Radical Treatment of 14th &15th Century Fresco Cycle in the Camposanto, Pisa.

The Camposanto in Pisa has one of the largest fresco cycles ever painted.

Produced in the 14th and the 15th centuries, these frescoes were in a vast open courtyard and consequently they did not do well in withstanding the centuries. To make matters worse, in 1944 a bomb struck the building causing further havoc to the frescoes, which were then treated by teams of restorers. The actual paintings, many sections of which were fragmented, were then removed from their original surface and attached to canvas backings.


By no means are these frescoes in uniformly good condition, reflecting for the most part their own historical journey. However, in some cases, as in that of the most famous fresco of the group, the Triumph of Death by Buffalmacco, the works are in reasonably good condition and can be studied and enjoyed. The directorship of the Cathedral had the idea to restore the entire group of frescoes once again, cleaning and replacing them on new canvasses using plastic glue, so that they could be placed back in their original (outdoor) location. During the course of the ongoing campaign, local experts have complained about the harsh cleaning, to the extent that after the intervention there is practically nothing left to be seen.

ArtWatch International seeks a halt to the work until an independent commission can be called, in order to evaluate the work done so far and the feasibility of its continuation. As it now stands the results seem to be a muddle of fragments which essentially has little of the original paint left.


Giotto and Business as Usual

The tragic events which unfolded on the 11th of September in New York and Washington are so far reaching and so momentous that it might seem superfluous to bring up issues concerning the world’s artistic heritage at this time.

James Beck, Professor and President of ArtWatch.
October 10, 2001

Upon reflection, it is precisely those values and traditions which also lie at the core of what is at stake. All one needs do is think back to the bombing of Uffizi Gallery in Florence just a few years ago or the devastation of the Buddha statues in Afghanistan even more recently. The world’s artistic and spiritual heritage appears at risk along with other aspects of our civilization.

Whatever ones views may be concerning the nuances of culpability and retribution, we can all agree that the icons of earlier art — from the Mona Lisa to Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel frescoes to the dome of Florence’s cathedral — are statements that must be preserved if we value mankind’s genius. Since, along with equivalent monuments all over the world, they constitute symbols of past attainments, we must guard, preserve and maintain them with all our energy. And given what might be regarded as a state of emergency which now exists, it seems to me ironic that the danger to the very integrity of such objects and institutions can come from within the system as well as outside of it.

The mania to spruce up the masterpieces sees no signs of slackening on the part of the restoration establishment and on the part of the officials in charge, and no pause for reflection seems in the offing. What is occurring in Italy is “business as usual” with regard to its treasures.

A highly risky (and expensive) restoration of Giotto’s frescoes in the Scrovegni Chapel in Padova are just beginning to be carried on under what many, including the undersigned, regard as an ambiguous methodology. The usual sycophantic praise by certain art critics is a disappointingly blind reaction to a potentially damaging intervention. Obviously not all cleanings in the past were successful: sometimes they were downright bad and in other instances they were harmful. Despite warnings by nearly fifty Renaissance specialists from all over the world, half of which are Italians, we may soon witness a totally unnecessary and clearly dangerous cleaning of Leonardo’s Adoration of the Magi in the Uffizi. Essentially it is little more than an under-painting anyway, making it quite impossible to bring back its “”original glory,”” as the usual rhetoric would have it. A “”cleaning”” of Michelangelo’s David (as has just been done to the Moses in a spectacular but useless endeavor) has also recently been proposed, although it has been indoors for a century and a half, and looks pretty good right now.

There has been an unwitting campaign over the past couple of decades which will, in my opinion, be regarded as highly questionable to our art treasures by future commentators. The real problem has been an inability on the part of art scholars, art restorers, art managers, and museum curators and directors to create a truly open and generalized debate about what has been accomplished in the recent past, what is going on currently, and what goals should be created for the future. Considering world conditions, is this not the appropriate historical moment to pause in the “business as usual” syndrome and formulate a wide-reaching debate on these issues, including that of shipping art objects around the world, before making irreversible alterations to the original texts?


City of Florence to Charge Admission at Santa Maria Novella

Should churches charge admission fees to see art?

The recent decision by the city of Florence, with the approval of the Superintendent of Fine Arts (Soprintendente ai beni artistici) of Florence Dr. Antonio Paolucci together with church authorities to charge admission to visit Santa Maria Novella has raised a host of questions pertinent to the culture as a whole. One should keep in mind that this is by no means the first time churches in Italy (and elsewhere) charge entrance fees. At the top of a growing list is, after all, the Vatican which for decades has been requiring a fee or really a ticket to visit the Sistine Chapel. Of course the Vatican is not Italy. And strictly speaking and with considerable finesse, the Sistine Chapel has been defined as part of the Vatican Museums and by so doing any ethical ambiguities have been effectively sidestepped. Museums customarily, though not universally, have been selling admissions for centuries.

The same ‘solution’ has been applied to the Brancacci Chapel in Santa Maria del Carmine in Florence, more recently, following an extensive not to say brutal restoration of the frescoes by Masolino, Masaccio and Filippino Lippi. In this instance the comune of Florence, museum-ized the chapel, lumping it together with the little museum that was always there. Furthermore they eliminated an entry to the Brancacci Chapel from the church itself, effectively eliminating its religious connection. As with the Sistina, the fiction was reinforced that one was not actually paying to enter a church, but rather a museum.

The situation surrounding entrance to the Baptistery, Dante’s bel S. Giovanni, with encrusted marble decoration outside and glistening late Medieval mosaics inside, is slightly different. The tourists must now pay to visit the unforgettable building which stands in the piazza of the Duomo, across from its façade and Giotto’s bell tower. The same has been true for decades at Pisa’s Piazza dei Miracoli where Cathedral authorities have been collecting entrance fees for their marvelous buildings: the Camposanto, the Duomo, the Baptistery. The holy buildings are grouped with the Museum of the Works of the Cathedral and the Museum of the Sinopia on a “cumulative ticket,” for which there is a discount off individual admissions.

Now the Dominican church of Santa Maria Novella in Florence, located a stone’s throw from the train station from which its name derives, will have an admission fee amounting to 5,000 Lire (about 2.50 in Euros). The art in the church and in the cloister is of the highest quality and rivals that in most public museums. Chief works of Cimabue, Giotto, Orcagna, Masaccio, Ghiberti, Brunelleschi, Filippino Lippi, Ghirlandaio, and Paulo Uccello are here. The decision to reclassify the building, in modern jargon, into a “chiesa-museo,” results from two events: the clean up which was conducted for the Jubilee and the restoration and repainting of Masaccio’s unequaled Trinity, painted in late 1425 or 1426.

Once the total cleaning of the Brancacci frescoes across the river in Santa Maria del Carmine had been completed in 1988, and probably not for the first time, the fame-hungry sponsor (who has since disappeared from the restoration scene) was anxious to become associated with the restoration project of the Trinity, so as to monopolize the Masaccio market. The intervention was postponed until 1999, when officials, taking advantage of the fact that the church was closed in preparation for the Jubilee, moved ahead. Now the fresco will be ready for tourists again. In retrospect it seems almost inevitable that the same fate would await the Trinity and the church itself as the Brancacci Chapel.

Masaccio’s Trinity fresco is, in terms of the history of art and the history of culture, extremely influential. Here for the first time we find a thorough explication of the new perspective, along with the rendering of monumental human figures of decided gravity. The spatial complexity of the Trinity continues to amaze and baffle even the most sophisticated critics. In the Trinity, for the first time, profile portraits of the donors are rendered on a large scale. For good reason, then, the Trinity is featured in all general histories of art as a seminal painting, surely worth the price of admissions: half the cost of a movie or a sit down coffee at Rivoire.

But the ethical question remains to be confronted: should churches charge admission at all? This apparently simple question encapsulates diverse elements. First of all ownership needs to be established. Who owns the artistic treasures of the past? Actually in the fifteenth century, the Florentine government provided quarters for several popes at Santa Maria Novella, and there too Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci prepared their cartoons for the battle murals for the Palazzo Vecchio at the beginning of the following century. Does Santa Maria Novella belong to the Holy Roman church in the larger sense, or to the particular order, in this case the Dominicans, or, perhaps, to the Florentine commune which provided funding? What about the Italian state; or better yet, the entire world?

The city of Florence has assumed the right to create a not-for-profit company (“un’associazione senza fine di lucro called Opera Santa Maria Novella”). As for the state, de facto authority has been assumed by the Superintendent of Fine Arts who reluctantly signed onto the new system. The rarity represented by Santa Maria Novella begins with the facade which was designed by Leon Battista Alberti, sufficient on its own to make it qualify as a world treasure. So far, looking at it is free. Surely, Masaccio’s Trinity stands out even in the most august company but so does Brunelleschi’s rare wooden Crucifix and Orcagna’s unrivaled Strozzi Altarpiece. Thus the inclination persists to advocate world ownership. As things now stand, the Italian government has a good deal of authority, because after all, at least the responsibility for the treatment of the building and its contents, and in the case of the restoration of the Trinity, lies with the government. The issue of ownership requires serious debate.

But if the ownership of Santa Maria Novella represents a thorny issue, the need for an injection of funds is obvious and represents another path for inquiry. The building is visited by thousands each day during the “season,” although Santa Croce in Florence probably has more. [Will this church soon follow?] Such traffic requires every category of maintenance, supervision, guards, cleanup, restorations. Then we can imagine a modern, fully stocked shop which is a sine qua non in every museum worthy of the name these days. Unquestionably the tiny group of Dominican Friars has an overwhelming burden. In other words, they need the financial relief, and if possible generate some income from their treasures. I realize that an infusion of funds would be highly welcomed and necessary. So, gentle reader, you may quite properly ask what is all the fuss about; why am I raising the issue at all?

For an answer, let us return momentarily to the Brancacci Chapel. The frescoes there have been an informal academy for artists since they were painted, and were studied by Leonardo, Michelangelo, Raphael and Cellini who regarded them as a kind of touchstone for art. Even after World War II, artists and art students continue to slip into the Carmine virtually as a ritual to pay their respects to Masaccio, who in his short life had altered the course of art. All that has ended partly because no one wants to get in line, get a ticket, pay, and be admitted for a short and finite visit, en masse.

What is the proper conduct for such institutions as Santa Maria Novella? How should the culture approach the question? It seems to me that one approach is that related to education. Very few would deny that the provision of an education, up to the age of sixteen or eighteen or even through university, is the responsibility of the commonwealth, the state, the constituted society. Such a responsibility rests at the very heart of state, like health care, road building, providing for defense and protection of its people. Perhaps art should be placed into this same equation. In Italy, where art is ever present, one could make a persuasive case. To be sure, the central government already does take on many responsibilities over art, especially in terms of its care, which includes restoration. Should we expect that government accept the responsibility of keeping a church-museum like Santa Maria Novella open, functional and free?

If the state is unable to do so, for whatever the reasons, one might expect that the European Union might be called upon to step in. A perfectly good case can be made to preserve the “free” status of the rare objects housed in the church.

And if all the avenues of various levels of government fail, payment in the form of a voluntary contribution might be instituted which removes the onus of a mandatory fee. After all among the visitors are relatively penniless artists, art students, younger travelers, tourists with families, and those who might wish to come back again and again, as the Trinity of Masaccio demands.

A true cultural debate seems to be in order.

Earthquake damage to Assisi frescoes linked to modern reconstruction techniques; Giotto’s Padua frescoes threatened

Experts now suspect that the earthquake damage to the Assisi frescoes was caused in part by earlier structural changes in the building, particularly the use of reinforced concrete beams in the roof. Similar reinforcements have been used in old churches and could be threatening masterpieces contained within them. The most dramatic example is in Padua, where the Scrovegni Chapel contains Giotto’s most important frescoes.

In addition to damaging several distinctive churches, the earthquake in central Italy on September 26 has raised serious questions about the implications of various restoration techniques for the preservation of art in Italy. The unfortunate substitution of reinforced concrete for wooden beams in the restoration of the roof of the Basilica of San Francesco a generation ago appears to have contributed to the extensive damage to the building. This distressing practice seems to have placed a cloud of danger over buildings in Umbria and the Marches. In the case of the Basilica of San Francesco in Assisi we witnessed the loss of several early frescoes, and the long-term effect of the quake has yet to be evaluated for other frescoes in the church.

Italy’s leading art historian, Professor Federico Zeri [Zeri, in La Stampa, sett. 27, 1997], has stated, “Ecco l’effetto di scelte dissennate. Sono stati dei folli, ecco, dei folli. a sostituire le travi di legno del tetto della Basilica con travi di cemento armato che hanno appensantito e reso rigido il tutto.” Zeri, in an interview with the London Times (10-4-1997) went so far as to say: “Italy’s art is in the hands of people who are cretins or corrupt, or both.” Grave concern has been expressed for other buildings and their contents which have been similarly treated.

Apparently during the restoration of the roof of San Francesco, the original old wooden beams of the roof were removed and replaced by concrete ones. It is well known that concrete is not as elastic as wood and that it “moves” with different oscillations than the wood beams and the masonry of the walls, which had withstood seven centuries of quakes. Furthermore, the more rigid reinforced concrete is considerably heavier than the wood it replaced, putting additional stress on the vertical supports and thereby increasing the danger to the structure. Despite these inherent problems, reinforced concrete has been widely used in so-called technological restorations of architecture over the more recent decades and has become a fashionable procedure. (Parenthetically, another disadvantage to concrete is that its presence in walls is highly detrimental to the longevity of the intonaco of which buon fresco is a part).

Similar errors in the treatment of Italy’s finest structures can be recited. Two decades ago, over fifty large spaces or “holes” in the cupola of Florence Cathedral provided for by Brunelleschi for static as well as for maintenance reasons were filled in with cement when restoration work was being done there. The additional weight and alteration of the equilibrium of the structure had made the cupolone a candidate for disaster. More recently, recognizing the problem, the local soprintendenza has re-opened most of the holes. Of course, the removal of the concrete is tacit recognition of the inherent danger of its use in the first place. [Apparently it took six years of work to undo the filling of the holes which must have taken a matter of days or weeks to fill. It goes without saying that both money and labor have been wasted, and it becomes ever more clear that the indiscriminate use of concrete may be coming to an end in such restoration efforts. (See a letter by Arch. Mario A. Lolli-Ghetti to Il Messaggero of 6 October 1997). We can be grateful that the Soprintendenza saw and corrected the original error.]

Similar imprudent methods have been employed for the Leaning Tower of Pisa. In the attempt to correct its tilt, or at least prevent further leaning, the tower has been wrapped in metal bands and its base surrounded by tons of concrete, while lead weights were placed to one side. Initially, this simplistic ‘solution’ seemed to function as hoped to the enthusiastic headlines of the press. Then, about a year ago, the few centimeters of the much-hailed correction were lost in a day or two. Work had to be stopped and the experts are now in a dreadful quandary, not knowing what to do. It is quite possible that the costly project has placed the tower in greater danger of collapsing than before.

[For up-to-date information on the Tower of Pisa consult: Prof. Piero Pierotti, Univ. of Pisa. Dept of storia delli arti, P. S. Matteo, 2. (office:) 39-050-542345; (home:) 050-525220. E-mail: 050-587224; (fax:) 050-580128.]

The situation at the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua

The Scrovegni Chapel in Padua is the home of Giotto’s famous fresco cycle depicting the life of Mary and the life of Christ, regarded as the finest work of the period and a high point of Italian art. In an effort to protect the frescoes, an ill-looking and incongruous bussola or technological entranceway to the chapel has just been constructed, which is intended to filter the humidity and dust that could be brought into the chapel by visitors. [The structure is referred to as a “bussola d’ingresso antismog” by the Assessore alla Cultura of Padua, or as a technological structure suitably furnished where all the visitors must pass to enter the chapel (“un corpo tecnologico attrezzato attraverso il quale dovranno passare tutti i visitatori”), as paraphrased in Il Gazzettino, sett. 25, 1997.] This substantial construction of concrete, steel and glass, measuring 8 meters square, should now be re-examined in the light of the recent and ongoing events in Assisi. The nature and amounts of these materials all add considerable weight to the spongy area surrounding the foundations of the chapel. This pressure on the foundations is further increased by the presence of part of an old base of an earlier structure in the ground dating from earlier in the century (as there was in Pisa). [During World War II, a project to encase the chapel in a reinforced concrete bunker got as far as placing foundations on the sides of the chapel, according to G. Basile, Giotto. The Arena Chapel Frescoes, London, 1993, p.178.]

(1) Even more worrisome is the fact that the bussola was built flush against the original early fourteenth-century side wall of the chapel. The various materials, steel, glass and concrete, have different properties and different tensile strengths, both from each other and from the brick wall of the chapel. In the event of an earthquake, they would oscillate with differing waves or swings, making a collision among them almost inevitable. This already dangerous situation will be increased by the heavy machinery for filtering the air, not yet placed on the roof of the bussola, which will multiply the potential for disaster. One can imagine a scenario in which the bussola would function like a jack-hammer or a gigantic battering-ram, smashing the adjoining wall of the chapel and creating havoc with Giotto’s frescoes.

(2) A potential catastrophe for the Scrovegni Chapel is further aggravated by another ‘Assisi’ factor: In 1962 the original wooden beams of the chapel’s roof were replaced by metal supports, the so-called metal trusses [“capriata metallica, di tipo inglese”], engaged into the wall with concrete. Here, unlike the case with the bussola and the walls of the chapel itself, the “new” roof would move with greater elasticity than the other elements. [According to an item in the Il Mattino of 11 January 1997, “Un lavoro importante h compiuto all inizio degli anni 60 [1962]; viene sostituta la capriata di legno, ormai illanguidita dal tempo, con una metallica, si incatenano le pareti, si sistema la statica con un cordolo in cemento armato e si ineietta nella pietra parecchio cemento consolidante.”] These interventions, including the substitution of three chains (“catene”) of concrete in place of a wooden one on the facade and a similar substitution of four of the five original chains in the nave, should be a cause of deep concern, particularly because Padua is a seismic area. In addition to these dangerous alterations, the original tile-covered timber roof has been replaced by one constructed of metal. [Basile, Giotto. The Arena Chapel Frescoes, p.381.]

Indeed, there was an earthquake that affected Padua on the 18th of October 1936 which caused damage especially to the east wall, and a quake mainly in the Friuli in 1976 which exaggerated the cracks on the facade. Worse still, the facade itself separated from the vaulted interior. [Basile, Giotto. The Arena Chapel Frescoes, p.379.] We have no way of knowing whether the materials and new techniques applied to the building in the 1960s did not contribute to the damage. One also has to wonder whether the concrete placed in the walls of the chapel had a negative effect upon the frescoes chemically. Besides, the rigidity of the concrete compounded with the extreme flexibility of the metal are hardly a happy and safe situation. What we seem to have is a series of alterations that comprise a built-in time bomb about to explode in Giotto’s chapel, with the bussola as the trigger that could set it off.

(3) While the experts have been experimenting with the highly questionable entrance system, they seem to have entirely neglected the problem of the presence of water in the crypt of the chapel. This, in the face of visible evidence that moisture can be detected above ground. To be sure, in these very weeks, the situation is becoming increasingly urgent, and emergency work is being done to Giotto’s frescoes because they are literally falling off the wall. We learn from Padua’s Assessore alla Cultura that work is beginning on the plaster surface (intonaco), that is, the very surface on which Giotto’s frescoes are painted. It is detaching because of the humidity. [In an item in Il Gazzettino of sett. 24, 1997: “Nuovo intervento di restauro per le cappella degli Scrovegni, che remarr` chiusa domani e venerdl per l’allestimento al suo interno di alcuni ponteggi necessari ad intervento urgenti per consolidare gli intonaci su cui Giotto ha affrescato i suoi dipinto. H stato notato infatti che in piy puinti questi intonaci si sono distaccati dal retrostante muro, ed h risultata pertanto improragabile l’opera di riadesione.” In Il Gazzettino of sett. 25, 1997: “Lunedl mattina, intanto, inizieranno anche lavori per sistemare l’intonaco interno del monument che ha dato segni di cedimento a cause dell’umidit`. Parte dello stratto si sarebbe staccato ed questo punto gli interventi non erano ulteriormente rinviabili.”]

This very serious condition has gone unnoticed by the national press in Italy as well as in the international press. Correctly, of course, first aid is being tended to the frescoes at this very moment to firm them up where they are falling off or about to fall from the walls, yet there is no serious talk about resolving the problem of the water in the crypt (basement) and the surrounding area. [See also, Basile, op. cit., p.379, where he says that there is “no evidence of rising damp either; the basement appeared to have reached a thermal and hygrometric equilibrium, and to have a stabilizing function in geomorphological terms.” Yet one can see with the eye the dampness above ground level, and besides, the frescoes are falling off. What more evidence does one need?]

There is a true emergency in Padua and part of the solution must be tearing down the bussola. A study should be immediately undertaken to determine whether the metal beams in the roof and the added cement in the chapel are not also reasons for concern. As a fundamental part of a campaign for emergency action in the Scrovegni Chapel, the water in the basement must be separated from direct contact with the chapel and its frescoes. This can be accomplished in various ways, for example, by raising the chapel off its present basement, or treating the entire area surrounding the chapel to eliminate the water, or the frescoes can be removed from the chapel itself.

The notion of filtering the tourists in the technological entranceway, a kind of modern labyrinth for 25 visitors at a time in preparation for their entry into the chapel, as a major if not unique step in preventing future loss to the frescoes runs contrary to common sense, and ignores the more substantial and continuous damage caused by the water even when the chapel is closed to the public. It is time to put first things first.

Petition to Save Giotto’s Frescoes in Padua

The elaborate conservation and restoration project for the Scrovegni or Arena Chapel sketched out by the Comune of Padua, who are the owners, reveal the intention is not merely to maintain the frescoes but to ‘improve’ them.

It is also clear from the doc umentation distributed on 30 September 1995 by local Paduan officials in the presence of the Minister of Beni Culturali, Hon. Antonio Paolucci that the true object is indeed a drastic restoration of Giotto’s famous paintings since upwards of 5 milliards o f lire (3+ million dollars) are being made available. Such sums hardly indicate a simple dusting. All this without determining the actual need nor spelling out the philosophy or the goals of such an intervention, after only a generation.

Measures being initiated include a new entrance construction of questionable appearance. According to announced plans, with the objective of eliminating humidity and pollutants, a state-of-the-art futuristic system is to be created, which is at best out of context with the fourteenth century structure, and which is claustrophobic, experimental, possibly dangerous and surely an expensive experiment. Instead of this band-aide approach, the issues of pollution and humidity should be part of a larger progra m that includes the elimination of auto and bus traffic in the area near the monument, for example, as well as control of the kind of heating fuel used in the zone. And what about the water knee deep in the crypt?

We must applaud the emergency interventions to prevent loss of pictorial surface. However, it is evident that the officials are seeking to restore all of Giotto’s cycle, at a stage even before it is proved that such a drastic step is necessary or desirable.

ArtWatch is categorically opposed to restoration of Giotto’s frescoes for pure or mainly aesthetic considerations. We know that a perfectly acceptable approach for 1995 might not be so attractive a decade rom know, in 2005. It is best not to touch the frescoes except in an campaign of “soft” maintenance but not beautification.

The “science” of restoration, like all other sciences if indeed it is a science at all, transforms itself in a constant organic process. The Scrovegni Chapel is the last cycle pertaining to painting of the greatest and most illustrious category not to ha ve be subjected to a drastic interventions within the past generation. Think of the Brancacci, the Signorellis in Orvieto, the Last Supper in Milan, the Sistine Chapel.

Before action is taken second and third opinions must be sought, and careful and deliberate discussions should be undertaken on a international level.