From Workshop to Faculty: An Outline of the Science and Teaching of Drawing

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From Workshop to Faculty: An Outline of the Science and

Teaching of Drawing1

Emília Ferreira

[Translated by Ruth Rosengarten]

An Economic Context Conducive to the Arts

Del primo principio della scienza della pittura. Il principio della scienza della pittura è il punto, il secondo è la linea, il terzo è la superficie, il cuarto è il corpo che si veste di tal superficie, e questo è quanto a quello che si finge, cioè esso corpo, che si finge; perchè invero la pittura non si estende più oltre che la superficie, per la quale se finge il corpo figura di qualunque cosa evidente.

From the first principle of the science of painting. The first principle of the science of painting is the point; the second is the line, the third is the surface, [and] the fourth is the body which is clothed by these surfaces, and this in relation to what is feigned; for painting does not, as a matter of fact, beyond the surface, which is why the body can only feign to be in evidence.2

It was in the central area of the Italian peninsula, at the turn of the sixteenth century, that

drawing came to be regarded no longer as merely a process, but also as a finished product

with its own artistic merits, capable of expressing individuality. Prior to 1500, drawings

were only ever discussed for their practical value, and were thus, with a few rare

exceptions, neither signed nor dated.3

During the fifteenth century, with the expansion of the known world, opportunities for

trade emerged throughout Europe and new fortunes were created. The effects of travel

and the commissioning and circulation of works extended from Flanders, through

Germany and Switzerland, to France, Spain, Portugal and Italy. Here, it was in Tuscany,

and particularly in Florence, that drawing evolved in more innovative ways, reflecting the

mutual influence of the pictorial innovations of the great painters of various regions.

Many members of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie alike, their coffers filled by the

1 Text published in the catalogue of the Exhibition The Science of Drawing, Casa da Cerca – Centro de Arte Contemporânea, Almada, ISBN 978-‐989-‐728-‐002-‐3, 2012. 2 In Leonardo da Vinci, Trattato della Pittura di Lionardo da Vinci, Trato da un Codice della Biblioteca Vaticana e Dedicato a la Maestà di Luigi XVIII. Re di Francia e di Navarra, Roma, Nella Stamperia di Romanis, 1817, p. 49. Leonardo da Vinci, A Treatise on Painting. [This section translated into English by the translator of this text. See note 21, in part based on Leonardo’s Paragone: A Comparison of the Arts, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1949. 3 Cf. Francis Ames-‐Lewis, Drawing in Early Renaissance Italy, New Have and London: Yale University Press, 1981, p. 2.

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flourishing trade routes, lived in wealthy cities like Florence. In this economically

propitious environment, the workshops of numerous old masters thrived. According to

Benedetto Dei (1418-‐1492), in Florence alone in the last quarter of the fifteenth century,

there existed so many workshops that they were to supply not only the internal market,

but also to export. 4

Bolstered by financial abundance, the construction of religious and secular buildings

flourished, and these boasted sculptural and pictorial adornments, demanding the

production of luxury items that inhabited the daily lives (both sacred and profane) of

famous patrons of the art, such as the Medici, Tornabuoni, Strozzi, Portinari and Vespucci

families.

The diversified and exacting demand challenged the multifaceted talents of the masters,

who passed their knowledge onto their apprentices. The existence of specialised

workshops did not mean that these were not able to respond to the heterogeneity of

public and private commissions, resulting in the production of paintings and sculpture,

highly worked pieces of furniture, ex-‐votos, chests and ceramics, elaborately worked

pieces of gold and silver, engravings, textiles (banners, altar frontals) and leatherwork.

Nevertheless, there began already to exist a distinction between the arts, born of the new

differentiation between artist and artisan. Thus, the arts that were thought to be noblest

were painting, sculpture and architecture.5 Practitioners were also taught those

theoretical subjects that underpinned artistic practice.6 The disciplines taught at the

workshop of the Florentine painter, sculptor and goldsmith Andrea Verrocchio (1435-‐

1488) were pressed at the service of painting, architecture and sculpture, but also optics

(essential for the accurate representation of light and shade), botany and music.7

Attention to the Real

In this diversified art market, the demand for mimetic representation was met by rigorous

draughtsmanship, harnessing every possible tool for its best execution, as well as for its

most appropriate reproduction, since printing now expanded the possibilities of

4 ‘[…] forty painting studios, forty four goldsmiths’ workshops, more than fifty sculpture studios, more than twenty workshops of carpenters and ebony cabinet makers.’ In Francesca Debolini, Léonard de Vinci, French translation Denis-‐Armand Canal, Paris: Éditions de la Martinière, 2000, p. 10, English translation from the French by translator of this text. 5 These ceased to be defined as mechanical arts and were now considered liberal arts. 6 Anatomy, perspective and the culture of Antiquity. To this end, the collections of the Medicis, for example, served as precious sources of instruction. The most significant iconographic sources from the times of Classical Antiquity were cameos, coins and sculptures. Cf. Hugo Chapman, ‘The Development of Drawing during the Italian Renaissance. The Importance of Classical Art,’ in Fra Angelico to Leonardo: Italian Renaissance Drawings, London: The British Museum Press, 2010, p. 57 ff. 7 Cf. Francesca Debolini, op. cit., p. 12.

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reproduction through engravings (a discipline that, until then, had been confined to wood

engraving), in particular on copper plates, which considerably improved the potential for

accurate composition.

Simultaneously, in terms of representation itself, we witness a distinct change in scientific,

artistic and philosophic paradigm. In Flanders, artists such as the brothers Hubert van Eyck

(1366-‐1426) and Jan van Eyck (c. 1390-‐1441) begin to lavish greater attention to detail in

facial expression and gesture, as well as in the handling of light and texture and the

depiction of nature. In the painting and sculpture of this period, attention to the real

begins to replace the more hierarchical and hieratic nature of medieval figuration, where

a formal codification predetermined not only the nature of the compositions, but also the

inclusion of certain characters into specific narratives and their relative importance in the

economy of the work in question. Now the bodies were no longer stylised and artists

began to register the distinct features of particular citizens. Religious painting also

underwent changes, with narratives now performed by people with individualised faces

and bodies drawn with realistic proportions. This period also witnesses the re-‐emergence

of the portrait and a return to mythological scenes, as well as the first depictions of

everyday life. The new artistic paradigm, based on that of Classical Antiquity, is defined as

the rinascimento – the rebirth – of this Classical period, distinguishing itself from the

work of the centuries immediately preceding it.

The Particularities of Drawing

In northern Italy in the late-‐fourteenth century, drawing began to play a more important

role and to attain more obvious technical8 and pedagogic9 success. In 1491, using a brush

on paper, Andrea Mantegna (c.1431-‐1506) renders his version of Judith carrying the head

of Holofernes, in a drawing that he signed and dated. The drawing is complete,

comparable in its entirety to the level of detail and finish that this artist achieved in his

paintings.10 However, only a few kilometers further south, it was only in the late-‐fifteenth

century that this discipline began to mark an autonomous presence.

8 These were nevertheless still restricted to a method of study via the production of model notebooks, such as those of the famous Milanese artist Giovannino de’Grassi (1350-‐1398) or the Venetian painter Jacopo Bellini (1396-‐1470). 9 On the evidence pertaining to drawing as practiced by medieval masters (and not only those of the Late Middle Ages), with their divergent methods and goals, see Melanie Holcomb, Drawing in the Middle Ages, New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art; New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2009. 10 The relevance of this art form was already mentioned in the writing of a humanist from Padua, Felice Feliciano (1433-‐1479). In 1466, he mentioned the existence of ‘drawings and pictures on paper by many excellent masters of design.’ In Francis Ames-‐Lewis, op. cit., p. 4.

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The extant documents registering the practice of drawing at this time focus on techniques

and the objectives that might be thus achieved, where drawing is considered a structural

support for the creation of artistic works of greater value. Examples of this may be found

in the writings of Cennino Cennini (1370-‐1440), compiled in the late-‐fourteenth century

in his celebrated volume titled Il libro dell’arte (translated as The Craftman’s Handbook),

where he insists on the importance of drawing as a method that initiates the making of a

work of art (‘As has been said, you begin with drawing.’11) In the Notebooks and Treatise

on Painting of Leonardo da Vinci (1452-‐1519) – compilations of the artist’s writings

published long after his death, he offers artists assorted pieces of advice on matters

technical and material concerning good workshop practice.

Cennini insisted in particular on the efficacy of exercises drawn from model books. Their

aim was to train the artist’s hand and his assimilation of both the craft and tradition of

draughtsmanship, educating the relationship between hand and eye. Because these

exercises – which ought to begin with those aspects of reality that most please the artist12

— were not yet deemed to be works worthy of preservation, but rather, the necessary

components of an apprenticeship, they were often realised on re-‐usable surfaces, such as

fig-‐ or boxwood.13 From the Middle Ages, artists had used wood or plates of wax or shale

as supports for drawing exercises. However, Cennini also introduced something new: an

insistence on working from nature.

But before exploring how drawing was taught in the Renaissance workshops, let us linger

briefly on the organisation of the career of an artist or craftsman.

Professional Profile

During the Middle Ages, workshop practice for any artesan was regulated by a guild (a

professional association.14) Initially also linked to conventual activity, the guild offered

apprenticeships in various crafts, from jewellery to illumination, including metallurgy and

the production of glass for stained-‐glass windows. The various areas of monastic expertise

possibly also included plans for frescos and other decorative schemes.15 However, not all

11 In Cennino Cennini, Il Libro del Arte, translated into English as The Craftsman’s Handbook by Daniel V. Thompson Jr., first published by Yale University Press, 1933, reprinted New York: Dover Publications, 1954, p. 4. 12 ‘Begin carefully to draw the most pleasant things occur to you: in this way, you will accustom your hand to operate the stylus on the surface of the tablet […].’ In Cennino Cennini, op. cit., translation by translator of this text. 13 Cf. ibid. 14 The guilds emerged in the eighth and ninth centuries, regulating the methods of apprenticeship. Cf. Godfrey Rubens, ‘Art education,’ The Dictionary of Art, Volume 2, ed. Jane Turner, London, New York: Macmillan Publishers Limited, 1996, p. 523. 15 Cf. Carola Hicks, ‘Studio,’ The Dictionary of Art, op. cit., Volume 29, p. 851.

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commissions were carried out by the clergy, nor were they all promoted by religious

patrons. Alongside the church, stately homes and courts – as well as the guilds

themselves, with their great economic power – were also significant sponsors. With the

growth of cities and the wish to build cathedrals, some of the specialised clerical labour

force became urbanised, joining forces with secular artisans already organised into bergs.

In the secular context of the city, professions were often passed down from fathers to

sons. Boys began their apprenticeship at around the age of twelve, spending, on average,

seven years in the household of the master craftsman; this was true even of apprentices

who were not family members. At the end of this term, their work was assessed by the

guild, which then issued a certificate of journeyman. Some years later, after the

apprentice had produced a masterpiece of his own, the guild would grant him the title of

master craftsman.

During the Renaissance, this organisational model did not change much: the workshops

continued to be headed by an acknowledged master whose signature became increasingly

marketable, attracting many disciples. As was the case in the Middle Ages, they enjoyed

lengthy instruction, entering the workshop as apprentices, then becoming assistants and

journeymen, before finally acquiring the covetable status of master, and then being able

to establish their own workshops and take on disciples of their own. The great innovation

of this period was that instruction in the arts ceased to focus on the repetitive copying of

pre-‐existing motifs, becoming increasingly experimental and also gaining a theoretical

structure that was accentuated with the emergence of the academies.16

This fellowship among artists and humanists was only achieved after an apprentice had

proved himself. This meant that the procedures of official apprenticeship were

maintained for centuries in accordance with the medieval prototype. Nevertheless, within

this context, the assumptions and aims of the practice of drawing changed,17 becoming an

increasingly relevant discipline.

Workshops and Studios

Less crowded than the medieval workshops, those of the Renaissance also offered flexible

and diversified training. A master might have one or two assistants, though some artists,

such as the sculptor Lorenzo Ghiberti (1378-‐1455), had as many as twenty five; 16 From the eighteenth century, the academy rivalled only with the studio as the official location of of the instruction of artists. Nevertheless, the Académie Royale continued to demand an initial apprenticeship in the studio of a master. Cf. Carola Hicks, op. cit., p. 855. 17 For a detailed study of artists’ working methods and the economic, religious and political conditions in which they were enmeshed, see Ann Sutherland Harris, 17th Century Art & Architecture, London: Lawrence King Publishing, 2005.

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contrariwise, Michelangelo (1475-‐1564), dispensed altogether with regular workshop

assistants, contracting them only for the earliest stages of cutting into the blocks of stone.

It was the master who would establish the basic premises of the work, even if the final

piece was not exclusively the product of his individual hand. The signature of an artist

meant that the concept, the supervision and the responsibility were his, even if the work

was largely sculpted or painted by his more advanced disciples. Indeed, each contract

specified the extent of the master’s involvement in a project. In the case of sculpture, the

master would make the clay models, which would then serve the assistants – the most

able of the disciples – who carved the stone almost up to the point of finishing the work,

when the master would once again take charge of the operations.

The workplace, especially where painting was concerned, had to be well illuminated

(especially in northern countries), and ideally, would be on an upper floor and equipped

with adequate instruments (such as string and mirrors) for the establishment of a

vanishing point or for the painting of a self portrait. A growing interest in the figure led

masters to use their apprentices as models, even in the nude. The models for animals

were usually flayed carcasses (with the musculature and the whole internal structure

exposed). Drapery was also artfully employed in order to set a scene, and sometimes

fabrics were drenched in solutions such as wax in order to remain in place. All this

required space, but not separate rooms: the same area could be used for everything,

including the storage of canvases, paints, brushes and other materials. In the case of

sculpture, because of the weight of the material, a ground-‐floor workshop was preferable,

divided into several separate rooms, so that the different materials (such as clay, wood

and stone) might be kept separate.

We have now seen what a professional artist needed and how his workspace ought to be

configured. Now we need to know how and what he did in that space.

Model Books

Before Cennino, most of the drawings in the so-‐called model books that were used for

teaching purposes – because of their didactic usage, these were made to last – were not

drawn from nature but from prior drawings. Cennino was one of the first to exhort

apprentices to draw from life. While in drawing animals (in particular, exotic ones), artists

had to draw their images from verbal descriptions or model books, in portraiture, it was

advisable to base the image on direct observation of the model.

Providing artists with a range of elements that could be integrated into compositions,

model books equipped them with prescriptions they could follow. They offered samples

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of bearing and gesture alike, as well as expressions, drapery, animals and those symbolic

elements that were in use at the time (sometimes with corrections in accordance with

changes in taste.18) These model books account for the similarity of many finished

compositions. Nevertheless, following these instructions, over time and with constant

practice, the apprentice gained control of his craft, first through following the outline and

then applying tones, whether through the employment of marks or washes, and

experimenting in the uses of various techniques and supports.

These schematic books became scarcer as the Quattrocento progressed. Between the

mid-‐fifteenth century and the early sixteenth, sketchbooks gradually replaced model

books.

Sketchbooks and Experiments

A new and more analytic practice overtook the predefined models, earlier hieratic poses

and symbolic representations. In this context, an increased self-‐confidence expressed

itself in a more personal and agile graphic expression, for which the discipline of drawing

from nature was of the greatest importance. To this end, the role of the master, though

essential, was not reductive. The individual and informal nature of working procedures –

now in sketchbooks or on loose sheets of paper that, being cheaper, turned the exercise

into something less onerous – was also deployed by each artist according to personal

preference, giving rise to individuated authorial idioms. In the High Renaissance, this

leaning to experimentation became the brand of individuals, offering a multiplicity of

solutions to the problems of representation.

Nevertheless, the creation of an image bank remained an important method of study. The

masters would make their own selection (the dissemination of engraving was a

determining factor) and this was a significant legacy handed over to their disciplines and

continuing the line of the workshop.19

The survival of a larger corpus of drawings from the fifteenth century on was not only due

to the fact that the practice of drawing was now more extensive, but also because,

frequently for contractual reasons, drawings were now also intended to be seen outside

the workshops. The proliferation of drawing was also not exclusively due to the fact that

paper had become more commonplace, although that development does play a

18 Cf. Francis Ames-‐Lewis, op. cit., p. 64. 19 ‘The dynastic nature of many Renaissance workshops meant that drawings constituted an important part of an artist’s legacy to his heirs, both as a means of continuing a familial style and as an aid to the preparation of finished works.” Hugo Chapamn, ‘The Function and Survival of Italian Fifteenth-‐Century Drawings,’ op. cit, p. 21.

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significant part in this story. Rather, the survival of these drawings owes itself primarily to

the fact that drawings were now bought and sold (in other words expressed a taste in the

market); or presented as preparatory sketches to potential purchasers of finished works.

By the sixteenth century, drawings had commercial value: we know of collectors (outside

of the artistic community itself) who now acquired them.

After Cennino, one of the first artists to incorporate direct observation into his work was

Antonio Pisanello (1395-‐1455). Having recourse to model books but also using

sketchbooks and loose sheets of paper, Pisanello managed to incorporate the practice of

drawing from life, even though the final, exceptionally mimetic outcome maintained

something of an older formality, a predefined, hieratic quality.20 It nevertheless evinces

greater rigor and a more distinct figurative realism.

Teaching the Eye, Training the Hand

In order to obtain the desired results, instruction in draughtsmanship established clear

norms. Various masters made compliations of their teachings for their disciples. In the

workshop of Verrocchio, master of Luca Signorelli (1445-‐1522), Domenico Ghirlandaio

(1149-‐1494), Pietro Perugino 1446/50-‐1523), Lorenzo di Credi (1459-‐1537) and Leonardo,

the method is again based on drawing, stressing perspective and textures and

emphasising the importance of making studies of drapery and flowers, as well as

modelling in clay. Here too, as was by now common practice, the apprentices sometimes

served as models, promoting manual dexterity and the capacity for synthetic observation.

After gaining proficiency in these techniques, the disciples would experiment in tempera,

and then in oil paint.21

Leonardo himself, in his Treatise on Painting,22 systematised the ways in which the

apprentice ought to be instructed in order to turn him into a good professional. As for

Cennino, drawing was, for Leonardo, the point of departure, especially for

representations of the figure, whose handling constituted an entire ‘theory of the human

figure.’23 Leonardo stipulated that the disciple had to learn perspective and the proper

measurement of things, following the teachings of a good master in order to become

20 Cf. Francis Ames-‐Lewis, op. cit., p. 76-‐77. 21 Cf. Emma Dickens, Introduction in The Da Vinci Notebooks, London: Profile Books, 2005, p. 6. 22 Given the posthumous organization of Leonardo’s notes, there are several editions of this treatise. I have followed three of these editions in order to glean the maximum information possible and attempt to clarify some of his concepts and precepts. The editions consulted were: Emma Dickens, op. cit.; Leonardo da Vinci, op. cit. and Leonardo da Vinci, Tratado de Pintura, edition published by Angel González Garcia, Madrid: Ediciones AKAL, 1993. 23 For further elaboration on this, see Juan Bordes, Historia de las teorías de la Figura Humana: el dibujo/la anatomía/la proporción/la fisiognomía, Madrid: Cátedra, 2003, p. 23.

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increasingly refined; to draw from life in order to confirm all that he had previously learnt,

carefully study the works of the great masters, and practice a great deal.24 This exercise

ought to be undertaken in solitude (in order not to be distracted, although exercise in

company might stimulate practice by instilling shame through comparison), stimulating a

comprehension of the nature of the object of the drawing. Care had to be taken in the

illumination of the scene, in the diversification of the subject matter (an artist who

specialised in particular subjects was not deemed interesting), and artists had to ensure

not to be ignorant of mathematics and anatomy.

The emphasis on regular and systematic practice based on observation – whether of

objects, architecture, animals, the human figure or landscape – is particularly noteworthy.

The accurate rendition of the image – mimesis – and extreme dedication to one’s practice

are now mandatory. Movement was denoted by varying the poses. A system of

codification remained in place: it is important to remember that Leonardo gave clear

instructions on how to represent women, men and the aged, establishing a repertory of

gestures, expressions and movements, but these now served the purposes of clear

communication. Simultaneously, more attention was paid to an accurate rendition of the

referent. It is in this light that we should read Leonardo’s indications concerning the

proportions of the human figure, the relation of parts of the body to the whole, the ways

in which different parts of the body should be drawn in perspective in conformity with the

positioning of the figures.

Despite its fragmentary nature – common to all the manuals of the masters, organising

the body in terms of graphic segments – the Trattato very clearly reveals that Leonardo

dedicated himself to researching the science of drawing and painting, from the most

theoretical to the most practical aspects, dealing with materials and how these should be

manufactured and used, and instructing disciples in the many ways of observing and

drawing, from bodies to nature, under different lighting and from varied points of view

and distances.

Perspective or Drawing as Science

La scoltura non è scienza ma arte mecanissima, perche genera sudore, e fatica corporale al suo operatore, e solo bastano a tale artista le semplizi misure de’membri, e la natura delli movimenti, e posati, e così se finisce dimostrando all’occhio quel che quello è, e

24 Cf. Leonardo da Vinci, Trattato della Pittura di Lionardo da Vinci, op. cit., p. 50.

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non dà di se alcuna ammirazione al suo contemplante, come fa la pittura, che in una piana superfície per forza di scienza demostra le grandissime campagne co’lontani orizzonti. Sculpture is not a science but a very mechanical art, because it causes its maker sweat and bodily fatigue, and a sculptor only need know the simple measurements of the limbs and the nature of movements and postures, and he can complete his works, demonstrating to the eye whatever it is, not thereby causing astonishment in the observer as painting does; on a flat surface and by means of science, painting reveals a vast field and its distant horizon.’25

This was Leonardo’s account of the supremacy of artificial perspective, the science

underlying the practice of drawing and painting, defining these activities as the outcome

of calculations. In reality, linear perspective (from the Latin perspicere, to see clearly),

invented by Filippo Brunelleschi (1377-‐1446) in Florence around 1413,26 was the response

to a growing need that was felt by artists in relation to the representation of space. A

science based on geometry and drawing inspiration from Euclidian theory, perspective

indeed instated itself as the foundation of representational work on flat surfaces, where

artists increasingly felt they needed to master the two-‐dimentional representation of

three-‐dimensional space.27

‘The Greek models of perspective, using as their point of departure the correct

assumption of the spherical nature of space and of vision, suggested that the visible

differences between objects varied in relation to the difference in the angle from which

they were seen, and that the representation of these objects ought to reveal the

curvature of vision itself. This concept, based on one of Euclid’s theorems, underlay the

representational code of Greek painting, known as ‘perspectiva naturalis’ ou ‘comunis’.

Despite its preoccupation with realism (in the sense of illusionism in the representation of

the visible), this form of perspective did not manage to achieve the illusionism of the

whole attained by the ‘artificial perspective’ of the Renaissance masters. This new

perspective was the outcome of the transposition of an obstacle imposed upon Euclid’s

theorem, with a device that corrected the Euclidian visual cone, replacing it with a

25 Ibid. p. 34. Translation here is in part by the translator of this text, in part from the website of the Museo d’Arte e Scienza, Milan, http://www.leonardodavincimilano.com/teacherofpaintinginmilan/index.htm 26 It is now possible to suggest a date in accordance with a letter by Brunelleschi, discovered later, where the author mentions this invention. Cf. Martin Kemp, The Science of Art: Optical Themes in Western Art from Brunelleschi to Seurat, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1990, p. 9. 27 See also Janis Callen Bell, ‘Perspective,’ The Dictionary of Art, op. cit. Volume 24, pp .485-‐495.

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pyramid, in which straight lines adapt the viewer’s interpretation of the changes in angles

that occur in observation, where distance is translated into apparent alterations in size, so

that objects closer to the viewer appear larger, and smaller objects appear to be more

distant; as well as by the interposition, between the represented objects and the

spectator’s vision, of a hypothetical representational plane, and it is this that drawing

reproduces.’28

During the fourteenth century, there were already several solutions to the problem of

rendering three-‐dimensional space on a flat surface. Giotto (1276/7-‐1337) had made

some approximations to perspective, for instance in the fresco, The Confirmation of the

Rule, from The Life of St Francis for the Bardi Chapel in Florence,29 where we can already

see an attempt to resolve the problem of the placement of figures in space. But in the

fifteenth century, advances in mathematics and in science (namely in the combined forces

of the medieval legacy, particularly that pertaining to optics30 – or the science of vision –

and the recovery of knowledge of the science of Greek Antiquity) kept apace with social

and economic developments.

After Brunelleschi’s invention, Leon Battista Alberti (1404-‐1472) was the first to write a

treatise on perspective. Because of his background in law, his approach was different

from that typically found in either science or art.31 Nevertheless, his outlook was clearly

rooted in mathematics, especially geometry. Based on the discoveries of optics, he wrote

two versions: one – De Pittura – was more specialised and written in Latin; the other –

Della Pittura – dedicated to Brunelleschi, was easier to read and written in Italian.

The shared information began to be put into practice. Artists such as Lorenzo Ghiberti and

Piero della Francesca (c. 1415-‐1492) explored these questions and while their works

served at once as examples of the practical application of their findings, their writings

disseminated the theoretical principles underlying them. Ghiberti, for instance published

his I Commentari (Commentaries), an important anthology of texts by various

philosophers, mathematicians and astronomers specialising in optics, such as the Muslim

polymath, Alhazen (965-‐1040), or the English Roger Bacon (1214-‐1294) and John Pecham

(1230-‐1292) as well as the Polish Witelo (c.1230-‐between 1280-‐1314). This compilation,

which included noteworthy samples of the anatomical studies of the Arabic philosophers

and physicians Averroes and (1126-‐1198) and Avicenna (980-‐1137), became an important

28 In ‘A Revelação,’ O Desejo do Desenho, Exhibition catalogue, Almada: Casa da Cerca – Centro de Arte Contemporânea, 1995, p. 30. 29 Cf. Martin Kemp, op. cit., p. 9. 30 In the Middle Ages, optics was one of the areas that evinced the greatest scientific advances. 31 Cf. Martin Kemp, op. cit., p. 21 ff.

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and extremely useful reference work for painters. Piero also devoted himself to the study

of mathematics, and especially geometry, focussing in particular on the writings of Euclid.

Leonardo and Albrecht Dürer (1471-‐1528) both took these considerations further: in the

writings of both, explorations on the nature of line intersects with an examination of how

light gives shape to space and reveals the volumetric, textured and sensuous nature of the

bodies occupying it.

In his considerations on the science underpinning the work of the draftsman/painter (as

opposed to that of the sculptor, who grasped these matters more physically, because of

his necessarily greater reliance on strength than on calculation32 and because his work did

not depend on optical illusion, since the sculpted body was concrete, rather than the

outcome of elaborate drawn lines and occurrences of light), Leonardo situated

perspective at the centre of the debate. Indeed, in his opinion, it was precisely by learning

the rules of perspective that the apprentice should begin his training.

Next, the young trainee had to learn how to control light, since its greatest or smallest

incidence upon a body, linked to the distance of that body from the spectator,

determined the way in which the eye perceives that body and how, in consequence, it

should be represented so as to seem as natural as possible. The importance of light – and

of air – in this equation led Leonardo to discuss not only linear perspective, but also the

perspective of colour33 and aerial perspective34 in the perception of both the lines and

colours of bodies in the distance.

Throughout the following centuries, studies on perspective continued in response to the

urge to explore the nature of spatial representation, promoting the study of geometry

and the use of certain devices and instruments,35 from grids to mirrors, as well as more

sophisticated optical instruments and the known perspective machines.36

32 ‘[…] sculpture, an art form of great dignity, is not the outcome of such excellent ingenuity.’ In Leonardo da Vinci, Trattato della Pittura di Lionardo da Vinci, op. cit. p. 33. For the difference between the two disciplines, see the following pages, where Leonardo devotes himself to the description of the dirty surroundings of the sculptor at work, and to the exercise of his activity, which is in frank contrast to the cleanliness of the studio of the painter, who is able to exercise his art wearing the best clothes; a practice that can take place in elegant spaces adorned with good paintings and – stressing the cerebral side of this tranquil and silent activity – an activity that can be undertaken while the practitioner hold a conversation about painting. 33 Cf. Leonardo da Vinci op. cit., p. 119 ff. See also the section: ‘On How the Painter Should Put into Practice the Perspective of Colour,’ p. 144. 34 In some translations, the terms aerial perspective appears as atmospheric perspective. But Leonardo never uses this term, since the concept of ‘atmosphere’ was only really defined in the seventeenth century. The term that Leonardo uses is always aerial (see ibid. p. 90 ff.) For Leonardo’s definition of aerial perspective, see ibid. p. 145. 35 See Martin Kemp, op. cit. 36 Ibid. p.167 ff.

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In this research, the conversations with astronomers and mathematicians, with whom

artists consorted in the academies were fundamental. It is, therefore, not surprising that

the growing knowledge about stars and seas alike went apace with the different types of

knowledge linked to drawing. Astrolabes, which were used for orientation at sea, were

also employed to measure buildings and help calculate scale in a painting. And the

instruments and know-‐how of the new physics were also transported to the space of

painting. Nevertheless, in general terms, the outcome of the work of perspective

machines (generally, geometric structures that, with the help of strings, organised the

visible space in such a way as to assist artists in the adaptation of the scene into two

dimensions, creating the illusion of distance of three-‐dimensional space) were soon

replaced by optical instruments that later led to the birth of photography.

Optical Machines and the Camera Obscura

If you drill a hole in the wall of a darkened room and allow outdoor light to pass through

that hole, the wall facing the hole – or, indeed, a sheet of paper held to face the orifice –

will reflect, through the action of the rays of the sun, an inverted image of the scene

outside.37 This is the principle of the pinhole camera or the camera obscura, although to

work efficiently in a room, the hole ought to be larger than that made by a pin.

The observation of this type of optical phenomenon was of interest to the Chinese early

on (around the thirteenth century), and had already been mentioned centuries earlier by

Aristotles, who noticed, through the leaves of a tree, the formation of an image of the sun

on the ground during an eclipse,38 coomprehending immediately that he had stumbled

upon a way of observing solar phenomena without ruining one’s vision.

In the West, the Middle Ages saw significant developments in the science of optics,

making way for the advances of the early Renaissance. Owing a great debt, as we have

seen, to the research of scholars such as Alhazen, the science of optics had various

proponents during the Modern period, making possible both the discoveries of astronomy

and artistic advances.

During the Renaissance, this optical device, initially deployed in the study of the

phenomenon of light, began to be used as an instrument for artists. Leonardo was the

first to grasp the full potential of this resource for the exercise of drawing and painting,

which is why he is so frequently mentioned as its inventor. In his Notebooks, Leonardo

37 This explanation is indebted to that of Philip Steadman, Vermeer’s Camera: Uncovering the Truth Behind the Masterpieces, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 4. 38 Quoted by Philip Steadman, loc.cit.

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wrote down his experiments, explaining that in a darkened room, he could capture on a

piece of paper the image that was projected through a small hole in the wall. Although

small and inverted (owing to the intersection of the light rays), this image was

recognisable, both formally and chromatically. Nevertheless, in order to see the image,

the painter had to situate himself behind the sheet of paper, and in order to capture the

image, Leonardo advised the use of transparent paper, on whose verso side the artist

could draw, following the lineaments of the projected image.

One of the greatest technical improvements to this instrument was the insertion, well into

the sixteenth century, of a convex lens at – or close to – the opening. The philosopher

Girolamo Cardano (1501-‐1576) invented this device, but it was through its account by the

learned cardinal Daniele Barbaro (1516-‐1570), who commented o the refinement of

details in the image produced by this device,39 that this instrument became increasingly

appealing to artists.

In Magia Naturalis, an essay published in 1588 by the Italian scholar Giovanni Battista

della Porta (c. 1535-‐1615) mentions an optical device, similar to that used by Leonardo,

discussing the advantages of the inclusion of a lens. The writings of della Porta reached

the astronomer and mathematician Johannes Kepler (1571-‐1630) — who coined the term

camara obscura40 — who made improvements in the device, introducing a second lens,

employing it in his research in optics and also creating a portable version that enabled him

to use it away from home. The door was now open to the use of the camera obscura in

the depiction of the outdoors, whether urban or rural, to which many painters were to

have recourse later.

The following few centuries witness various interventions by different scholars, such as

the astronomer and mathematician Robert Hooke (1635-‐1703), refining the mechanism of

this instrument, pursuing the same goal of obtaining more precisely defined images,

which were simultaneously advantageous to both science and art. Once again, the

proximity of artists to scientific researchers in the academies (even after these became

specialised) fostered this dialogue, rendering the artist’s working method more than the

mere exercise of a copyist.

During the seventeenth century, the use of the camera obscura became widespread

among astronomers, painters and architects.41 One of the best examples of this is

39 Cf. Martin Kempt, op.cit., p. 189. 40 Cf. Philip Steadman, op.cit., p. 4. 41 Cf. David Hockney, Secret Knowledge: Rediscovering the Lost Techniques of the Old Masters, London: Thames and Hudson, 2006 and Philip Steadman, op. cit.

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Johannes Vermeer (1632-‐1675), whose application of the camera obscura has been

widely studied.

Treatises on Anatomy

The use of optical instruments such as the camera obscura and the camera lucida42 did

not exhaust artists’ sustained search for scientific solutions to problems of figuration. One

of the main topics of concern was the study of the human body, not only in terms of its

observable surface, but also its intrinsic organisation. This was the time of treatises on

anatomy.

In addition to the use of sketchbooks as aids, prints and booklets were published by the

masters themselves, constituting a kind of ‘best of’ anthology for students to follow on

their own. This method dealt with the human body in a fragmentary way. With such

segmentation, the idea was, as we have seen, to instruct the hand, but also to underpin

each artist’s work with a sound knowledge of anatomy and physiognomy, encouraging

students to analyse movement and establish the foundations of the canon, in other words

the harmony of the proportions of the human body, serving as the measure of all things.

The popularisation of printed books facilitated the transmission of these skills well beyond

the physical bounds of the workshops. The publishing houses recognised in these books a

source of good business and devoted themselves to their publication, contributing to a

wider circulation of artistic and scientific knowledge, since these manuals were of specific

interest to various sectors of the public. Here again, science and art went hand in hand.

Artists gained knowledge from applying themselves to manuals produced for the study of

medicine, scrutinising the internal structure of the human body, from musculature and

blood circulation to the skeleton.

The academies adopted these methods. One of the most famous French academicians,

Jean-‐Baptiste Chardin (1699-‐1779), gave an account of the process of instruction. The

students would frequent classes from a tender age (seven or eight years) and dedicated

themselves to drawing fragments of the body: eyes, mouths, noses, ears, feet and hands.

This apprenticeship, based on repeatedly copying fragments, later evolved to the drawing

of the head, the torso, and finally the whole body. Students also made drawings based on

motifs from antiquity, copying from sculptures and prints, and only then would they draw

from the live model. They also had to try their hand at anatomic drawing. Over time,

many specialised manuals appeared, some of which focussed exclusively on the head,

42 For the purposes of textual economy, I have not discussed the particularities of the camera lucida. For this, see Martin Kemp, op. cit., p. 199 ff.

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because of its complexity and power of communication, attesting to the growing

importance of the portrait.

The Importance of the Academies in the eighteenth Century: Changes in Artistic

Practice.

In the eighteenth century, when the academies were well established and dictated the

taste of the day,43 their members gained greater prestige. In Paris, academicians were

granted work spaces in the Louvre before it was turned into a museum. With the French

Revolution in 1789, a number of artists demanded the same rights and many spaces in the

Palace44 were adapted to receive them. The requisite spaces included plinths for the

models, as well as heating, essential for occasions when the model posed in the nude.

Nevertheless, over time, the academy became increasingly normative and theoretical. As

well as prohibiting the enrolment of women, who had begun to participate more actively

as artists, the Academy turned into the opposite of its original programme. New

museological spaces, such as the Louvre (which opened its doors as a museum in 1792)

provided spaces for freer, alternative classes open to anyone: people wishing to follow

the masters of their choice. The salons and ateliers emerged simultaneously as spaces for

trade45 and as the site for free thinking.

With the extinction of the guilds, artists began to have disciples who would pay to study in

the ateliers of the masters. New schools were also founded. Rejected by the Romantics as

dusty and out of touch with the real world, the Academy attempt to adapt by beginning to

teach classes in landscape painting.

But the studio was appealing increasingly to both students and art lovers, establishing an

idealised backdrop for the artist’s activity. In the nineteenth century, these spaces

became individualised, sometimes shared by two artists, where each would evolve his

trajectory alone. The studios of painters, who always needed as much light as possible,

were often located in garrets with large windows (the kind of studio later immortalised in

films). Those of sculptors were on the ground floor, and having various functions, were

43 The Académie Royale de Peinture et Sculpture, established in France in 1648, served as the model for almost all other academies. It was one of the first European academies to set out a programme not only of the practice, but also of the theory of drawing, with the provision of a vast library 44 Napoleon put an end to these studios owing to their allegedly subversive nature. Cf. Carola Hicks, op. cit., p. 856. 45 In the seventeenth century, studios began to be used as shops. In the case of painters, studios were frequently set up in one of the rooms of the household, and the artists’ models included household members (as seen in works by Rubens, Vermeer or Rembrandt). From the eighteenth century, precisely when the great, traditional patrons began to disappear, the studio-‐shop became more commonplace. Here, artists would frequently work without any kind of commission and exhibit their works in the hope of selling them. Musicians and literary figures would also gather in artists’ studios.

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necessarily divided up into separate areas. They also employed assistants. Both painting

and sculpture studios continued to be used for the instruction of students, as well as

hosting lively gatherings of visitors from various walks of life.

Art Education in Portugal and its Underlying Assumptions

Arriving late in Portugal, organised art education essayed various energetic strategies,

especially during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.46 In 1779, the Public Classes

of Sketching and Drawing were launched in Oporto. In Lisbon, it was only in 1821 that the

Athenaeum of Fine Arts was established, with a programme of daily classes.47 It was

almost egalitarian in its treatment of female students, a premise that was not to be so

promptly repeated, not even with the institution of the Academies, which were only open

to male students. The Athenaeum offered a study programme organised into five classes.

Students were instructed in drawing from life, with naked models including women, boys

and men both old and young. The curriculum also included drawing from skeletons,

anatomy in detail and drawing from mannequins and models for the study of folds.48

Nevertheless, the admission to these classes was conditional: ‘Male students were not

permitted to study the female nude, nor were female students allowed to study the male

nude, without the express permission of the Board of Directors."49

The remaining four classes dealt with models (sculptures, busts, relief and anatomy);

examples of the drawing of the human figure and anatomy; architectural drawing,

perspective and the theory and practice of geometry; and copies from studies of natural

history for the rendition of landscape, ornament and animals.50 In order to galvanise

students, annual contests were organised, with corresponding exhibitions and attribution

of prizes.51 For the more ‘noble’ areas of study (painting, sculpture, architecture), there

were also study grants for academies in France and Italy.52

46 See Maria Helena Lisboa, As Academias e Escolas de Belas Artes e o Ensino Artístico (1836-‐1910), Lisbon: Edições Colibri, IHA, Estudos de Arte Contemporânea, Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas, Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 2007. 47 Cf. Estatutos do Atheneo de Bellas Artes, [Statutes of the Athenaeum of Fine Arts], unnumbered, Lisbon, 1823. Chapter IV, §4, p. 12. 48 Ibid. Chapter IV, §1, p. 11. 49 Ibid., Book II, §3, p. 9. Women had a further restraint put on them: not only were classes segregated, but also, women were only allowed to attend them if chaperoned by ‘people of probity, who would accompany them in class.’ Ibid. Chapter II, §3, p. 5. 50 Ibid. Chapter IV, §2, p. 11. 51 Ibid. Chapters V and VII. 52 Ibid. Chapter IX, §4, p. 21.

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In the nineteenth century, the project was restrained during the ascendancy of the

Miguelists,53 only gaining momentum again after the victory of the liberal forces. It was

reinstated in 1836, with the establishment of two Academies of Fine Arts, one in Lisbon54

(25 October) and the other in Oporto (22 de November).

Studying at the academies was open to anyone over the age of ten, who observed an

appropriate code of conduct. In Lisbon, the course was divided into eight different classes

(history drawing, history painting, landscape painting and painting of objects from nature,

civil architecture, sculpture, history engraving, landscape engraving and the engraving of

coins and medals). Following the academic norms established in other countries, the

curriculum in Portugal introduced the study of painting from history and from life, with

attention given to drawing from nude models. The foundations of the course lay in

drawing. Failing in drawing meant that a student would not be admitted into painting,

architecture, engraving or sculpture. After five years, any student wishing to focus on a

particular area could do so under the guidance of a specialised teacher.

Thus, as had occurred years earlier at the Athenaeum, in order to stimulate the work of

the students, annual contests were held, offering prizes and the chance to gain a grant for

study abroad. These were confined to students of Painting, Architecture and Sculpture,

considered the most important disciplines. Grants were allocated to one student in each

area, although this number could be raised. The government sponsored these grants, and

students awarded them had to observe a code of conduct considered appropriate to

those who enjoy the financial investment of the State. Grant holders would study abroad

for a period of time stipulated by the government, and were obliged to send evidence of

all their work (copies from Antiquity or their own original work) back to the Academy.

The Academy of Fine Arts in Oporto ran on similar lines to that in Lisbon. The objectives

and courses were essentially the same, with the addition of naval architecture.55

Moreover, the officials and apprentices of the industrial arts were permitted entry to any

class in the Academy. The same facilities were offered as evening courses on several

weekdays ‘to certain curious individuals’56 who were unable to frequent the daytime

classes.

Over time, problems emerged in the Academy. In 1875, Sousa Holstein, vice-‐inspector of

the Academy, produced a document taking stock of four decades of the institution’s

53 [Translator’s note: Conservative and absolutists, miguelista (in English, Miguelist) was the name given to supporters of the legitimacy of King Miguel I (b. 1802-‐ d. 1866).] 54 See Collecção de Legislação Portugueza, second semester of 1836, p. 79. 55 Cf. Collecção de Legislação Portugueza, second semester of 1836, p. 148. 56 Ibid. p. 150.

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activities, proposing measures to modernise it.57 His criticism was also directed at the lack

of instruction for women and the absence of classes aimed specifically at industry. He also

criticised the shortage of museums, which he considered to be incontrovertible pedagogic

tools.

In 1881, the Reform of the Academies of Fine Arts of Lisbon and Oporto 58 was decreed.

Although in Lisbon, not all the aims stipulated in this document were satisfied, it did

outline a proposal for change. The Academy was now partitioned into an academy on the

one hand, and a school on the other. These goals were similarly applied in Oporto, with a

few differences, especially in the number of academicians.

In addition to teaching, the Academy was also responsible for the promotion of a museum

and of exhibitions, as well as the preservation and restoration of its material heritage. The

schools were now responsible for teaching the fine and industrial arts. But these changes

were insufficient. The new school curriculums introduced the disciplines of the History of

Architecture, the History of Art and Aesthetics, still maintaining the tradition of

instruction through copying, as well as History, Genre and Landscape Painting and the

Architecture of Greece and Rome. Schools also offered evening courses for people who

worked, with a brief introduction to natural history and ornamental flora, human

anatomy applied to the arts, physiology, sanitation and the modelling of ornaments,

applicable to architectural decoration and the industrial arts.

The reform also stipulated that women could now unreservedly frequent classes.59 An

effort seems to have been made to meet the country’s needs in this outline for a new

conception of education that, in addition to granting access to female students, also

attempted to be more generally democratic: not only in the provision of evening classes,

but also in the fact that enrolment, examination, and the issuing of certificates and

diplomas were all effected without a fee.

Final Observations and the Pretext for an Exhibition

Further changes occurred in Portuguese art education in the early twentieth century. In

formal education, after an initial rejection of schooling on the part of the modernists in

the early twentieth century, many traditional academies expressed a need to adapt to the

57 Sousa Holstein, Observações sobre o actual estado dos ensino das artes em Portugal, a organização dos Museus e o serviço dos Monumentos Historicos e da Archeologia offerecidas á Commissão nomeada por decreto de 10 de Novembro de 1875 por um vogal da mesma commissão, Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional, 1875. 58 In Collecção de Legislação Portuguesa, first semester of 1881, p. 41-‐45. 59 ‘Individuals of both sexes who have applied to the inspector of the academy will be admitted for enrolment for any of these classes.’ [translation by translator of this text.] Ibid., Book II, Chapter VIII, Article 54.

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times. In many instances, they transformed themselves completely, first into schools (in

the case of the Portuguese Academies, after the Republican legislation of 191160) and

later into faculties. Oddly, despite the attempted modernisation, the distinction between

Fine Arts/Plastic Arts/ Visual Arts (the title depended on the concept in fashion at the

time) and Architecture remained in place, thus perpetuating the division instituted by the

establishment of the Académie Royale d’Architecture in Paris, in 1671.

Nevertheless, with greater or lesser emphasis, the study of drawing has remained an

important priority in these new teaching establishments, although sometimes subsumed

into curriculums more driven by new technologies that apparently dispense with the

exercise of manual dexterity.

We do, however, find a frank and refreshing return to drawing as a manual activity in the

work of many artists of the twentieth century and in these first years of the twenty-‐ first.

We see an increasing number of practitioners who, at times employing non conventional

materials, nevertheless turn back to tradition and to the canon as theoretical instruments

in the creation of their works.

It was all this that we wished to explore in the present exhibition. Traditional themes are

essayed (for instance the Pietà in the work of both David Oliveira and Paula Rego), at

times in ironic appropriation (Rui Macedo). The portrait makes a renewed return in the

work of Alexandre Farto, Pedro Gomes and Ricardo Leite, who also tackles the nude

model. War is a theatrical and anthropological context in the work of Catarina Patrício.

Literary and historical narratives, a probing of questions of justice and of social issues

(such as clandestine abortion) and traditions of sacred art are all taken on board in the

work of Paula Rego. Occasionally, the material is also traditional: paper as a support,

marks made with graphite or charcoal; or a canvas support with drawing in oil paints. But

the perspective and the choice of theme transform the assumptions of the discourse.

In some of the works, the appropriation of contemporary games of exposure/obstruction

(Rui Macedo) introduces dissonant elements into a traditional scheme. In other works,

paper is used as a support, but the subject matter grapples with old taboos or previously

disavowed social issues (once again, Paula Rego and Catarina Patrício). In yet other works,

draughtsmanship is the result of the action of cutting into the support (Pedro Gomes) or

the removal of layers, or the use of stencils (Alexandre Farto), creating textures or

establishing a graphic interplay of luminosities that complete its formal definition. Other

works purely maintain the traditional material and technical elements, yet from a

60 See also Maria Helena Lisboa, op. cit., p. 83 ff.

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contemporary perspective that sees the exercise of drawing as both a process and an end

(Ricardo Leite). For some, drawing explores a sculptural structure, emerging from the

artist’s manual gesture in order to assert itself as an exercise in pure luminosity (David

Oliveira).

Whatever the case may be, here is drawing in some of its many modalities: as concept,

science and an activity that defines us.

From Workshop to Faculty: An Outline of the Science and Teaching of Drawing

Documents