Chamber’, Slate Magazine, 2011 <https://slate.com/human-interest/2011/12/vatican-inside-the-secret-city-vatican-guide-the-pope-s-pornographic-bathroom.html> [accessed 17 October 2020]
Simons, Patricia, ‘ANNIBALE CARRACCI’S VISUAL WIT’, Notes in the History of Art, 30.2 (2011) <www.jstor.org/stable/23208570>
Strike, Karen, ‘The Sixteen Pleasures: The Vatican’s 16th Century Sex Guide’, Flashbak, 2017 <https://flashbak.com/the-sixteen-pleasures-the-vaticans-16th-century-sex-guide-376734/> [accessed 27 October 2020]
Zucker, Mark J, ‘ART, SEX, AND HUMOR IN ITALIAN RENAISSANCE LITERATURE’, Notes in the History of Art, 29.4 (2010) <www.jstor.org/stable/23208976>

Duccio: Why does Baby Jesus look like an old man?

Figure 1: Duccio di Buoninsgna, ‘Madonna and Child’, c 1290-1300, The Met New York

Google ‘Medieval baby Jesus’ and you will find hundreds of images that are guaranteed to make you chuckle. These are not bad restorations, but were some of the most important art works in the medieval Christian world. So then why is baby Jesus depicted in this way? With reference to Duccio’s ‘Madonna and Child’ (c.1300) (Fig. 1), two major explanations can be found by thinking back to the Byzantine Empire (Fig. 2).

Figure 2: The Byzantine empire sourced from Britannica Encyclopaedia at https://www.britannica.com/place/Byzantine-Empire

But first, what exactly is it about this Christ Child that makes him look like an old man? Let’s compare Duccio’s baby Jesus to Artemisia Gentileschi’s ‘Madonna and Child’ (Fig. 3). Here, the Christ Child is portrayed with the chubby dimples and soft hair of a toddler and there is something slightly ungainly about his body as he reaches for his mother. In contrast, Duccio’s toddler seems superhuman. His long, bulbous head, with facial features strangely compressed together, is completely out of proportion to his elongated body. He appears almost floating and stately as he elegantly blesses his mother. It is as if his distinct human features have been strung haphazardly into one body.

Figure 3: Artemisia Gentileschi, ‘Madonna and Child’, c 1613, Galleria Spada, Rome

The similarities between this Christ and his representation in Byzantine art (Fig. 4) is no coincidence. Southern Italy – Duccio-‘s countryside- traded with the Byzantine empire, and was a nation within it from the 9^th century to 1071 AD, meaning that Duccio was trained in the legacy of Byzantine art. The empire itself, formerly an eastern part of the ancient Roman Empire, originated in 5th century Constantinople. Not only was it the first major Christian culture, but also a vast multi-cultural empire stretching from Italy to Turkey at its height. Positioned between the East and West, the city of Constantinople was a major multi-ethnic trade centre as goods like wool arrived from Western Europe, and along the Silk Road cloths and spices arrived, whilst from Northern Africa travelled precious metals, ceramics and even elephant tusk (Fig. 5).

Figure 4: Unknown, ‘Virgin and Child, 867 AD, Hagia Sophia, Istanbul

Figure 5: The Silk Road in the Byzantine Empire, taken from http://reifshistoryclasses.weebly.com/the-beginning-of-the-byzantine-empire.html

Duccio’s work bears testament to this diverse Byzantine Empire. Whilst his gilding, as in the background, was made popular in the Byzantine era through imported gold-leaf mined in the remote deserts of Eastern Egypt, his depiction of the beautiful golden silk surrounding the Madonna’s face, stems from the rich tradition of Byzantine silk, which was imported raw from China. Furthermore, the empire also impacted upon Byzantine art, with its linear style and large facial features perhaps influenced by Chinese scrolls, Middle Eastern ceramics and Egyptian cloth (Fig. 6-7), as well as ancient Greco-Roman traditions. We must also consider the influence of mosaics (inherited from the Roman Empire-Fig. 8) and illuminated manuscripts (developed in the Byzantine era from Islamic and Greco-Roman traditions- Fig 9). Both these art forms lead to a more ‘cartoonish image’ as it was harder to render tonal depth. Therefore, this multi-cultural legacy explains in part why Christ does not look like the normal child you would expect: his body is influenced by many different styles from all over the Byzantine world.

Figure 6: Unknown, Nishapur Bowl, 10th Century, Iran, The Museum of Islamic Art, Qatar.

Figure 8: Zang Zeduan, Street Scene, 1085-1145, Qingming scroll, Palace Museum Beijing

Figure 8: Unknown, Jesus Washing the Disciples Feet, 11rth-12^th century the Narthex of Hosios Loukas

Figure 9: Unknown, Codex B: God speaks to Job, Mount Athos, 12th century,.Megisti Lavra Monastery

Duccio’s work doesn’t just inherit stylistic and material features from the Byzantine Empire, but also its approaches to representation, more specifically Ancient Roman attitudes. Constantinople was formerly a major city in the Ancient Roman Empire, and though it converted to Christianity in 312 AD under Emperor Constantine, it maintained many Roman traditions in its art. Afterall, artistic skill was still measured by Roman standards in the beginning of the empire. This meant that there was an emphasis on narrative, as in figure 10 (a roman fresco from Pompeii). Though the Gods have humanoid forms, they’re purposely imbued with supernatural traits representative of another realm, such as Andromeda’s ethereal glow and Perseus’ nudity and winged feet, to encourage worship. As Barbara Bord argues, mythical statues and paintings ‘were not part of reality, they expanded and intensified it’ (1).

Figure 10: Unknown, Andromeda and Perseus, 1-5^th Century AD, fresco, from the House of the Dioscuri in Pompeii National Archeological Museum of Naples

This approach towards art continued in Byzantine and Medieval Italian periods. In the Byzantine era ‘icons’ (now images of Saints rather than Roman Gods) became the centre of art and life, and were used by the newly formed church to promote the power of a single Christian God. Though they had humanoid forms, their features and limbs were exaggerated, beings that Mcormack argues were ‘made for eternity, outliving humans’ (2). The period of iconoclasm (726- c. 842) intensified this approach as the veneration of images was made illegal, and many works were removed. For example, compare the 6^th and 10^th century works (Fig. 11- 12); in the 10^th the features are more cartoonish, and a lower amount of shading suggests that its prized for its ability to portray a saint rather than a human being.

Figure 11: Unknown, Icon of the enthroned Virgin and Child with saints and angels, 6th century, Saint Catherine’s Monastery, Sinai

Figure 13: Unknown, The Ethiopian Saint Arethas, 10th century, Walters Art Museum

So, what about the Christ Child (aka baby Jesus)? Though the motif of the Virgin Mary and the Christ Child was popular in the Byzantine era, it gained a new importance in the Medieval period. The Council of Chalcedon in 451 AD demarcated that Christ mediated between ‘fully human and fully divine’, but in the Medieval era Christ became a living embodiment of divinity on Earth, and seen as the Alpha and the Omega (the beginning and end of all things, Revelation 1:8, 21:6, and 22:13) (3). This is seen in the popularity of the tales of the Golden Legend which expanded the narrative surrounding the life of the Virgin, and the time between Jesus’ birth and his presentation at the temple, as well as the vast amount of Madonna and Child tempera panels. Therefore, Medieval artists sought to represent Christ as this Alpha and Omega being. Duccio achieved this by combining the human traits of the Christ child (his size and human features) with inhuman traits (the stature of an adult, a toga and the ability to bless his mother). In doing so, Christ takes on the innocence and patriarchal importance of the Medieval male child, as well as being ‘someone who seems to have come from a distant time and a place conceived in the mind of God’ (4).

In writing this article, I hope that I have instilled in you that Art History is not just about applying one idea to a canvas, but is instead a tangled tree full of connections and ideas. Texts often understate the importance of the Byzantine empire in explaining these pictures, and I feel that it’s important to trace back Byzantine stylistic and narrational features, rather than just focus on the religious narratives. Though he still might make you chuckle, we can also now understand that the Medieval Christ Child is a product of centuries of ideas, across many different medias and cultures. ☺

Endnotes

Borg, 2015.
Cormack.
McCarthy, 2019 ; Dzon, 2019.
Christiansen, 2008.

Bibliography

Barbara Borg editor. A Companion to Roman Art / Edited by Barbara E. Borg. Blackwell Companions to the Ancient World. Hoboken: John Wiley/Blackwell, ©2015, 2015.
Christiansen, Keith. Duccio and the Origins of Western Painting. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2008.
Robin Cormack author. Byzantine Art. Second edition. Oxford History of Art. Oxford: University Press, 2018.
Crowe, Joseph Archer, Giovanni Battista Cavalcaselle, and Anna Jameson. Early Italian Painting. New York, UNITED STATES: Parkstone International, 2011. http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/cam/detail.action?docID=886887.
Dzon, Mary, and Theresa Kenney. The Christ Child in Medieval Culture: Alpha Es et O! The Christ Child in Medieval Culture. University of Toronto Press, 2019. https://toronto-degruyter-com.ezp.lib.cam.ac.uk/view/title/539748.
McCarthy, Angela. ‘Baby Jesus in Art and the Long Tradition of Depicting Christ as a Man-Child’. The Conversation, 2019. http://theconversation.com/baby-jesus-in-art-and-the-long-tradition-of-depicting-christ-as-a-man-child-127812.
Nicholas, David. The Domestic Life of a Medieval City Women, Children, and the Family in Fourteenth-Century Ghent. ACLS Humanities E-Book. Lincoln [Neb.] ; London, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1985.
van Os, Henk. The Art of Devotion in the Late Middle Ages in Europe: 1300-1500. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton UP, Princeton University Press, 1994.