The Lazio Popes

A Refreshing Change in Papal Portraits

by Susan Ann White

 

The papal portrait is the epitome of formality. Usually the sitter is enshrined in his own world remote from the viewer on whom he gazes down. There are, of course, exceptions, such as Francis Bacon’s series of popes who are thrust into blackness from which they survey the viewer, at times with ghoulish or diabolical expressions on their faces. Another enlightening exception is the series of  pontiffs depicted life-size in the exhibition ‘I Pontefici nel Lazio’ (‘The Lazio Popes’), which are the work of the American artist Tony Lucchesi and the Italian painter Fulvio Palombo, two exponents of Abstract Expressionism (read New York School), who here have embarked on an excursus into figuration as the most effective way of bringing the popes to the people.

It all began when Lucchesi was commissioned by Prince Boncompagni Ludovisi to execute a copy of a portrait of his papal ancestor Gregory XIII (1572-1585) to hang in his country residence. When it was finished Palombo had the idea of creating a gallery of popes connected with the Lazio region (by birth, achievements, ecclesiastical offices), not represented in the cold, austere, traditional manner of the past but brought alive to communicate with the public, thus permitting the viewer to identify with them as individuals – which is what they have succeeded in doing.

 

 

 

 

 

The first pope to greet you is St Clement (88 – 97 AD), third successor of Saint Peter and patron saint of Velletri, arms outstretched in welcome, face radiating bonhomie, eyes bright and honest. Before going any further, it must be said that there were no actual portraits of the first six popes available as references, the one of  Martin V (1417-1431) being the first. So the artists basically had carte blanche. The image of Pope Clement, inspired by the mosaic in the Church of San Clemente in Rome where according to legend his body is buried, is wholly modern while sacrificing nothing of the sobriety and dignity of the original. In no way intimidated, Palombo has created the illusion of a partially restored fresco by incorporating patches of ‘blank cement’, which  combined with the two-dimensional fragmented rendering takes us to the verge of abstraction, synonymous with timelessness and hence the eternal.

The artists worked on each portrait as a team, as was the practice in the workshops of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, with Palombo occupying himself with research, colour fidelity, costume and the initial groundwork, while Lucchesi was responsible for the resolution of three-dimensional form, detail and surface values. Sometimes their roles were deliberately reversed – a technique they have applied in their creativity seminars for groups over the past twenty years  in the belief that joint creativity, and hence interaction, is far more productive and meaningful than the ivory tower variety. This philosophy underpins their treatment of all the Lazio popes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eternity is the keynote in the portrait of St Vitalian (657-672), the patron saint of Segni in Lazio, and is symbolized by the gold background. Though inspired by the mosaics in Ravenna, the individual is still very much present in the compassionate, concerned forget-me-not eyes that are indeed a mirror of the soul. You feel that you could confess anything to him, even the most atrocious crime, and he would forgive you in the true manner of Christ – symbolized by the vine motif. The interplay of leaf green, the white of the cassock and the turquoise halo – a window on Heaven – creates a vibrant feeling of joy, a human emotion that bonds with the viewer. An injection of emotion that stems from the artists’ Abstract Expressionist roots – so who is to say that styles cannot be combined in a mix that perfectly expresses a painter’s intentions, which in this series are to allow the viewer to relate to the subject as an individual, to establish a dialogue, and to learn more about the human qualities and historical achievements of these pontiffs. Thus Vitalian’s legendary meeting with the Byzantine Emperor Constans II to strengthen the connection between Church and empire, for which the Emperor thanked him by stripping him of his authority over Ravenna and carrying off artistic treasures from the Eternal city, is represented in the lower half of the painting and divided from/welded to the subject by a zingy Byzantine decoration. The heavenly and earthly are one.

 

 

 

   

The first thing that strikes you about Innocent III (1198-1216), descended from the powerful Conti family of Segni, is his youth – he was elected pope at 38 – conveyed in his forthright gaze and accentuated by his short hair. He could easily be a young entrepreneur and it is not difficult to imagine him wearing a ‘power blue’ suit beneath his dazzling white vestments, as he sits commandingly on Archbishop Massimiano’s ivory throne. Indeed this jurist and theologian was a remarkably dynamic pope, asserting the supremacy of the papacy virtually all over Europe. He also underwrote the creation of the Franciscan and Dominican orders, and proclaimed two crusades. These achievements are nicely symbolized by the two medallions incorporated into the architectural backdrop in the Romanesque style prevalent in the Lazio region, which adds a surreal note.

 

In the portrait of Innocent’s nephew Gregory IX (1227-1241, a skilled diplomat thoroughly acquainted with the political situation in Europe, the artists focus on the presentation of the Decretals (papal decisions in disciplinary matters) to a humble friar representing both the Franciscans and Dominicans, with whom the pope had strong ties. His swirling vestments positively sing with sunny yellows, emeralds and oranges, echoed in the bejewelled tiara, and the luscious, mobile brushwork creates a brilliance and energy. It is his vibrant spirituality that radiates from the canvas, offsetting his wise expression and supreme confidence in his own power, light here being energy and power which, when channelled adroitly, succeed in winning the day. His never-ending tug o’ war with the Emperor Frederick II, that in fact ended in Gregory’s victory, is symbolized by the Emperor’s threatening presence beneath the shadowy Bonnardian  arches in the background, like an image in the back of the pope’s mind, but not enough to distract him from his principal concerns.

 

When looking at these paintings it is easy to read the direct language, to understand the symbolism and to relate to these individuals. All the information is there. They seem to come alive. When confronted with their great achievements and their most telling personal qualities, we are impressed, we are moved, we react. The dialogue has been established, and we start to reflect.

 

 

 

It may be about Boniface III’s assertion of both the temporal and spiritual supremacy of the papacy with the Unam Sanctum Bull, rendered most effectively in his portrait by his thrusting the symbolic crown downwards as if about to crush it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Martin V’s having performed the most remarkable feat of virtually rebuilding Rome after the Western Schism with the help of Tuscan masters such as Gentile da Fabriano and the young Mantegna, and here seen directing operations from high up on the papal throne, with the architect lower down and the entire city at his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gregory XIII’s extensive use of the Jesuits to restore Catholicism in Protestant Europe – his ‘international reach’ is symbolized by the almost abstract map of the world that forms the background to his portrait – his creating the Gregorian University and the Academy of Santa Cecilia in Rome, and, more famously, the Gregorian calendar.

 

 

 

   

Or Alexander VII’s artistic sensibility – reflected in his visionary gaze – that led him to establish a strong relationship with Gian Lorenzo Bernini whose many works for the Church include the Scala Regia in the Vatican and the colonnade of St. Peter’s. Or, yet again, Leo XIII’s seeking to establish an understanding between the Church and the modern world and his strengthening the Catholic workers’ association to achieve better labour conditions – a commitment forcefully conveyed in his portrait by his clenched right fist, and the workers marching behind him.

 

 

 

  

 

The present pope Benedict XVI and his iconic predecessor John Paul II, have joined the exhibition on its travels from Castelgandolfo to Anagni, Ariccia and Velletri. Their being a part of modern life has already made us familiar with them, so there is less of a gap to bridge. Pope Benedict – like St Clement – is depicted with his arms outstretched; his all-white vestments, which seem to both emit and reflect light, create the illusion of a dove spreading its wings into the roseate-streaked heavens. Inspired by his discourse in Bari on the need to unite the Christian Churches, the artists have chosen to represent the four mother churches of St. Peter’s, Saint Basil in Moscow, Salisbury’s Cathedral and Our Saviour in Peking, destroyed in 1928, in the sky behind him. The image is suspended, reminiscent of an ascending or descending Christ. Benedict welcomes you yet he embraces everything around him. Church, world and individual are one.

 

 

 

 

 

Pope John Paul II, whose embrace of the world and of humanity, good or bad – witness his would-be assassin Ali Agcar – makes him the pope who came closest to representing the ‘hands-on’, loving approach of Christ. Lucchesi’s understanding of this has led him to draw his inspiration directly from the New York School in the person of Mark Rothko, whose work aimed to envelope the viewer in a spiritual embrace. The refreshingly original image of the pope is framed by an almost transparent turquoise circle fuzzily set in a Prussian blue square, creating a limbo. John Paul II is holding a baby in his right hand, which he is contemplating with his other hand resting on his forehead. The infant may represent Christ, the spirit, or simply ‘life’. The child’s hand playing with the chain of the cross around the pope’s neck is a human touch, to be found in many  XV and XVI century religious paintings. An almost Caravaggesque light shines down from the upper right, ‘illuminating’ the man pondering the fundamental questions of life, looking for answers that, often, cannot be found. Viewed from a certain angle, the turquoise circle becomes a transparent sphere that contains the image of the pope, like a foetus in the womb. The seed of life.

The burden of leading a flock is great indeed.  All these popes, along with the many others, took on that task. The expression on John Paul’s face conveys his determination to master it.

 

The journey from St Clement to Pope Benedict XVI is a long one. Each portrait gives us an idea of the problems the popes faced and their individual ability to deal with them. There were – are – no pat solutions. Finding a real answer means digging deep inside, beyond the known. Whether you’re an artist or a pope.

 

 Susan Ann White is a freelance writer and translator living in Rome.

 oil on canvas: 49,21 in. x 49,21 in.  – 39,37 in. x 59,06 in.