The painting in the National Gallery of Art presents the Virgin and Child according to a variant of the compositional scheme known as the Hodegetria Virgin, in which Mary’s right hand, instead of indicating her Son, holds a rose that identifies her as the “rose of Sharon” and hence the Church, mystic bride of Christ. The gesture of the Christ child, his left hand extended to grasp his mother’s forefinger, also presumably has a symbolic as well as a playful or affectionate significance; in other versions of the composition the child even pulls on his mother’s hand with the forefinger pointed towards him, as if actively soliciting her designation of him as a lamb, sacrificial victim.
Both the profile and shape of our painting, known to scholars as the Goldman Madonna, suggest that it was the centerpiece of a dispersed polyptychType of object with several panels, usually an altarpiece, although it may also fulfil other functions. The polyptych normally consists of a central panel with an even number of side-panels, which are sometimes hinged to fold. Although in principle every object with two panels or more may be called a polyptych, the word is normally used as a general term for anything larger than a triptych. As with diptychs and triptychs, the size and material can vary.
—Victor M. Schmidt, Grove Art © Oxford University Press [fig. 1] [fig. 1] Reconstruction of a dispersed polyptych by Giotto: a. Saint John the Evangelist (fig. 2); b. Madonna and Child; c. Saint Lawrence (fig. 3) (see also Reconstruction). The appearance of the multipart altarpieceAn image-bearing structure set on the rear part of the altar, abutting the back of the altarblock, or set behind the altar in such a way as to be visually joined with the altar when viewed from a distance. It is also sometimes called a retable, following the medieval term retrotabulum. The altarpiece was never officially prescribed by the Church, but it did perform a prescribed function alternatively carried out by a simple inscription on the altarblock: to declare to which saint or mystery the altar was dedicated. In fact, the altarpiece did more than merely identify the altar; its form and content evoked the mystery or personage whose cult was celebrated at the altar. This original and lasting function influenced the many forms taken by the altarpiece throughout its history.
—Alexander Nagel, Grove Art © Oxford University Press to which our Madonna and Child originally belonged remains uncertain due primarily to the various restorations that have altered its appearance, especially by modifying its external profile and eliminating the original surface of the back of its wooden support. Despite these uncertainties, it seems probable that the polyptych in question consisted of a series of rectangular panels topped by equilateral triangular gables—an archaic type of altarpiece, but one represented in Florence not only in works by Giotto but also in paintings by the circle of Pacino di Bonaguida and Jacopo del Casentino, and in those realized in the circle of Duccio di Buoninsegna (Sienese, c. 1250/1255 - 1318/1319) in Siena. The resemblance of our painting to the image of Saint Stephen in the Museo Horne in Florence has long been noted: affinities between them are evident in style, in dimension, and in details of the ornamental repertoire. However, the gold groundThe layer or layers used to prepare the support to hold the paint. in the Saint Stephen was laid over a preparation of green underpaintAn initial layer of paint applied to a ground that begins to define shapes and values. instead of the usual red bole, making their common origin unlikely. Many art historians have also proposed that two panels depicting Saint John the Evangelist and Saint Lawrence combined with busts of angels in the upper register [fig. 2] [fig. 2] Giotto, Saint John the Evangelist, c. 1310/1315, tempera on panel, Musée Jacquemart-André, Abbaye royale de Chaalis-Institute de France, Fontaine-Chaalis[fig. 3] [fig. 3] Giotto, Saint Lawrence, c. 1310/1315, tempera on panel, Musée Jacquemart-André, Abbaye royale de Chaalis-Institute de France, Fontaine-Chaalis, in the Jacquemart-André collection, Paris, and now displayed in the former abbey of Chaalis, outside Paris, belong to the same polyptych as our Madonna. This, in spite of some structural discrepancies between the Chaalis saints and the Washington Madonna, is possible.
The reception of the painting, of unknown Florentine provenance, was rather cold when it suddenly appeared on the horizon of art historical studies in 1917, at a time when research on Giotto’s style had led to an extreme limitation of works held to be autograph. Bernard Berenson(June 26, 1865–October 6, 1959)
Art historian and connoisseur. Son of a Lithuanian timber merchant who emigrated to the United States with his family in 1875, he was educated at the Latin School, Boston, and at Harvard University, where he studied Greek, Latin, Sanskrit, Hebrew, and German. In an unsuccessful application for a traveling fellowship to Europe, he wrote, ‘Art prevails in this programme because it is there that I feel myself weakest. One can study literature here . . . but art not at all.’ On his subsequent visit to Europe in 1885, financed by friends, his rapid visual self-education led to the decision to settle in Italy and to devote his life to the study of Italian art.
—William Mostyn-Owen, Grove Art © Oxford University Press, evidently the first art historian to have had the opportunity to examine it, attributed it at first to Bernardo Daddi (Florentine, active by 1320, died probably 1348), immediately followed by Edward Robinson (1920) and Wilhelm R. Valentiner (1922, 1927). A more exhaustive analysis of the painting soon led Berenson to change his mind and to admit its close kinship to Giotto; he later assigned it to “one of the painters of the frescoes designed by Giotto in the lower church of San Francesco in Assisi.” Like Berenson, Raimond van Marle (1924) and Richard Offner (1924) also referred the panel to an “assistant of Giotto,” identifying the hand of the same anonymous artist in other paintings now generally recognized as the work of Giotto himself. Similar opinions were then expressed by Curt H. Weigelt (1925), Wolfgang Fritz Volbach (1926), Valentiner (1926), Pietro Toesca (1929, 1933), Berenson (1930–1931, 1932, 1936), and Robert Oertel (1953, 1968). Frank Jewett Mather Jr. (1925), however, began to speak of the panel now in Washington as a fully autograph Giotto, and this recognition, reaffirmed by such reputable scholars as Carlo Gamba (1930), Roberto Longhi (1930–1931), Lionello Venturi (1931, 1933), and Mario Salmi (1937), was generally accepted—with a few exceptions —following the painting’s entry into the Gallery.
Opinions have differed in evaluating the date of the painting. A substantial body of the art historical literature considers the panel the work of Giotto’s later maturity and dates it to the years 1325–1330 (Mather 1925; Brandi 1938–1939; Carli 1951, 1955; Battisti 1960; Walker et al. 1961; Berenson 1963; Bologna 1969; Bellosi 1974, 1994; Laclotte 1978; Shapley 1979; Brandi 1983; Cavazzini 1996), or, more cautiously, within the third decade of the century (Toesca 1933; NGA 1985; Lunghi 1986; Bonsanti 1992, 2000; Tomei 1995). The conviction that it should be dated to c. 1320 or even earlier is equally widespread (Longhi 1930–1931; Salmi 1937; Cecchi 1937; Duveen Pictures 1941; Frankfurter 1944; Florisoone 1950; Gamba 1961; Walker 1963; Rossi 1966; De Benedictis 1967; Dal Poggetto 1967; Previtali 1967, 1990; Venturoli 1969; Tartuferi 1987, 2000, 2007; Bandera Bistoletti 1989; Flores d’Arcais 1995; Boskovits 2000; Ragionieri 2002, 2007). Supporters of such a dating are in essence those who have placed it between the frescoes in the Peruzzi and Bardi Chapels in Santa Croce in Florence, such as Federico Zeri (1957), Cesare Gnudi (1958), Roberto Longhi (1968), Lamberto Busignani (1993), and Julian Gardner (2002), but also those who have not accepted Giotto’s direct authorship and have limited themselves to pointing out the painting’s kinship with the Christological cycle in the lower church of San Francesco in Assisi, such as Berenson (1930–1931) and Tantillo Mignosi (1975).
Various hypotheses have also been advanced about the presumed destination of the polyptych of which the Washington Madonna formed part. The proposal, first formulated by Mather (1925), that it was one of the four polyptychs that Ghiberti mentioned in Santa Croce, met with wide support. Later, observing that one of the panels in Chaalis represented Saint Lawrence and that in the Museo Horne Saint Stephen, Gnudi (1959), convinced like many others of the common origin of these panels with the Goldman Madonna, cautiously suggested as its original site the chapel dedicated to these saints in Santa Croce — that is, the chapel of the Pulci and Berardi families. Although many found the proposal convincing, Gardner (1999, 2002) placed it in doubt: according to this scholar, the original altar blocks that survive in the family chapels in the east transept of Santa Croce were too small ever to have supported an altarpiece some three meters in length, as the polyptych in question must have been.
An alternative hypothesis, formulated by Venturi (1931, 1933), identified the panel now in Washington and its presumed companions as components of the lost polyptych in the church of the Badia in Florence. Ugo Procacci (1962), however, refuted the proposal and succeeded in identifying the former Badia altarpiece with the still intact polyptych that entered the Museo di Santa Croce in the nineteenth century. Carlo Ludovico Ragghianti (1949) advanced yet another proposal, according to which the panels now divided among the museums of Chaalis, Florence, and Washington were components of the polyptych painted by Giotto for the church of San Francesco in Borgo Sansepolcro, but this hypothesis has been found unconvincing.
If the problem of the destination of the polyptych remains unresolved, by observing the characteristics of polyptychs by Giotto himself and by other Florentine painters (for example, that by Jacopo del Casentino, now in New Orleans) datable within the first quarter of the fourteenth century, we can conclude that the altarpiece of which the Goldman Madonna formed the center is unlikely to have been very different in appearance from that conjectured by Longhi (1930–1931)[fig. 4] [fig. 4] Reconstruction of the Badia polyptych by Giotto as proposed by Roberto Longhi, from left to right: Saint Stephen, Museo Horne, Florence; Saint John the Evangelist (fig. 2); Madonna and Child, NGA; Saint Lawrence (fig. 3). By flanking the panel in the Gallery with panels of saints of slightly smaller size, we would obtain an ensemble similar in dimensions to those of the former Badia polyptych (which we know was intended for the high altar of that church). It would have considerably exceeded in width those polyptychs executed by Giotto for side chapels or for long-established altars in older churches. It would be futile, based on current knowledge, to go any further in the field of conjecture; it will suffice to point out that among the churches in which panels by Giotto are mentioned by the earlier sources, the most probable provenances are likely to be the Florentine churches of Santa Croce and Ognissanti.
With regard to the chronological position of the panel being discussed here, some features, such as the exclusive use of decorations incised freehand (hence the absence of punched motifs), seem to offer firm clues. In the Stefaneschi altarpiece, which ought to date to the early 1320s, the artist used at least one punched motif, and this type of decoration is increasingly found in his later paintings. The characteristics of the motifs incised freehand in the halos and the pseudo-Kufic lettering in the broad ornamental border that runs around the margins of the panel [fig. 5] [fig. 5] Graphic tracing of the halos and pseudo-Kufic lettering, Giotto, Madonna and Child, c. 1310/1315, tempera on poplar, National Gallery of Art, Washington, Samuel H. Kress Collection. (Joanna Dunn, National Gallery of Art, Washington) seem recurrent in the works by Giotto since the end of the thirteenth century [fig. 6] [fig. 6] Graphic tracing of the decoration of the halo of Christ, Giotto, Painted Crucifix, San Felice in Piazza, Florence, but perhaps it is not by chance that the practice of surrounding the halos with a double row of dots appears no earlier than the Maestà in the Uffizi, Florence. To these elements, which seem to indicate a relatively early date in Giotto’s career—within the second decade of the fourteenth century—we can perhaps add an observation regarding the red coif that covers Mary’s head and can be glimpsed, on either side of her face, below the pseudo-Kufic hem of the mantle that covers her head. This is an archaic, byzantinizing motif that would disappear from Giotto’s authenticated works in the course of the 1320s. A relatively early date might also be suggested by the neckline of the Virgin’s dress. Though this is admittedly an unreliable clue, it concurs with other features in suggesting a date for the Washington painting no later than the early 1320s.
A stylistic reading of the painting seems to confirm the chronological position suggested by the abovementioned data. Its morphological features connect the Goldman Madonna with the central phase of Giotto’s career, what might be defined as his “Peruzzi phase.” Unfortunately, the frescoes of the Peruzzi Chapel (in Santa Croce), much admired by the sources and by artists in the past, are now reduced to almost total illegibility by the radical abrasionA gradual loss of material on the surface. It can be caused by rubbing, wearing, or scraping against itself or another material. It may be a deteriorative process that occurs over time as a result of weathering or handling or it may be due to a deliberate attempt to smooth the material. to which they have been subjected. Other paintings have survived from the same phase, in which the artist appears no longer satisfied with the serene classicism of his Paduan paintings. Solemnity and monumentality were no longer enough: a more circumstantial, naturalistic description of the events, and a deeper participation of the protagonists in them, were needed. While further accentuating the physical stature and presence of his figures, Giotto now strove to underline their active involvement in the emotional climate of the scenes. These were also the years of the cycle of frescoes in the Magdalene chapel in the lower church of San Francesco at Assisi (for which there are good reasons for dating it to 1308). The polyptych in the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh can be assumed to be only one or two years later: it is stylistically close to the mural cycle in Assisi. Apart from the semidestroyed frescoes of the Peruzzi Chapel, the surviving stained-glass windows of the last bay of Santa Croce before the transept (now replaced by copies: the original windows are housed in the Museo dell’Opera) must also date to the early 1310s. The painted crucifix in the Florentine church of the Ognissanti, together with the Dormitio Virginis painted for the same church (now in the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin), also should date to this phase.
Between 1311 and 1315, Giotto seems to have been engaged in paintings especially for his hometown. In the years that followed, Giotto’s painting is dominated by a gothicizingTerm used to denote, since the 15th century, the architecture and, from the 19th century onward, all the visual arts of Europe during a period extending by convention from about 1120 to c. 1400 in central Italy, and until the late 15th century and even well into the 16th century in northern Europe and the Iberian Peninsula. The early gothic style overlapped chronologically with Romanesque and flourished after the onset of Renaissance art in Italy and elsewhere. The term gothic is applied to western European painting of the 13th century to the early 15th century. Unlike gothic architecture, it is distinguished more by developments in style and function than in technique, and even in these areas there is considerable national and regional diversity. The applicability of the term to Italian painting is debated, as is its usefulness in accounting for developments in Netherlandish painting from the early 15th century. Contact with Byzantine art was close in the early 13th century, but after c. 1250 survived principally in the Holy Roman Empire and Italy.
—Peter Kidson, Grove Art © Oxford University Press tendency, for example in the murals in the transept of the lower church of Assisi, where we may note a greater pursuit of realistic effects and a greater attention to the elegance of pose and expressiveness of gesture of his figures. So novel are these developments that the paintings he executed during these years have often been denied the status of autograph works; instead, art historians have postulated the leading presence at the master’s side of an assistant, the so-called “Parente di Giotto.” The features of the works belonging to this phase are in any case different from those expressed in the Washington Madonna. The painting being discussed here finds its most convincing parallels in passages of the frescoes in the Magdalene chapel, for example with the bust of the titular saint in the vault, and also in the image of the Virgin in the Raleigh polyptych. In the Goldman Madonna, however, the more slender proportions of the protagonists, the more fluent calligraphy of the contours, and the greater complexity of the draperies, in comparison with the abovementioned painting, reveal a more advanced stage in Giotto’s development. The conduct of the protagonists of our painting seems to confirm this: the child is presented by the artist no longer as the infant pantocrator of the Maestà in the Uffizi but with a more human touch, with charm and infantile immediacy. The sternness is mitigated: the child’s little face is softened, its tenderness heightened by the smile that seems to play on his lips. His gestures—right hand stretched out to touch the rose in his mother’s hand, left hand to grasp her forefinger—are intimate and playful. As already in the great Maestà, the lips of the child and those of his mother are parted, not for any solemn declaration but to engage in an affectionate and intimate conversation.
Whatever our painting’s destination, it ought to date to the years around 1310 to 1315, when the two panels of Chaalis (components, perhaps, of the same polyptych) also saw the light of day.
Miklós Boskovits (1935–2011)
March 21, 2016