July 23, 1599—A 28-year-old painter with a stormy personal life, Michangelo Merisi a Caravaggio (better known to history as simply Caravaggio) gained his first public commission: chapel side-panels depicting dramatic events in the life of St. Matthew.
The Italian Baroque master was intensely religious, and well he might be: he got into so many serious scrapes with the law that sometimes, it seemed, only serious divine intervention could extricate him.
In the 1980s, Todd Rundgren released the puckishly titled The Ever Popular Tortured Artist Effect. Caravaggio knew all about this syndrome, from first to last.
Even before his St. Matthew commission, the painter’s explosive temper led to trouble. In 1592, with his father dead for a decade and his mother having just recently passed on, he was so boiling over with hurt and grievances that he had to flee Milan—certain “violent quarrels” and the wounding of a police officer had made him a marked man.
Even after his St. Matthew commission brought him recognition and work, Caravaggio was in hot water continually. From 1600 to 1606, he went to trial at least 11 times, for crimes that included assault, libel and murder. (A good thing that none of those charges related to sexual orientation: the painter is now assumed to be homosexual or bisexual, a fact that, if proven in court, would have been a capital offense in the Italy of his time.)
An artist of such turbulent emotion was made for drama, and that element winds up in his paintings time and again.
The Italian Baroque master was intensely religious, and well he might be: he got into so many serious scrapes with the law that sometimes, it seemed, only serious divine intervention could extricate him.
In the 1980s, Todd Rundgren released the puckishly titled The Ever Popular Tortured Artist Effect. Caravaggio knew all about this syndrome, from first to last.
Even before his St. Matthew commission, the painter’s explosive temper led to trouble. In 1592, with his father dead for a decade and his mother having just recently passed on, he was so boiling over with hurt and grievances that he had to flee Milan—certain “violent quarrels” and the wounding of a police officer had made him a marked man.
Even after his St. Matthew commission brought him recognition and work, Caravaggio was in hot water continually. From 1600 to 1606, he went to trial at least 11 times, for crimes that included assault, libel and murder. (A good thing that none of those charges related to sexual orientation: the painter is now assumed to be homosexual or bisexual, a fact that, if proven in court, would have been a capital offense in the Italy of his time.)
An artist of such turbulent emotion was made for drama, and that element winds up in his paintings time and again.
It wasn’t as if such moments were unknown in Italian religious painting before—Leonardo’s The Last Supper, for instance, deals with the moment when Christ has just announced that one of his Apostles will betray him. But Caravaggio’s startling realism brought the viewer into the moment depicted on canvass in a manner seldom if ever seen before.
It started with chiaroscuro—his use of light and dark elements for dramatic contrast. You can see it at work in one of his panels for that first commission, The Calling of St. Matthew, where the dark world of tax collector Levi (the apostle’s name before his ministry) is illuminated suddenly from the right by the entrance of Christ and St. Peter. The tax collector, surrounded by four assistants, is startled to see Christ’s outstretched hand. He points to himself as if to say, “You mean me?”
Ironically, though the painter’s namesake and great forebear Michelangelo, inspired by ancient artists, had focused on the human body, his successors had gotten away from that. Caravaggio brought a renewed interest in bodily realism. He dispensed with the lengthy preparation that had become increasingly common, opting instead for working quickly and directly from the subject with his works on oils.
The Calling of St. Matthew and its great companion piece, The Martyrdom of St. Matthew (shown in the image accompanying this post), were created for the Contarelli chapel in the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome. The chapel had been built with funds left over by the man who gave his name to it, the French Cardinal Matteo Contarelli.
Caravaggio was paid for the two paintings in 1600, but his work in the chapel wasn’t over. When a statue by another artist of St. Matthew and an angel was rejected, Caravaggio was approached about filling the space with another oil on campus. He complied, but his patrons must have been picky, because they rejected his, too.
No matter. Caravaggio might have had his faults, but unlike Leonardo, once he received a commission, no matter his personal troubles, he followed through on the assignment. He completed his second try at the altarpiece swiftly, being paid on September 22, 1602, more than three years after his first commission.
Caravaggio’s work was rapturously welcomed by his patrons, the common people who passed through the churches where they were housed, and other artists, who were mightily influenced by his work. Unfortunately the painter, forever on the run, had little time to enjoy his acclaim.
In May 1606, Caravaggio killed a man in a brawl arising from, of all things, a game of royal tennis. At one point, he had sought refuge in Malta, where yet another quarrel with a senior knight made him a desperately hunted man.
There is a painting of Pope Paul V that has been attributed to Caravaggio. The pontiff must have liked it, and perhaps the artist as well, because he was ready to extend a pardon to the beleaguered Caravaggio. Caravaggio was on his way back to the Eternal City when he caught fever and died on the beach at Port'Ercole in Tuscany on July 18, 1610, not even 40 yet.
It started with chiaroscuro—his use of light and dark elements for dramatic contrast. You can see it at work in one of his panels for that first commission, The Calling of St. Matthew, where the dark world of tax collector Levi (the apostle’s name before his ministry) is illuminated suddenly from the right by the entrance of Christ and St. Peter. The tax collector, surrounded by four assistants, is startled to see Christ’s outstretched hand. He points to himself as if to say, “You mean me?”
Ironically, though the painter’s namesake and great forebear Michelangelo, inspired by ancient artists, had focused on the human body, his successors had gotten away from that. Caravaggio brought a renewed interest in bodily realism. He dispensed with the lengthy preparation that had become increasingly common, opting instead for working quickly and directly from the subject with his works on oils.
The Calling of St. Matthew and its great companion piece, The Martyrdom of St. Matthew (shown in the image accompanying this post), were created for the Contarelli chapel in the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome. The chapel had been built with funds left over by the man who gave his name to it, the French Cardinal Matteo Contarelli.
Caravaggio was paid for the two paintings in 1600, but his work in the chapel wasn’t over. When a statue by another artist of St. Matthew and an angel was rejected, Caravaggio was approached about filling the space with another oil on campus. He complied, but his patrons must have been picky, because they rejected his, too.
No matter. Caravaggio might have had his faults, but unlike Leonardo, once he received a commission, no matter his personal troubles, he followed through on the assignment. He completed his second try at the altarpiece swiftly, being paid on September 22, 1602, more than three years after his first commission.
Caravaggio’s work was rapturously welcomed by his patrons, the common people who passed through the churches where they were housed, and other artists, who were mightily influenced by his work. Unfortunately the painter, forever on the run, had little time to enjoy his acclaim.
In May 1606, Caravaggio killed a man in a brawl arising from, of all things, a game of royal tennis. At one point, he had sought refuge in Malta, where yet another quarrel with a senior knight made him a desperately hunted man.
There is a painting of Pope Paul V that has been attributed to Caravaggio. The pontiff must have liked it, and perhaps the artist as well, because he was ready to extend a pardon to the beleaguered Caravaggio. Caravaggio was on his way back to the Eternal City when he caught fever and died on the beach at Port'Ercole in Tuscany on July 18, 1610, not even 40 yet.
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