Cennino Cennini begins his 15th Century Treatise on Painting (Il libro dell’arte) in a suitably grandiose manner: he opens with a discussion of his omnipotent creator, then slides into the story of Adam and Eve, before very quickly moving to what Cennini calls the operations of the hand, for which his subject of painting finds its divine purpose. For a book about technique, it is a majestic, if rather startling by contemporary standards, method of beginning. We start with the creation of the universe to establish a foundation for our daily toil of fussing with paint. Of course it is certainly understandable that Cennini—who finds himself stuck in the 15th Century—needs to justify his passion by linking art with religion. During his life, to cultivate the fields or labor in the kitchen or even to forge tools of war isn’t to stray far from a purposeful, sacredly oriented path—nobody questioned whether the baker wasted his life on superficial acts, although the artist might receive the occasional lifted eyebrow in the 15th Century, regardless of how nice the fresco. Thankfully, artists in the contemporary world aren’t ever asked to justify their work, nor is there ever any condescension about the purpose of a creation, as there is now universal agreement on the value of art.
The false dichotomy between the supposedly practical professions and the supposedly wasteful professions has certainly dropped away. The poet is greater than the engineer in the contemporary mind, just as the dancer supersedes the physician in the social hierarchy. If you happen to spend your days scribbling with words, or mixing oils on your palette, you’re never asked about your point, or questioned about your value, nor does anybody ever offhandedly, mindlessly wonder aloud—Can you make money from that? Even our contemporary education system has advanced to include the virtues of art, so that, in today’s world, nobody considers a decrease to art budgets, or wants to cut school music classes, nor would any official ever contemplate a reduction to museum and library and historic building hours.
Painters, who are never asked confrontational questions about their value to society, do occasionally, almost whimsically, wonder how they would respond if someone asked them to explain their motives; and because poets live atop the contemporary status hierarchy, endlessly chased by paparazzi and discussed in every conversation about political power, most people are too anxious to politely query them to repeat a line—so they’ve never been forced to explain or legitimize or defend the value of their writing. What’s aesthetically pleasing is seamlessly connected to what’s valuable in the contemporary world—and it would probably be difficult to imagine the alternative.
Because people now realize that every moment of their free time, and almost all of their wealth, is spent in an angst-filled rush to grasp the products of creativity—to see a great film, to wear fashionable clothes, to surround themselves with design and style and decoration and atmosphere and culture and to come just a bit closer to the sensibility of artistry. And contemporary eyes do spot this artistry throughout life. In the meticulous care of a chef who prepares the perfect dish. By the thoughtful, intriguing design of a knife. With the attentiveness behind a beautiful garden. It never looks pointless. It never needs justification. It never requires an objective beyond the aesthetic. The intrinsic meaning of art is as clear to the average person in our modern society as the intrinsic meaning of a bridge. So it looks ridiculous to question the desire to sketch or write or sing. This is especially true when all the humdrum professions—firefighting, nursing, childcare—are mere methods of getting rich to spend money on creativity.
In Cennini’s time, toil and suffering and deprivation were daily features of life: there was rarely enough food, basically no medicine, and most days were spent in the mere hope of reaching sundown. To paint in his world did perhaps need a little justification, I must remind you. If I squint, I can see his dilemma, and understand how some shortsighted people may have looked at him, busy painting frescos in a period of deprivation and war and suffering. In today’s world, however, utility and practicality is synonymous with beauty and design; the average person is obsessed with the role of art in life, from the design of their furniture, to the craftsmanship of wood slats on the floor, to the sound quality of speakers, with all of life’s pleasures coupled with the experience of beauty.
One curious part of Cennini’s book is how he also shifts to what he deems the practical after he establishes a religious justification for his art—with the rest of the text focused on the techniques that a good 15th Century artist must cultivate, which appears more akin to a reference manual or instructional guide than a theoretical work. His focus is craft. It is about method. The nuances of technique. And Cennini selects the most wonderful chapter titles, such as “on the character of a yellow called saffron,” which comes amid a long section about color. Or in his remarkably specific chapter, “on the method for painting various kinds of beards and hair in fresco.” Although I am most partial to how the helpful chapter “how to paint faces” comes just before the more striking “how to paint a dead man,” which does seem especially useful if you’re living in the 15th Century.
To look closely at our contemporary artistic paradise, however, is to notice some disturbing trends. We do need at least some workers to fulfill the frivolous jobs in society. We shouldn’t condescend to the engineer who keeps the power running for all our artistic passions. The health scientist in the lab, it is worth remembering, cures the diseases that afflict our best artists. Not every parent can be blessed with a child who becomes a poet. Nor can every student fulfill the commonplace dream of becoming a classics major. All of our surgeons can’t keep exchanging the scalpel for the pen. At least a few bankers must stick to spreadsheets rather than opting for a higher salary and a career in theater. Few, however, expect much about contemporary society to change, especially since we’ve come so far from Cennini’s time, back when the role of an artist needed to be explained, back when people deemed art extravagant rather than essential. But now the artist is rightfully seen as the architect of our dreams, the alchemist behind our emotion, and creation is rightfully seen as the purpose of our life, the most practical aspect of our existence.
Cennino Cennini
What a name!
"But now the artist is rightfully seen as the architect of our dreams, the alchemist behind our emotion, and creation is rightfully seen as the purpose of our life, the most practical aspect of our existence."
Yes. This.
This is pitch-perfect absurdity and sadder for being so.