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Lot Essay
Jacopo di Cione was the brother of Nardo and Andrea di Cione (called Orcagna), the most celebrated painters in Florence in the mid-fourteenth century. Jacopo himself was not documented until 1365, though following the death of Nardo in that year and of Andrea in 1368, he inherited the illustrious family workshop and was evidently acknowledged in his own right, continuing to secure prestigious commissions. This altarpiece depicting the Madonna and Child Enthroned with Two Angels, dating from 1370-75, was first published by Richard Offner in 1968 (op. cit.), but it was not until a decade later that Miklós Boskovits recognised it as an autograph painting by Jacopo di Cione (op. cit.).
This altarpiece is similar in style to the artist’s Madonna and Child Enthroned in the Szépmüvészeti Mùzeum, Budapest (ibid., p. 322, fig. 49), particularly in the treatment of the two principal figures. The Budapest panel, which is contemporary in date, is larger and depicts the Madonna and Child full-length, and flanked by six angels rather than two. The present panel was itself likely cut from a larger format and the curved lines in the upper corner suggest that, like the Budapest Madonna, it too was originally conceived with an arched top.
The two angels flanking the throne pull at the edges of the cloth of honour, extending it outwards to display its exquisite design. The pattern consists of a series of idealized carnation patterns with meandering shoots and leaves, interspersed with pairs of plumed birds, most likely parrots. Florence was a celebrated weaving centre and its citizens would therefore have instantly recognised this as an example of the many prized textiles flaunted throughout the city, proof of Florence’s riches and testament to the skills of its artisans. Precious silks, brocades and velvets adorned the interiors of public palaces and churches. They were also incorporated into the ceremonial robes of clergymen or simply worn as high fashion by members of the nobility. To the contemporary fourteenth-century viewer, the symbolic relevance, importance and sheer material value of a textile like this would have been immediately apparent.
Red and blue dyes were extremely costly in themselves, but, in addition, large sections of the brocade design represented here would have been woven with real gold thread. A fragment of a liturgical vestment preserved in the Musées des Royaux d’Art et Histoire, Brussels, shares a pattern similar to that painted by Jacopo. The pattern is more geometric, being earlier in date (late-thirteenth or early-fourteenth century), but it gives the modern viewer a sense of how these textiles appeared in life (fig. 1). The textile features similarly plumed birds, woven in gold thread against a blue silk background. The gold would originally have been more brilliant and was made by hammering the precious metal to the thickness of tinfoil and cutting it into thin strips, fine enough to be made into thread and incorporated into the cloth. Weaving a design of this complexity using such delicate materials required tremendous skill. Another textile in the Museo del Tessuto, Prato, with a gold rosette motif on a red silk background (fig. 2), is perhaps closer in style to Jacopo’s cloth of honour. The Prato textile is a wonderful example of the kind of cloths being produced in Tuscany in the last quarter of the fourteenth century, at the time this painting was executed and, like Jacopo’s cloth of honour, it has a more open and lyrically curving pattern. We must remember, of course, that Jacopo was free from the constraints of an actual loom; with this creative license he could produce more naturalistic forms in his imagined painted textiles.
To do justice to the artisanal crafts so celebrated in the city and to replicate such an elaborate cloth in paint, Jacopo employed a sgraffito effect. With this technique, the area of cloth would first be gilded and then entirely painted over, only to be painstakingly scraped away to reveal the gold beneath in the desired design. Just as much of the gold thread in these real textiles would remain hidden on the underside of the fabric, so too much of the gilded surface in its painted counterpart is obscured by pigment. Jacopo went further, using punch tools to pepper the surface in an attempt to replicate the textured surface and three-dimensionality of a heavy woven cloth, lending it an almost bouclé effect. It is important to imagine how an altarpiece such as this would have appeared in its original context: when lit by candlelight, the textured gold surface of the cloth of honour would have reflected the flickering flame, appearing to ripple and flutter in the hands of the angels.
Jacopo deployed this fabric design in many of his paintings. It appears as a cloth of honour, this time suspended from a tasseled cord, behind the Madonna and Christ in his Coronation of the Virgin with Saints, painted with the assistance of Niccolò di Tommaso and Simone di Lapo, in the Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence (fig. 3). He used the design again in his Madonna of Humility, also in the Accademia, though this time framing the blue and gold birds and flowers against a white background rather than crimson. Like the present painting, both these panels have been dated to the early 1370s.
Jacopo, however, was not the only painter to incorporate this fabric design in his paintings: it was also employed by the artist’s brothers, Nardo and Andrea di Cione. Nardo used it a decade earlier to drape the throne in his Thronum Gratiae triptych of 1365 (Florence, Galleria dell’Accademia, inv. no. 1890.8464) and Andrea chose it, this time with the pattern against a golden yellow silk background, for the gown worn by Saint Catherine in the lateral panels of the Strozzi polyptych (Florence, Basilica di Santa Maria Novella; for a discussion on such textiles in Florence, see J. von Fircks, ‘Tartarughe, fenici e pappagalli,’ in Tessuto e Ricchezza a Firenze nel Trecento, C. Hollberg, ed., Florence, 2017, pp. 99-109). It is tempting to imagine a bolt of this spectacular cloth shared by the brothers, carefully unfolded each time one of them wished to depict it and passed down to Jacopo once he inherited the studio. The truth, however, is that Jacopo and his brothers incorporated countless different patterns in their paintings and such was the immense value of these cloths that to own even a swatch of each would have been far beyond the means of a painter. It is possible that patrons may have lent precious textiles for specific commissions as a means of enabling artists to paint them from life, but it is more likely that they copied existing designs or invented them entirely, and retained the drawings in the workshop to be deployed as needed in their paintings.
This altarpiece is similar in style to the artist’s Madonna and Child Enthroned in the Szépmüvészeti Mùzeum, Budapest (ibid., p. 322, fig. 49), particularly in the treatment of the two principal figures. The Budapest panel, which is contemporary in date, is larger and depicts the Madonna and Child full-length, and flanked by six angels rather than two. The present panel was itself likely cut from a larger format and the curved lines in the upper corner suggest that, like the Budapest Madonna, it too was originally conceived with an arched top.
The two angels flanking the throne pull at the edges of the cloth of honour, extending it outwards to display its exquisite design. The pattern consists of a series of idealized carnation patterns with meandering shoots and leaves, interspersed with pairs of plumed birds, most likely parrots. Florence was a celebrated weaving centre and its citizens would therefore have instantly recognised this as an example of the many prized textiles flaunted throughout the city, proof of Florence’s riches and testament to the skills of its artisans. Precious silks, brocades and velvets adorned the interiors of public palaces and churches. They were also incorporated into the ceremonial robes of clergymen or simply worn as high fashion by members of the nobility. To the contemporary fourteenth-century viewer, the symbolic relevance, importance and sheer material value of a textile like this would have been immediately apparent.
Red and blue dyes were extremely costly in themselves, but, in addition, large sections of the brocade design represented here would have been woven with real gold thread. A fragment of a liturgical vestment preserved in the Musées des Royaux d’Art et Histoire, Brussels, shares a pattern similar to that painted by Jacopo. The pattern is more geometric, being earlier in date (late-thirteenth or early-fourteenth century), but it gives the modern viewer a sense of how these textiles appeared in life (fig. 1). The textile features similarly plumed birds, woven in gold thread against a blue silk background. The gold would originally have been more brilliant and was made by hammering the precious metal to the thickness of tinfoil and cutting it into thin strips, fine enough to be made into thread and incorporated into the cloth. Weaving a design of this complexity using such delicate materials required tremendous skill. Another textile in the Museo del Tessuto, Prato, with a gold rosette motif on a red silk background (fig. 2), is perhaps closer in style to Jacopo’s cloth of honour. The Prato textile is a wonderful example of the kind of cloths being produced in Tuscany in the last quarter of the fourteenth century, at the time this painting was executed and, like Jacopo’s cloth of honour, it has a more open and lyrically curving pattern. We must remember, of course, that Jacopo was free from the constraints of an actual loom; with this creative license he could produce more naturalistic forms in his imagined painted textiles.
To do justice to the artisanal crafts so celebrated in the city and to replicate such an elaborate cloth in paint, Jacopo employed a sgraffito effect. With this technique, the area of cloth would first be gilded and then entirely painted over, only to be painstakingly scraped away to reveal the gold beneath in the desired design. Just as much of the gold thread in these real textiles would remain hidden on the underside of the fabric, so too much of the gilded surface in its painted counterpart is obscured by pigment. Jacopo went further, using punch tools to pepper the surface in an attempt to replicate the textured surface and three-dimensionality of a heavy woven cloth, lending it an almost bouclé effect. It is important to imagine how an altarpiece such as this would have appeared in its original context: when lit by candlelight, the textured gold surface of the cloth of honour would have reflected the flickering flame, appearing to ripple and flutter in the hands of the angels.
Jacopo deployed this fabric design in many of his paintings. It appears as a cloth of honour, this time suspended from a tasseled cord, behind the Madonna and Christ in his Coronation of the Virgin with Saints, painted with the assistance of Niccolò di Tommaso and Simone di Lapo, in the Galleria dell’Accademia, Florence (fig. 3). He used the design again in his Madonna of Humility, also in the Accademia, though this time framing the blue and gold birds and flowers against a white background rather than crimson. Like the present painting, both these panels have been dated to the early 1370s.
Jacopo, however, was not the only painter to incorporate this fabric design in his paintings: it was also employed by the artist’s brothers, Nardo and Andrea di Cione. Nardo used it a decade earlier to drape the throne in his Thronum Gratiae triptych of 1365 (Florence, Galleria dell’Accademia, inv. no. 1890.8464) and Andrea chose it, this time with the pattern against a golden yellow silk background, for the gown worn by Saint Catherine in the lateral panels of the Strozzi polyptych (Florence, Basilica di Santa Maria Novella; for a discussion on such textiles in Florence, see J. von Fircks, ‘Tartarughe, fenici e pappagalli,’ in Tessuto e Ricchezza a Firenze nel Trecento, C. Hollberg, ed., Florence, 2017, pp. 99-109). It is tempting to imagine a bolt of this spectacular cloth shared by the brothers, carefully unfolded each time one of them wished to depict it and passed down to Jacopo once he inherited the studio. The truth, however, is that Jacopo and his brothers incorporated countless different patterns in their paintings and such was the immense value of these cloths that to own even a swatch of each would have been far beyond the means of a painter. It is possible that patrons may have lent precious textiles for specific commissions as a means of enabling artists to paint them from life, but it is more likely that they copied existing designs or invented them entirely, and retained the drawings in the workshop to be deployed as needed in their paintings.