I reached a milestone in my research for an essay I plan to write about Leonardo da Vinci.
I finished reading his treatise on painting. And having read many books about the supreme Renaissance man, I marvel at him all the more after my initial first-hand reading of his writings in the 1989 anthology Leonardo On Painting.
In his posthumously published work on art, da Vinci offers painters various instructions—from how to compose narrative murals, to the value of viewing the object of a painting in a mirror, to the need to carry a small notebook to sketch faces at city squares. Yet it often reads like a scientific discourse.
“Study me reader, if you find delight in me.”
Da Vinci devoted numerous pages to revealing his findings from studying various disciplines, including optics (light and shadow) and perspective, human anatomy and dynamics, hydrology and botany. Of course, all of this science relates intimately to his philosophy of painting as a universal art.
He argued in his treatise that, unlike the sculptor, musician, and poet, the painter must deal with every aspect of nature and therefore must know all its relevant phenomena. He ranked sight as the supreme sense and painting as the superior art form.
Reading da Vinci’s book (along with another book of selections from his notebooks), I realized something first hand. It’s one thing to read scholarly works and biographies of historical subjects and quite another experience to read their words for yourself in their full (or fuller) context, especially when you plan to write about them.
First, when learning about da Vinci through books, biographies, and documentaries, I was inspired most by his keen observations. But to read his many wide-ranging passages, wherein he offers many penetrating insights, left me in even greater awe of him. His intricate descriptions, for example, of the multiple variations of light, shade, and colors in the different areas and types of trees; the way dust-filled air appears at different heights when it mingles with smoke on the battlefield; and the distinct folds in draperies of various materials (e.g., wool, silk) is downright remarkable.
Also, reading a historical figure enables you to judge better the quality of his scholars and biographers, their presentation and interpretations of his words and ideas. When I encountered familiar passages that were quoted and discussed in other books, I noticed the words and sentences the authors chose to omit, for whatever their reasons.
An example is the authors who quote approvingly of da Vinci’s unusual advice to painters to look at stains on walls and find subjects to portray, including heads of men, rocks and clouds. But I don’t recall these authors including da Vinci’s cautionary words about this exercise: “But although these stains may supply inventions they do not teach you how to finish any detail. And the painter in question makes very sorry landscapes.” (202)
This speaks to the different perspectives I may take from reading a historical figure firsthand.
With this thought, I’d like to conclude by quoting (selectively) from the same passage where I discovered the quote above. I don’t recall reading these words before either. Yet I think they superbly capture his fundamental approach to painting as the medium that fully integrates art and science, observation and imagination:
“Of some it may plainly be said that they deceive themselves when they call that painter a good master who can do only a head or a figure well… [H]e seems to me to be a pitiful master who can only do one thing well. For do you not see how many and various are the actions that belong just to men? Do you not see how many different animals and trees, too, and grasses and flowers there are, the diversity of mountainous regions and planes, fountains, rivers, cities, public and private buildings, machines designed to benefit mankind, various costumes, decorations and arts? All these things have a claim to be of equal use in value to him whom you would call a good painter.
“He is not universal who does not love equally all the elements in painting…”
“Therefore painter, you should know that you cannot be good if you are not a master universal enough to imitate with your art every kind of natural form, which you will not know how to do unless you observe them and retain them in your mind. Hence, as you go through the countryside see that you exercise your judgment upon various objects and in turn look now at this thing and now at that, making a compound of different kinds of things chosen and selected from among those of less value….” (201-202)