Dictionary of Art and Artists



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2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8







Donatello, (born c. 1386, Florence—died Dec. 13, 1466, Florence), master of sculpture in both marble and bronze, one of the greatest of all Italian Renaissance artists.

A good deal is known about Donatello’s life and career, but little is known about his character and personality, and what is known is not wholly reliable. He never married and he seems to have been a man of simple tastes. Patrons often found him hard to deal with in a day when artists’ working conditions were regulated by guild rules. Donatello seemingly demanded a measure of artistic freedom. Although he knew a number of Humanists well, the artist was not a cultured intellectual. His Humanist friends attest that he was a connoisseur of ancient art. The inscriptions and signatures on his works are among the earliest examples of the revival of classical Roman lettering. He had a more detailed and wide-ranging knowledge of ancient sculpture than any other artist of his day. His work was inspired by ancient visual examples, which he often daringly transformed. Though he was traditionally viewed as essentially a realist, later research indicates he was much more.

Early career
Donatello (diminutive of Donnato) was the son of Niccolò di Betto Bardi, a Florentine wool carder. It is not known how he began his career, but it seems likely that he learned stone carving from one of the sculptors working for the cathedral of Florence about 1400. Some time between 1404 and 1407 he became a member of the workshop of Lorenzo Ghiberti, a sculptor in bronze who in 1402 had won the competition for the doors of the Florentine baptistery. Donatello’s earliest work of which there is certain knowledge, a marble statue of David, shows an artistic debt to Ghiberti, who was then the leading Florentine exponent of International Gothic, a style of graceful, softly curved lines strongly influenced by northern European art. The David, originally intended for the cathedral, was moved in 1416 to the Palazzo Vecchio, the city hall, where it long stood as a civic–patriotic symbol, although from the 16th century on it was eclipsed by the gigantic David of Michelangelo, which served the same purpose. Other of Donatello’s early works, still partly Gothic in style, are the impressive seated marble figure of St. John the Evangelist for the cathedral facade and a wooden crucifix in the church of Sta. Croce. The latter, according to an unproved anecdote, was made in friendly competition with Brunelleschi, a sculptor and an architect.

The full power of Donatello first appeared in two marble statues, St. Mark and St. George (both completed c. 1415), for niches on the exterior of Or San Michele, the church of Florentine guilds (St. George has been replaced by a copy; the original is now in the Museo del Bargello). Here, for the first time since classical antiquity and in striking contrast to medieval art, the human body is rendered as a self-activating, functional organism, and the human personality is shown with a confidence in its own worth. The same qualities came increasingly to the fore in a series of five prophet statues that Donatello did beginning in 1416 for the niches of the campanile, the bell tower of the cathedral (all these figures, together with others by lesser masters, were later removed to the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo). The statues were of a beardless and a bearded prophet, as well as a group of Abraham and Isaac (1416–21) for the eastern niches; the so-called Zuccone (“pumpkin,” because of its bald head); and the so-called Jeremiah (actually Habakkuk) for the western niches. The Zuccone is deservedly famous as the finest of the campanile statues and one of the artist’s masterpieces. In both the Zuccone and the Jeremiah (1427–35), their whole appearance, especially highly individual features inspired by ancient Roman portrait busts, suggests classical orators of singular expressive force. The statues are so different from the traditional images of Old Testament prophets that by the end of the 15th century they could be mistaken for portrait statues.

A pictorial tendency in sculpture had begun with Ghiberti’s narrative relief panels for the north door of the baptistery, in which he extended the apparent depth of the scene by placing boldly rounded foreground figures against more delicately modeled settings of landscape and architecture. Donatello invented his own bold new mode of relief in his marble panel St. George Killing the Dragon (1416–17, base of the St. George niche at Or San Michele). Known as schiacciato (“flattened out”), the technique involved extremely shallow carving throughout, which created a far more striking effect of atmospheric space than before. The sculptor no longer modeled his shapes in the usual way but rather seemed to “paint” them with his chisel. A blind man could “read” a Ghiberti relief with his fingertips; a schiacciato panel depends on visual rather than tactile perceptions and thus must be seen.

Donatello continued to explore the possibilities of the new technique in his marble reliefs of the 1420s and early 1430s. The most highly developed of these are The Ascension, with Christ Giving the Keys to St. Peter, which is so delicately carved that its full beauty can be seen only in a strongly raking light; and the Feast of Herod (1433–35), with its perspective background. The large stucco roundels with scenes from the life of St. John the Evangelist (about 1434–37), below the dome of the old sacristy of San Lorenzo, Florence, show the same technique but with colour added for better legibility at a distance.

Meanwhile, Donatello had also become a major sculptor in bronze. His earliest such work was the more than life-size statue of St. Louis of Toulouse (c. 1423) for a niche at Or San Michele (replaced half a century later by Verrocchio’s bronze group of Christ and the doubting Thomas). Toward 1460 the St. Louis was transferred to Santa Croce and is now in the museum attached to the church. Early scholars had an unfavourable opinion of “St. Louis,” but later opinion held it to be an achievement of the first rank, both technically and artistically. The garments completely hide the body of the figure, but Donatello successfully conveyed the impression of harmonious organic structure beneath the drapery. Donatello had been commissioned to do not only the statue but the niche and its framework. The niche is the earliest to display Filippo Brunelleschi’s new Renaissance architectural style without residual Gothic forms. Donatello could hardly have designed it alone; Michelozzo, a sculptor and architect with whom he entered into a limited partnership a year or two later, may have assisted him. In the partnership, Donatello contributed only the sculptural centre for the fine bronze effigy on the tomb of the schismatic pope John XXIII in the baptistery; the relief of the Assumption of the Virgin on the Brancacci tomb in Sant’Angelo a Nilo, Naples; and the balustrade reliefs of dancing angels on the outdoor pulpit of Prato Cathedral (1433–38). Michelozzo was responsible for the architectural framework and the decorative sculpture. The architecture of these partnership projects resembles that of Brunelleschi and differs sharply from that of comparable works done by Donatello alone in the 1430s. All of his work done alone shows an unorthodox ornamental vocabulary drawn from both classical and medieval sources and an un-Brunelleschian tendency to blur the distinction between the architectural and the sculptural elements. Both the Annunciation tabernacle in Santa Croce and the Cantoria (the singer’s pulpit) in the Duomo (now in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo) show a vastly increased repertory of forms derived from ancient art, the harvest of Donatello’s long stay in Rome (1430–33). His departure from the standards of Brunelleschi produced an estrangement between the two old friends that was never repaired. Brunelleschi even composed epigrams against Donatello.

During his partnership with Michelozzo, Donatello carried out independent commissions of pure sculpture, including several works of bronze for the baptismal font of San Giovanni in Siena. The earliest and most important of these was the Feast of Herod (1423–27), an intensely dramatic relief with an architectural background that first displayed Donatello’s command of scientific linear perspective, which Brunelleschi had invented only a few years earlier. To the Siena font Donatello also contributed two statuettes of Virtues, austerely beautiful figures whose style points toward the Virgin and angel of the Santa Croce Annunciation, and three nude putti, or child angels (one of which was stolen and is now in the Berlin museum). These putti, evidently influenced by Etruscan bronze figurines, prepared the way for the bronze David, the first large-scale, free-standing nude statue of the Renaissance. Well-proportioned and superbly poised, it was conceived independently of any architectural setting. Its harmonious calm makes it the most classical of Donatello’s works. The statue was undoubtedly done for a private patron, but his identity is in doubt. Its recorded history begins with the wedding of Lorenzo the Magnificent in 1469, when it occupied the centre of the courtyard of the Medici palace in Florence. After the expulsion of the Medici in 1496, the statue was placed in the courtyard of the Palazzo Vecchio.

Whether the “David” was commissioned by the Medici or not, Donatello worked for them (1433–43), producing sculptural decoration for the old sacristy in San Lorenzo, the Medici church. Works there included 10 large reliefs in coloured stucco and two sets of small bronze doors, which showed paired saints and apostles disputing with each other in vivid and even violent fashion.

Paduan period
In 1443, when Donatello was about to start work on two much more ambitious pairs of bronze doors for the sacristies of the cathedral, he was lured to Padua by a commission for a bronze equestrian statue of a famous Venetian condottiere, Erasmo da Narmi, popularly called Gattamelata (“The Honeyed Cat”), who had died shortly before. Such a project was unprecedented—indeed, scandalous—for since the days of the Roman Empire bronze equestrian monuments had been the sole prerogative of rulers. The execution of the monument was plagued by delays. Donatello did most of the work between 1447 and 1450, yet the statue was not placed on its pedestal until 1453. It portrays Gattamelata in pseudo-classical armour calmly astride his mount, the baton of command in his raised right hand. The head is an idealized portrait with intellectual power and Roman nobility. This statue was the ancestor of all the equestrian monuments erected since. Its fame, enhanced by the controversy, spread far and wide. Even before it was on public view, the king of Naples wanted Donatello to do the same kind of equestrian statue for him.

In the early 1450s, Donatello undertook some important works for the Paduan Church of San Antonio: a splendidly expressive bronze crucifix and a new high altar, the most ambitious of its kind, unequaled in 15th-century Europe. Its richly decorated architectural framework of marble and limestone contains seven life-size bronze statues, 21 bronze reliefs of various sizes, and a large limestone relief, Entombment of Christ. The housing was destroyed a century later, and the present arrangement, dating from 1895, is wrong both aesthetically and historically. The majestic Madonna, with an austere frontal pose seemingly a conscious reference to an earlier venerated image, and the delicate, sensitive St. Francis are particularly noteworthy. The finest of the reliefs are the four miracles of St. Anthony, wonderfully rhythmic compositions of great narrative power. Donatello’s mastery in handling large numbers of figures (one relief has more than 100) anticipates the compositional principles of the High Renaissance.

Donatello was apparently inactive during the last three years at Padua, the work for the San Antonio altar unpaid for and the Gattamelata monument not placed until 1453. He had dismissed the large force of sculptors and stone masons used on these projects. Offers of other commissions reached him from Mantua, Modena, Ferrara, and even perhaps from Naples, but nothing came of them. Clearly, Donatello was passing through a crisis that prevented him from working. He was later quoted as saying that he almost died “among those frogs in Padua.” In 1456 the Florentine physician Giovanni Chellini noted in his account book that he had successfully treated the master for a protracted illness. Donatello completed only two works between 1450 and 1455: the wooden statue St. John the Baptist in Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, Venice, shortly before his return to Florence; and an even more extraordinary figure of Mary Magdalen in the Florentine baptistery. Both works show new insight into psychological reality; Donatello’s formerly powerful bodies have become withered and spidery, overwhelmed, as it were, by emotional tensions within. When the Magdalen was damaged in the 1966 flood at Florence, restoration work revealed the original painted surface, including realistic flesh tones and golden highlights throughout the saint’s hair.

Late Florentine period
During Donatello’s absence, a new generation of sculptors who excelled in the sensuous treatment of marble surfaces had arisen in Florence. Thus Donatello’s wooden figures must have been a shock. With the change in Florentine taste, all of Donatello’s important commissions came from outside Florence. They included the dramatic bronze group Judith and Holofernes (later acquired by the Medici and now standing before the Palazzo Vecchio) and a bronze statue of St. John the Baptist for Siena Cathedral, for which he also undertook in the late 1450s a pair of bronze doors. This ambitious project, which might have rivaled Ghiberti’s doors for the Florentine baptistery, was abandoned about 1460 for unknown reasons (most likely technical or financial). Only two reliefs for them were executed; one of them is probably the Lamentation panel now in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

The last years of Donatello’s life were spent designing twin bronze pulpits for San Lorenzo, and, thus, again in the service of his old patrons the Medici, he died. Covered with reliefs showing the passion of Christ, the pulpits are works of tremendous spiritual depth and complexity, even though some parts were left unfinished and had to be completed by lesser artists.

H.W. Janson

Encyclopædia Britannica



Early Renaissance art, in contrast to "Late Gothic," sought an attitude toward the human body similar to that of classical antiquity. The artist who did most to reestablish this attitude was Donatello, the greatest sculptor of his time. Born in
1386, several years after Nanni di Banco, he died in 1466, outliving Nanni by 45 years. Among the founders of the new style, he alone survived well past the middle of the century. Together with Nanni, Donatello spent the early part of his career working on commissions for Florence Cathedral and Or San Michelc. They often faced the same artistic problems, yet the personalities of the two masters had little in common.

Their different approaches are strikingly illustrated in Nanni's Quattro Coronati and Donatello's St. Mark (fig. 569). Both are located in deep Gothic niches, but Nanni's figures cannot be divorced from the architectural setting and still seem attached, like jamb statues, to the pilasters behind them. The St. Mark, however, no longer needs such shelter. Perfectly balanced and self-sustaining, he would lose nothing of his immense authority if he were deprived of his present enclosure. Here is the first statue since antiquity capable of standing by itselfor, to put it another way, the first statue to recapture the full meaning of the classical contrapposto (see page 139). In a performance that truly marks an epoch, the young Donatello has mastered at one stroke the central achievement of ancient sculpture. He treats the human body-as an articulated structure, capable of movement, and its drapery as a separate and secondary element that is determined by the shapes underneath rather than by patterns imposed from without. Unlike the Coronati, the St. Mark looks as if he could take off his clothes, yet he is not at all classicisticthat is, ancient motifs are not quoted as they are in Nanni's figures. Perhaps "classic" is a better word for him instead.

569. DONATELLO. St. Mark. 1411-13. Marble, 7' 9" (2.4 m). Or San Michele, Florence

A few years later, about 1415-17, Donatello carved another statue for Or San Michele, the famous St. George (fig. 570). The niche is shallower than that of the St. Mark, so that the young warrior saint actually protrudes from it slightly. Although encased in armor, his body and limbs are not rigid but wonderfully elastic. His stance, with the weight placed on the forward leg, conveys his readiness for combat. (The right hand originally held a lance or sword.) The controlled energy of his body is reflected in his eyes, which seem to scan the horizon for the approaching enemy. St. George is the Christian Soldier in his Early Renaissance version, spiritually akin to the St. Theodore at Chartres (see fig. 487), but he is also the proud defender of the ''new Athens."

Below St. George's niche is a relief panel (fig. 571) showing the hero's best-known exploit, the slaying of a dragon. (The maiden on the right is the captive princess whom the saint had come to liberate.) Here Donatello produces another revolutionary work, devising a new kind of relief that is physically shallow (called schiacciato, "flattened-out"). Yet it creates an illusion of infinite pictorial depth. This had already been achieved to some degree in certain Greek and Roman reliefs, as well as by Ghiberti (compare with figs. 200, 271-76, and 508). In all these cases, however, the actual carved depth is roughly proportional to the apparent depth of the space represented. The forms in the front plane are in very high relief, while those more distant become progressively lower, seemingly immersed in the background of the panel. Donatello discards this relationship altogether. Behind the figures, the amazing windswept landscape consists entirely of delicate surface modulations that cause the marble to catch light from varying angles. Every tiny ripple becomes endowed with a descriptive power infinitely greater than its real depth, and the chisel, like a painter's brush, becomes a tool for creating shades of light and dark. Yet Donatello cannot have borrowed his landscape from any painting, for no painter at the time he did the St. George relief had achieved so coherent and atmospheric a view of nature.

570. DONATELLO. St. George Tabernacle, from Or San Michele, Florence, ñ 1415-17. Marble, height of statue 6' 10" (2.1 m).
Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence

571. DONATELLO. St. George and the Dragon, relief below St. George (fig. 570). Marble, height 15 3/4" (40 cm)

When the campanile of Florence Cathedral was built between 1334 and 1357, a row of tall Gothic niches had been designed for statues (barely visible above the rooftops in fig. 478). Half of these niches were still empty, but between 1416 and 1435 Donatello filled five of them, The most impressive statue of his series (fig. 572) is the unidentified prophet nicknamed Zuccone ("pumpkin-head"), made a dozen years after the St. Mark. The figure has long enjoyed special fame as a striking example of the master's realism. There can be no question that it is indeed realistic, far more so than any ancient statue or its nearest rivals, the prophets on Sluter's Moses Well (see fig. 499). But, we may ask, what kind of realism have we here? Donatello has not followed the conventional image of a prophet (a bearded old man in Oriental-looking costume, holding a large scroll). Rather, he has invented an entirely new type, and it is difficult to account for his impulse in terms of realism. Why did he not simply reinterpret the old image from a realistic point of view, as Sluter had done? Donatello obviously felt that the established type was inadequate for his own conception of the subject. But how did he conceive it anew? Surely not by observing the people around him. More likely, he imagined the personalities of the prophets from what he had read about them in the Old Testament. He gained an impression, we may assume, of divinely inspired orators lecturing the multitude. This, in turn, reminded him of the Roman orators he had seen in ancient sculpture. Hence the classical costume of the Zuccone, whose mantle falls from one shoulder like those of the toga-clad patricians in figures 267 and 271. Hence, too, the fascinating head, ugly yet noble, like Roman portraits of the third century A.D. (compare figs. 282 and 283).

DONATELLO. Prophet (Zuccone), on the campanile of Florence Cathedral. 1423-25. Marble, height 6' 5" (2 m).
Original now in the Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, Florence

To shape all these elements into a coherent whole was a revolutionary feat that required an almost visible struggle. Donatello himself seems to have regarded the Zuccone as a particularly hard-won achievement. It is the first of his surviving works to carry his signature. He is said to have sworn "by the Zuccone" when he wanted to emphasize a statement and to have shouted at the statue while working on it, "Speak, speak, or the plague take you!"

Donatello had learned the technique of bronze sculpture as a youth by working under Ghiberti on the first Baptistery doors. By the 1420s, he began to rival his former teacher in that medium. The Feast of Herod (fig. 573). which he made about 1425 for the baptismal font of S. Giovanni (the Baptistery of Siena Cathedral), shows the same exquisite surface finish as Ghiberti's panels (see fig. 508), but also an expressive power that we could expect only of the master of the Ziiccone. By classical or medieval standards, the main scene is poorly composed. The focus of the drama (the executioner presenting the head of St. John to Herod) is far to the left, while the dancing Salome and most of the spectators are massed on the right, and the center remains empty. Yet we see at once why Donatello created this gaping hole. It conveys, more effectively than the witnesses' gestures and expressions, the impact of the shocking sight. Moreover, the centrifugal movement of the figures helps persuade us that the picture space does not end within the panel but continues indefinitely in every direction. Hence the frame becomes a window through which we see this particular segment of unlimited, continuous reality. The arched openings within the panel serve to frame additional segments of the same reality, luring us farther into the depths of the palace.

573. DONATELLO. The Yeast of Herod. c. 1425. Gilt bronze, 23 1/2" (59.7 cm) square.
Baptismal font, Siena Cathedral


DONATELLO. Crucifix. 1412-13. Wood. Santa Croce, Florence


DONATELLO. Marzocco. c.1419. Stone.
Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence


St John the Evangelist
Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, Florence


Bearded Prophet
c. 1418
Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, Florence

Prophet with Scroll
c. 1418
Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, Florence

DONATELLO. St Louis. c. 1413. Gilded bronze


1411. Marble. Orsanmichele, Florence

DONATELLO. The Sacrifice of Isaac.
c. 1418. Marble. Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, Florence

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