In the thick foliage of popular and scientific literature on Leonardo da Vinci, Oxford University professor Martin Kemp stands out for several reasons. He is a trained scientist who came to art history later in life, and therefore has a passion for, and understanding of, Leonardo as a scientist that is distinct from the many art historians without that sort of training who approach his work. Kemp also finely balances rigorous scholarship with elegant, approachable writing. His books make the reader feel smart, and that is a great gift. Malcolm Gladwell is perhaps the most popular example of an author whose goal is to introduce complicated ideas to a broad readership in a way that makes those ideas accessible to all, and in doing so empowers the reader intellectually. In the world of Leonardo, readers can pick up a book by Kemp and be 100 percent assured of his scholarship, while also being 100 percent assured that he will help them “get it,” that all will be clearly written and explained. That is a powerful promise that few expert scholars offer, and fewer still fulfill.
Dr. Kemp has been covered extensively in this column: A pair of interviews, a review of his latest book Christ to Coke, and more. Today’s column takes a quick look at a re-issued, updated version of Kemp’s acclaimed biography of Leonardo da Vinci, published by Oxford University Press. It was originally released in 2004, but the newer edition benefits from several additions. There have been two new Leonardos discovered since 2004: "Salvator Mundi" and "La Bella Principessa," the former authenticated fairly universally, the latter a matter of debate, but Kemp has made a very convincing case that it is Leonardo’s work. He has located a book that the work on vellum seems to have come from, a portrait of the subject (Bianca Sforza, who died after one year of marriage — the book was a gift to her bereaved husband), and a document in which Leonardo seeks advice of the technique used in "La Bella Principessa" from a fellow artist. It is rare for that much evidence to rise from the archival silt for any Old Master work, and it is most persuasive.
Kemp also looks back on a career of working on Leonardo in a beautifully-written introduction, penned while staying at the beautiful hotel in Chianti, Villa Vignamaggio, which was once owned by the family who commissioned "Mona Lisa," the Gherardini (I’ve visited it myself and it is heavenly — it can also be seen as the setting for Kenneth Branagh’s wonderful film, Much Ado About Nothing). Dr. Kemp is working on a memoir of his life studying Leonardo and in this book we get a small preview of what promises to be a fascinating work.
Kemp writes evenly and convincingly because he has nothing to prove — a decorated Oxford professor who writes regularly for major art historical publications as well as the be-all and end-all of scientific publications, Nature, and whose books have been widely praised by critics. He does not get stroppy with the endless conspiracy theories about Leonardo, from The Da Vinci Code to bizarre ideas about hidden codes carved into Mona Lisa’s eyes. He does not need to be reactionary the way many academics are when confronted with something they find either silly and misleading or contrary to their own theories. This makes Leonardo easier to read for non-specialists, and it is specifically meant as an introduction for thoughtful lay readers. Its length, too, is welcoming. It is a thin volume with large font and double-spacing — it looks to be about 40,000 words long, and could be read comfortably in about two days.
Leonardo sets out a biography of its subject without relying on the more boring chronological method (of which this author is occasionally guilty), but rather weaves the artist’s life around themes. We are granted a picture of Leonardo stripped of over-hype and conspiracy. What is left is a truly distinctive, brilliant man who was in constant demand and therefore finished few projects, not someone whose own hyper-active mind drew him away from completing what he began. He was obsessed with vision, what he called the most powerful and honest sense (though contemporary police would disagree, calling “eyewitness” accounts the least reliable and most open to subjective interpretation). Painting was a chance to create something wonderful that could be seen immediately, and therefore was more powerful and accurate than text, which had to be read and could only obliquely describe what a painting could show in an instant. We are reminded that Leonardo was probably also a sculptor, and a possible autographed work by him in terracotta is indeed extant. He was in demand as a hydraulic and military engineer (the latter termed “master of water,” which is a lovely title), and was so valued as a consultant and mind that his eccentricities were tolerated.
We are also presented with a warm and inviting personal portrait of Leonardo, something very rare in texts on him, which are usually focused on his product or on scandalous, unsubstantiated theories. We see Leonardo as a rare Renaissance man among many “Renaissance men” who excelled at a wide variety of arts and sciences — this was not so unusual during his era, but his level and breadth of genius were. Only Brunelleschi, Michelangelo, and Bernini might compete for the breadth of activities and the full-step-forward that their ingenuity presented for art. Dürer is another point of comparison, but was involved only in painting and print-making. Michelangelo was employed as an architect, but not as an engineer. Raphael died too soon to have had the impact of his renowned contemporary High Renaissance greats. One is left hoping that Kemp or someone of a similar stature might embark on some comparative biographies: of Brunelleschi and Leonardo, of Michelangelo and Leonardo, of Dürer and Leonardo.
In short, this slim volume offers a quick, scholarly, and yet thorough biography of Leonardo and discussion of his works, including the newly-discovered pieces that have been so much in the news of late. As The New Yorker wrote of the 2004 edition, this book presents “Leonardo seen from the inside out.” If only more art history books were as intimate, calm, well-written, and thorough while remaining accessible to non-specialists.
Noah Charney is a best-selling author and professor of art history. His regular column for ArtInfo is The Secret History of Art. His latest book is The Thefts of the Mona Lisa: On Stealing the World’s Most Famous Painting.