Skip to main content

Guccio di Mannaia, 'Chalice for Pope Nicholas IV', 13th century

 

As the only work remaining of Sienese goldsmith Guccio di Mannaia, the chalice he created for Pope Nicholas IV in the late thirteenth century is an incredibly important work of art. Not only does it highlight the rich, opulent nature of papal commissions, but it proves the talent of Sienese goldsmiths and their resulting influence on painters and sculptors of the period. The chalice is innovative in shape and form, but it is striking first and foremost through the use of gold. It is an object that deserves to be viewed in the flesh, because of its reflective and therefore mimetic potential – like a bronze sculpture it is activated by light and should be experienced in the round as a three-dimensional, highly decorated art object. Its complicated design features an almost architectonic base, star-like as it spills out towards the viewer. The base builds up into the stem of the chalice which is decorated with an array of enamelled plaques featuring saints, prophets, angels and further divine figures, building up to the remarkably plain cup itself which sits atop the decorative detail.

As a Franciscan chalice – Pope Nicholas IV was the first Franciscan Pope – the amount of rich detail seems contrary to the vows of the Order, promising poverty, chastity and obedience. Yet, the Order had a history of commissioning highly detailed artworks and interior schemes, from the vita panels dedicated to Saint Clare and Saint Francis (who feature prominently on the design here), to the interior of San Francesco, the mother church at Assisi. Saint Francis features on the iconographic program of the chalice, receiving the stigmata to highlight his closeness to Christ. The fact that Francis is depicted in the guise of Christ on a chalice with all its accompanying Eucharistic potential furthers this relationship between Francis and the Redeemer, as well as the power and thaumaturgical credentials of the saint himself. Two inscriptions accompany the array of saints and evangelists, one that names Guccio as the maker of the object and a second that names the papal patron. Therefore, artist and commissioner are slotted into the holy program, imbuing them both with divine, prophetical importance. It is a religious object, it illustrates the power of the divine, but it is also a program of self-promotion and self-aggrandisement for patron and artist.

Guccio’s life and work remain a mystery. Along with papal commissions he produced seals. These included the design that became representative of Siena itself, reproduced by Simone Martini on his Maesta for the Palazzo Pubblico and accompanied by a prayer to the Virgin for protection of Siena as patron saint. Guccio’s work in multiple media clearly had a lasting impact. Equally, his chalice design changed the creation of these objects as the other Mendicant Orders began to adopt similar motifs. Chalices by later Sienese goldsmiths, including Bartolomeo di Tomme and Tondino di Guerrino, are virtual carbon copies of Guccio’s new form. Yet as mentioned, this was a celebration of the individual as much as it was a new and innovative chalice design. Guccio made sure his name was emblazoned on the side of the chalice, but Pope Nicholas IV furthered his claim by requesting a donor portrait on the design. Twinned with his inscription, his authority is furthered. Although donor portraits were becoming more common into the fourteenth century, on a chalice this was highly unusual. Nicholas IV was known for including himself in his commissions including the mosaic apse by Jacopo Torriti in Santa Maria Maggiore where the Pope appears kneeling before the Coronation of the Virgin as a direct, divine intercessor once again. The chalice is therefore innovative in form and composition, in elaborating the careers of Sienese goldsmiths of the late thirteenth century but fundamentally in artistic programs of self-glorification. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mark Rothko, 'Light Red over Black', 1957

  My eye is not drawn to the painting itself but the title of the painting, 'Light Red Over Black'. We would automatically think that the black is on top of a red background, but Rothko has flipped this around, subverting the title just like he subverting the meaning of what it was to be an artist and what Art actually was. During this time, art was going through rapid changes, with abstract expressionism coming into full force (Rothko, Pollock). But Rothko showed that all this change was for the good, even if for him, it was short lived.  The colour red in this painting is searing and the black struggles to fully cover this velvety border, especially at the bottom of the canvas. Unlike the black squares which have a hazy quality to their edges, the red is clear and impregnable. It is hard to figure out what this represents - the Tate has suggested a window perhaps, but if it is a window then what are we looking out into? Perhaps it is night, or perhaps the viewer is catching ...

Egon Schiele, 'Dead Mother', 1910

  My eye is drawn to the hand. Those long, bony fingers are so characteristic of Schiele but here they are particularly skeletal and deathly – the veins seem to have been injected with poison. And they are a warning right in the foreground of the painting that keeps the viewer at bay as an outsider to this incredibly intimate relationship between mother and child, and sets the tone of death and mortality which hangs over the whole image. The mother cradles her child in a womb-like shroud, alluding to childbirth and the death of the mother explained in the title. She seems desperate to feel that bodily connection with her child, highlighted by the emphasis on her craned neck as she tries to connect to the baby. There is a clear link between the mother’s bent neck and the child’s bent neck, again emphasising their longing to be with each other. However, the darkness around the child is almost like ropes, with flecks of white in the painting making it look as though the darkness is wo...

Hans Holbein, 'Portrait of A Lady with Squirrel', 1526-8

  An unidentified figure looks away from the viewer, but this is not a portrait of disengagement. The surrounding symbols intrigue us, potentially indicating mood, atmosphere, status and significance. As a work with no inscription, no verbal device, the painting remains as tight-lipped as the woman depicted. Instead, art historians have turned to the study of signs to decipher meaning.  The inclusion of animals in portraiture was far from unusual at this point in history - this painting has often been compared to Leonardo's Lady with an Ermine and Holbein himself includes animals in his own works, such as the depiction of Henry VIII's chief falconer proudly displaying his occupation to the viewer. In this case, it was first proposed that the squirrel balanced on the arm of the sitter was perhaps a household pet. More recently, its surreptitious chewing of a nut has been linked to the coat of arms of the Lovell family. Thus the squirrel becomes imbued with additional heraldic c...