Rome Part 2 - Michelangelo vs Bernini

My appreciation of art has only recently been properly developed. For years I felt that Monet was the beginning and the end of fine art, and that anything more challenging wasn't of interest to me. Then a few years back I watched a series called 'The Power of Art' presented by Simon Schama, and I would recommend everybody reading this to do the same. What Schama achieves with his programmes is to bring these dusty paintings and sculptures alive, give them a story, a life and a context. This changes everything, because what I've found is that the more you know about a piece of art, how it came to be created and what the artist was going through at the time, the more you enjoy it. For instance when you look at Caravaggio's painting of Bacchus, with the Schama explanation in mind, you don't just see a cherubic evocation of the god of wine, but instead you see a jaundiced, worn out party animal who has thoroughly burnt both ends of his candle. But the episode on Bernini was the one that really struck me, where Schama argues that the famous sculpture 'The Ecstasy of Saint Theresa' shows the nun enjoying a sexual orgasm (see above, and the church it's situated in below).

When you realise that masterpieces of art can come (quite literally) alive it makes a trip round art museums a great deal more exciting, and it gives you a renewed respect for the artists who suddenly burst out of the history books and become three dimensional human beings rather than obscure names in a dusty catalogue. Of course I won't pretend to anything more than an enthusiastic amateur but I've surprised myself with how much enjoyment I get from this stuff these days. It must be my age. Anyway, Rome and Florence between them have probably the greatest collection of art anywhere in the world. Both cities are living monuments to the Renaissance and if anything that is the period that dominates their current landscapes, rather than the times of the Roman Empire.

One artist in particular dominates Rome, although he came from Florence. On an average Monday morning on the 13th September 1501 a young sculptor wandered up to a huge piece of marble which was sat in Florence, the stone scarred from a previous attempt to make it into something useful. Two and a half years later that artist finished his sculpture, and then decided to place it in the Square of the Nobles. The sculpture was of David, and it's creator was called Michelangelo Buonarroti. The piece is now in The Academy in Florence and is a monstrous and overpowering work of genius, as I realised when I walked around it in awe a week or so ago. It made Michelangelo's name but he didn't stop there, in fact his output over a long and industrious life is nothing short of amazing.

Moving to Rome, as all the cool kids did, he was soon taken up by the current Pope, and was a made man. His greatest achievement is the stunning ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, which took 4 years, and which he only inherited after Raphael backed out of the job. At the end, Pope Julius told him to get down off the scaffolding or he'd have him thrown off. But the results, which had been top secret until the last are there for everyone to see. 10,000 square feet of genius, documenting the creation. Later on he knocked up the immense dome of the Basilica of St. Peter's (above, and which by the way I walked up every one of the 320 sodding steps of), various other sculptures, piazzas and churches, and then he finally returned to the Sistine Chapel as an old man to spend 7 more years painting the 'Fall of Man', a brooding and powerful warning for all us sinners. If baroque Rome is the vision of any one man, it's Michelangelo.

But then came Bernini, the impish, brilliant and monstrously egotistical heir apparent, whose St. Peter's Square (above) is one of the most recognisable pieces of architecture anywhere on the planet. He followed that with the immense canopy (or baldacchino, pictured directly below) that covers the altar of the cathedral, and which is directly above the supposed resting place of the remains of St. Peter himself. Then if you go to the Villa Borghese, you can see three stunning statues of his, including another David, this one of earthly dimensions and with a look of human fury on his face. There are also fountains in the Piazza Navone (once a chariot racing stadium, and now a colossal tourist trap) and an number of other buildings and churches. But my favourite Bernini creation is that of the Santa Maria Della Vittoria, a small church in a small neighbourhood of Rome (second picture down from here). Bernini was invited to perform the commission having fallen out of favour following a sexual scandal and a spot of mutilation. And he did the whole church, from top to toe, including the aforementioned statue that suggests spiritual orgasm. The entire building is spectacular, and is an audacious bit of showing off from the great man.

So in a way, Rome can come across as a battle between these two men, trying to outdo each other through the ages, although in reality they lived at different times. Of course it's unfair to narrow it down to these two, but they are the artists that have left the greatest impression on me, and on the landscape of the city. I've said before on these pages that I do not follow any religion, but that doesn't detract from the astonishment I felt at the Vatican. As an institution it may have dubious origins and a history laced with unsavoury goings on, but as a piece of art it is peerless. The Vatican Museum, which includes the Sistine Chapel and frescoes by Raphael is remarkable enough. The catacombs where you can see the remains of St. Peter are atmospheric and impressive, as is the crypt that contains all the former Popes in their tombs. But nothing can prepare you for the grandeur of the Basilica and square. Not only is it immense, but it's also stunningly beautiful. The square is gigantic and shaped as two large arms embracing the flock. And the church is so big inside you wonder whether it could even have its own weather system.

As I said to a friend, it's a phenomenal piece of propaganda, although commissioned by Popes who often didn't know their frescoes from their oils on canvas. The artists who created it have done their best to replicate God's HQ on earth, and it certainly made me feel small and powerless, which was I imagine, the desired effect. But more than that I felt overawed by the human achievement, that men of the 16th Century could create something so powerful and enduring. And so as I said to someone the other day, I may not believe in God, but I do believe in Michelangelo and Bernini.