Lives of the Most Eminent Painters Sculptors and Architects, Vol. 02 (of 10): Berna to Michelozzo Michelozzi

The Story

The narrative begins in the wake of Giotto’s revolution, focusing on the generation of artists who inherited his mantle and sought to expand the boundaries of painting and sculpture. Figures like Berna and Duccio serve as the bridge from the rigid, ancient manners of the past toward a more nuanced, expressive style. As these early practitioners work in places like Siena, Pisa, and Florence, the reader follows a steady progression: the art moves from the strictly traditional to a phase of earnest, often experimental, improvement. Artists like Jacopo di Casentino and Spinello Aretino represent the diligent middle period, where craftsmen move from site to site, filling chapels and public squares with stories of saints and prophets, often working in a state of constant, restless activity until their final years.

As the account moves deeper into the fifteenth century, the focus shifts to the technical breakthroughs that define the Renaissance. Architects and sculptors begin to wrestle with the fundamental problems of space, proportion, and physical reality. We see the emergence of Nanni d’Antonio di Banco and Luca della Robbia, whose work in terra-cotta and marble demonstrates a growing mastery over material. The narrative reaches a thematic peak with the figures of Paolo Uccello, Masolino, and Masaccio, who move the art of painting toward a true, mathematical understanding of perspective. These men are not merely decorators; they are theorists of space, obsessed with the "ground-plan and profile" of the world around them, attempting to trick the eye into seeing depth where there is only flat wall.

The story then centers on the towering figure of Filippo Brunelleschi, whose design for the great cupola of Florence remains the definitive accomplishment of the age. His career is depicted as a series of intellectual battles against skeptics and the constraints of physics. By proving that he can vault massive structures without traditional wooden scaffolding, he transforms the architect from a mere builder into a master of grand, calculated design. The narrative treats his life as the embodiment of the new "modern manner," a standard that others, like the sculptor Donatello, strive to meet through the intense, anatomical study of the human form and the imitation of ancient Roman relics.

The arc concludes by looking at the legacy of these masters, tracing how their techniques—such as the secret of delicate bronze casting—were passed down or, in some cases, squandered by their descendants. We see the final, later work of Michelozzo Michelozzi, which rounds out this generation’s influence on the architecture of Florence. The volume ends with a reflection on the permanence of their achievements; while the individual families may fade and their physical properties be sold or stolen, the "modern manner" they established remains, fundamentally altering the way the world is built and perceived for all time.

The People

• Jacopo di Casentino is the quintessential craftsman of his era, a man who cannot stop working even in his nineties. He represents the transition from the old ways to the new, finding satisfaction in the physical act of painting long after he has achieved sufficient wealth to retire.
• Spinello Aretino is an artist defined by his powerful imagination. He is so consumed by his depiction of a hideous Lucifer that he believes the demon visits him in a dream to demand why he has been so insulted. His life illustrates the consuming, sometimes terrifying nature of artistic creation.
• Filippo Brunelleschi is the central intellectual force of the collection. He is defined by a supreme, unshakeable confidence in his own calculations. He constantly clashes with committees and skeptics, eventually securing his legacy by literally challenging the heavens with the height and technical audacity of his cupola.
• Donatello is the restless, perfectionist sculptor who travels between cities like Rome and Florence, obsessed with the "ancient manner." His temperament is such that he leaves work unfinished if he feels the compensation does not match the immense effort required to achieve his artistic standards.
• Paolo Uccello is portrayed as a personality defined by both his obsession with perspective and his simple, often humorous, gullibility. His struggle with an Abbot who feeds him nothing but cheese—leading him to fear he is turning into glue—provides a human, often vulnerable counterpoint to the high-minded talk of artistic theory.

In Its Own Voice

The author reflects on the shift in artistic quality from the medieval period to his own time, noting that the "modern" eye serves as a more reliable witness than historical hearsay.

"But, passing these men by, since for knowledge of them we must refer to others, who very often do not agree in their judgments on them, or even, what is worse, as to the dates, although in this I have followed the best authorities; let us come to our own times, wherein we have the help of the eye, a much better guide and judge than the ear."

He highlights the physical toll that true dedication to the craft demands of a young apprentice.

"Nor do I marvel in any way at this, seeing that no one ever became excellent in any exercise whatsoever without beginning from his childhood to endure heat, cold, hunger, thirst, and other discomforts; wherefore those men are entirely deceived who think to be able, at their ease and with all the comforts of the world, to attain to honourable rank."

Finally, he describes the sheer ambition behind the construction of the Great Cupola in Florence.

"And it can be said with confidence that the ancients never went so high with their buildings, and never exposed themselves to so great a risk as to try to challenge the heavens, even as this structure truly appears to challenge them, seeing that it rises to such a height that the mountains round Florence appear no higher."

What It's Really About

The primary argument of the book is the concept of "improvement" in art, a teleological view that history is a deliberate, arduous climb from the clumsy and "ill-formed" toward the perfect. The author is deeply invested in the idea that art is a science as much as a craft. He treats the development of perspective and the mastery of anatomy not as stylistic choices, but as the steady uncovering of universal truths that had been lost since antiquity. The book posits that the "modern" way of working is objectively superior to the "ancient manner" because it aligns more closely with the natural world.

Beyond the aesthetic argument, the book explores the tension between the artist’s individual genius and the institutional support—or obstruction—provided by the Commune or the Church. The narrative frequently dwells on the physical realities of the work: the cost of bronze, the weight of stone, the difficulty of casting, and the constant threat of political instability (such as the riots in Pisa) interrupting artistic progress. There is a deep, recurring fascination with the "secret" of a craft—how a specific method of casting or a unique technique for vaulting a ceiling can define the difference between a competent artisan and a master.

Underneath the biographies lies an inquiry into the nature of the artist’s personality. The author is obsessed with the character traits that lead to greatness: the "zealous aspiration," the willingness to suffer for one's craft, and the intellectual courage to stand against the "malevolence" of those who would spoil a beautiful project out of envy or petty pride. The book asks what makes a life "eminent." It concludes that true eminence is not found in the comfort of a wealthy life, but in the permanent mark left upon the cityscape. The artist exists in a precarious position, caught between the high, almost divine ambition of "challenging the heavens" and the mundane, sometimes ridiculous reality of daily life, such as surviving on a diet of cheese or dealing with disputes over a dowry. Ultimately, the book is a meditation on how human effort, when applied with enough discipline and intelligence, can transform the temporary into the eternal.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate rhythm of pre-modern history will find this volume deeply rewarding. It reads less like a modern biography and more like a collection of oral histories gathered by a man who is both a devotee and a participant in the world he describes. The prose is warm and anecdotal, full of the specific, tactile details of the workshop—the smell of the intonaco, the cold feet of the student drawing all night, and the precise weight of a bronze door.

There are, however, obstacles for the contemporary reader. The text is dense with the names of minor figures, obscure family lineages, and local Florentine politics that can occasionally obscure the broader narrative. The period attitudes are also pervasive; the author is unabashedly biased toward the Florentine tradition and often dismissive of styles he deems "ancient" or unrefined. One must be prepared for his tendency to moralize the success or failure of a career as a reflection of the artist’s character.

What stays with you, however, is the profound sense of place and the atmosphere of a city transforming itself. You feel the physical presence of the buildings, the weight of the marble, and the pride of a generation that truly believed they were inventing the modern world. It is a book for those who want to understand not just the what of the Renaissance, but the how—the grit, the arguments, the terrifying dreams of painters, and the sheer, exhausting labor of building something that refuses to fall down. If you have ever stood in a Tuscan square and wondered about the specific person whose hands shaped the stone, this book provides the missing voice of that person. It is a work of deep, humanizing curiosity that rewards patience with a vivid, living portrait of the creative spirit.