Besides the presence of the follicles, the rough unworked surface of the hide and its darkened, somewhat yellowish colour show that the portrait was made on the outer surface of the skin (formerly fur-covered) and not on the inner one covering the flesh, which was aesthetically the superior of the two and commonly used as a support for written documents. This observation opens up the possibility that the verso of the parchment may have writing on it, a point that could be verified were it to be lifted from its present backing in some future (and much hoped for) restoration.
The choice of the skin side was dictated in all probability for technical and stylistic reasons: the porosity and permeability that characterize it would have, in fact, guaranteed a better adhesion to the surface of the ‘dry’ colours, while the yellowish tint of the ground would have provided a more inviting base for the colours of the drawing, reinforcing the lights, in just the same way as a tinted paper does. In any case, one is here dealing with a parchment or part of a recycled codex: one can deduce this from the superimposed numbers visible through the parchment above the central decoration of the costume, which should be decipherable, like others written in pen, such as very pale inscription visible along the upper border of the sheet and the little winged dragon—at least this is what it seems—in the lower left corner. This feature, too, counts in favour of an attribution to Leonardo, who, even though he has never to our knowledge used a parchment support in his work, was in the habit of re-using the paper on which he wrote or drew.
As far as the media used and the subsequent restoration are concerned, the recommendation must be that all the necessary technical investigations are completed to identify the pigments and their binders, so that the materials used in the execution of the work may be clarified once and for all, together with an irrefutable scientific report as to the author of the work, as well as to its restorer. But already the direct examination of the work, extraordinarily strengthened by the multi-spectral, exceptionally high-resolution scanning of Lumière [sic] Technology—visible on the computer screen in macro-photographic detail, with the possibility of successive enlargements—and the comparison made by Pascal Cotte, who is already investigating these materials and perfecting his fundamental mapping of the different pigments and restorations, furnish sufficient information to back up our proposition.
Indeed, this multi-spectral analysis confirms that, as originally sketched in, the Portrait of a Young Woman in Profile was drawn in black chalk, red chalk and white chalk (pierre noire, sanguine and craie blanche), and then finally picked out with the most obviously appropriate graphic medium for the purpose—pen and brown ink.3
Many experimental outlines, pentimenti and corrections bear witness to the drawing’s complex process of elaboration as well as to the artist’s modus operandi.4 This is unquestionably a strong indication that one is here dealing with an original work, created from scratch (ex novo), and not with a copy derived from a pre-existing model that cannot be traced.
The outlines drawn in lightly on the parchment had to make way eventually for the definitive solution of the head, occupying the same relative position on the sheet and having essentially the same proportions, as is suggested by the contour, partly covered by shading, that runs just outside and parallel to the line of the sitter’s forehead, nose and neck, and the same applies to the preparatory contour within the neck itself, which is notably smoother and more spontaneous than the final outline, as well as to the preliminary lines around the nape of the neck that were eventually cancelled. The artist then redrew the contour of the face with black chalk, reinforcing it eventually with a delicate line of brown ink, which does not always follow the underlying contour in chalk drawn beneath. Along the lean, but differently modulated line of the profile one can detect numerous “pentiments”—which are more legible in the infra-red reflectographs (fig. 6)—corresponding in position to the forehead, the rounded point of the nose, the lower lip, the throat, the neck and the curve of the breast.
The artist has gone over his entire preliminary drawing in pen and brown ink, the strokes of which are touched in with incomparable delicacy, their springiness suggesting the flexibility of line of an engraving.5 The superlative quality of this draughtsmanship may be observed in the detail of the eye shaded by the long eyelashes, in the worn pen-work showing the interlacing of her garment—in part, poorly retouched with the point of the brush in black ink, an intervention that is contemporaneous with similar restorations found in other areas of the drawing—as in her hair-do, beautifully modelled through the use of the parchment colour as a mid-tone (in a technique referred to in Italian as ‘a risparmio’), and then finally in the complex, mixed graphic effects of the hair itself, the reading of which has, however, been disturbed by the restorer’s numerous retouches with the point of the brush.
The silhouette of the head detaches itself from its neutral background as if it were a bas-relief set on a slab of travertine, thanks to the fine external hatching in pen and ink that reinforces the underlying shading in black chalk: this shading is unequivocally leftwards slanting in direction—from the lower right towards the upper left, or vice-versa, instead of from the lower left towards the upper right—as is found in some other areas of the drawing. The artist responsible for the execution of the portrait was, therefore, left-handed, and this fact alone rates as incontrovertible proof of Leonardo’s authorship, since he did not share this very personal peculiarity with any of his major pupils.
As far as the colouring of the portrait is concerned, the variations in the naturalistic polychromy are essentially suggested by the mixing of the three different coloured “chalks” with the surface of the ground—the yellowish, slightly transparent, skin side of the parchment support. In spite of the modifications to its surface caused by subsequent restorations—which Cotte is in the process of demonstrating—the undisturbed: transparency of this ground remains fundamentally intact.
The yellow of the young woman’s undergarment, the red-brown colour of her leather sleeve, seen at her shoulder showing through the cut in the garment above, and the grey-green of her bodice, originally covered by light passages of shading in red and black chalk, are in fact the result of glazes of watercolour. The coppery-gold colour of the hair is strengthened in hue by the underlying red and black chalk, as well as by the interaction of these materials with the yellow ground, the untouched passages of which function as the highlight that strikes the top of the head and gives it convexity, while the lifelikeness of the flesh tints, also indicated in red and white chalk, is enhanced because these same materials gain in resonance as rendering human complexion by being are drawn on this same yellowish ground. In both the original drawing of the young woman’s hair and face, the delicate opaque colouring, applied ‘a secco’, is subtly changed and intensified as a result of the watercolour retouching in several areas at the time of its restoration, bringing, as it were, a covering of lavish fin de siècle cosmetics to the purity of a Renaissance face. These additions can be observed even with the naked eye in the flesh-colour, where the initial, diaphanous tonality can be distinguished from the mawkish rose tint that light up the heavy brushwork in the cheek, in the forehead and in some small areas of the neck, not to mention the touch of ‘lipstick’ on the lips (where the incoherent modelling of the brushstrokes is clearly visible . . .).
Close examination of the portrait’s surface reveals it is extensively drawn with fine, left-handed shading (slanting from top left to bottom right), which may be seen both with the naked eye and, far more effectively, in the digital scans made under infra-red light. With parallel strokes of red and black chalk the artist has modelled chromatic harmonies of the flesh across a predominantly cool setting that ranges between pallid rose and violet to the intensity of the shaded areas, reinforced in some passages with pen and brown ink. With abundant use of white chalk the artist has then brightened the flesh and picked out those parts that catch the light. And with precise, masterly strokes, he has picked out the more sharply
structured highlights, such as on the outer surface of the eye, the cornea and on the eyelids, details that are well seen in the ultra-violet reflectographs.
The areas of the young woman’s flesh have suffered damages that are generally consistent with the original media. Abrasions and losses—confusingly and only partially integrated by the restorer, whose additions, as has been already pointed out, have strayed into some undamaged areas—are to be found in the uneven parts of the upper eyelid and orbital cavity, on the cheek, the jaw, the chin, the upper lip, and, again, on the neck, the shoulder and the décolleté, as is well demonstrated in the false colour infra-red reflectographs (i.e. the yellow areas against a blue background) and in those for inverse false colour (i.e. the blue areas against a red background). The degradation of the media and the interventions of the restorer, which not even the cleverest faker would have known how to achieve, ex novo, ought to be considered, in my opinion, as decisive arguments in favour of the authenticity of the work.
In conclusion, the Portrait of a Young Woman in Profile is the product of an experiment in mixed techniques, that bring together into partnership the new method ‘a secco’ of three chalks with the traditional, liquid medium of ink,6 and for this union of the two the artist made use of an unusual support of parchment, which, for drawing and some other media, had already been substituted by paper by the end of the fifteenth century, with the notable exception of the niche production of deluxe illuminated manuscripts. Thanks to this singular mélange of materials and techniques, the artist succeeded in combining the pictorial values of softness and colour with linear decisiveness and a sense of the volume of figurative form.
With this new work, we are therefore at the opposite extreme to what is generally understood as Leonardo’s draughtsmanship, namely a practice that was tied either to the creation of a specific work in another medium or to engage with some cognitive undertaking or research. The portrait that we have before us now, coloured and finished with extreme accuracy in every detail, belongs to another category of drawing: it is autonomous, having been made as a work in its own right, or better still, an exceptionally refined hybrid between drawing, miniature and painting, conceived as a finished work of art in order to decorate some precious manuscript to be placed among the rarities of a private study.
The close physical analysis of the work has reduced, if not completely eliminated, the main doubts that originally weighed down the Profile of a Young Woman, including the claims that it was a period copy, or a fake from the late nineteenth or early twentieth century. Overcoming such deceits now opens the way to the recognition of Leonardo’s paternity of the work, which may be backed up on the basis of four fundamental arguments: the style and female typology of the sitter; the overall quality of the work; the left-handed execution; and the self-same experimental technique with which the portrait has been realized.
5. Martin Kemp, interview with Ana Finel Honigman, Universal Leonard ArtNet, January 19, 2005.
6. Alessandro Vezzosi, “Nuptial Portrait of a Young Woman,” in Leonardo Infinito (Bologna, Italy: Scripta Mancant Edizioni, 2010). After the first paragraph, which I have quoted in full in the text, the rest of the monograph reads as follows:
Above all else, the left-handed handling is unequivocal and impressive in its fluidity, certainty and precision. The line serves to give form to the profile and texture to the garments portrayed, suggesting the classicism of a polychromed sculpture, interpreted in a dynamic interplay of light and shadow. This accentuates the purity of the lines in contrast to the suffused softness of the light, rose-tinted flesh. We will find this same trait, indeed, in the most accurate of the studies from the Madrid Codex and in the anatomical sketches in Windsor from the early Milanese period. Nicholas Turner, who was the first to suggest Leonardo’s name for this profile portrait, has emphasized that the handling of the parallel penstrokes, both incisive and concise, is clearly attributable to a left-handed artist and not an imitator. The technique is masterly, Tuscan in style, but undoubtedly the work was finished in a Milanese context. Mina Gregori attributed it to Leonardo himself, noting not only its very high quality and left-handed execution, but also the reflection of its Florentine character and the style of Leonardo’s first years of activity in Lombardy.
The use of parchment was until now unknown in the work of Leonardo, but in this sense, the new work fills a previously incomprehensible gap—given the frequency of its use among his Florentine miniaturist friends and colleagues and the activities of his Milanese collaborators (in particular De Predis). Besides, in his Treatise on Painting, Leonardo wrote, in the precept to “learn well by heart” and “not to make errors again”: “And if you want to prepare a thing, you should not have plain glass, take some skin of a goat, soft and well prepared, and then dry it; and when it is ready, use it for drawing, and then you can use a sponge to cancel what you first drew and make a second attempt” (§72).
Moreover, the use of parchment might be more sympathetic for the creation of a lifelike and representative portrait for a long-distance marriage proposal. This genre of commission would also explain the highly finished character of this portrait, which one could, indeed, entitle a Nuptial Portrait, a work intended to attract interest and to represent beauty, without being licentious or overly ornamental.
The origins of this genre of female portraiture (in parallel with that of the male portrait tradition, known as “di Salai,” which would be used by Leonardo for decades), can perhaps be traced, on a small scale, to a sheet in the British Museum, predating the present work by some years: here the Madonna del Fiore dominates but there is also an instrument that resembles a perspective device used to translate reality, and for this device one needed a transparent support—for which parchment was ideally suited.
In the inventory of Leonardo’s effects, datable to the early 1480s, one finds “Una testa in profile con bella cappellatura” (“A head in profile with beautiful hair”) and “Una testa di putta con trezie rannodate” (“A head of a girl with plaited locks”). The line of the face is of absolute purity and, though describing the physiognomy of the young woman, also succeeds on an idealized level. With a completely different effect and a profile in the opposite direction, it recollects a drawing in Windsor (inv. no. 12505). Notwithstanding the differences that stem from the noble effigy on the one hand and the popular type on the other, and between a finished work and a study in progress, the proportions coincide exactly.
The present Profile is the culmination of an extraordinary sequence that, in the story of Renaissance art, began with Piero della Francesca (with the Portrait of Battista Sforza, wife of Federico da Montefeltro, c. 1465, preserved in the Uffizi) and the presumed portrait of the wife of Giovanni de’ Bardi, attributed to Piero del Pollaiolo (c. 1470, Museo Poldi Pezzoli, Milano), as well as Piero di Cosimo’s Cleopatra (or Simonetta Vespucci, c. 1483, Musée Condé, Chantilly), and Domenico Ghirlandaio’s Portrait of Giovanna Tornabuoni (1488, Thyssen-Bornemisza Collection, Madrid).
The composition is enlivened by a balance of elements vigorously interpreted, in a composed harmony of refined intensity and nobility. In the hair, the strokes run vibrantly in waves, interpreted in their natural visual flow with a dialogue with the natural lightness of the parchment.
The “Leonardesque knot” on the shoulder is obviously a paradigm of the artist and not only a decorative feature. It constitutes here an original assemblage, in a unique arabesque, in the form of geometrical matrices with two knots, alluding to symbols of infinity, like those drawn at the end of 1473 and which can be seen elaborated in the clothing of the both Lady with an Ermine and the Mona Lisa.
The border reinforces it, also with simplified knots, which run around the edge of the sleeve in a reticulated pattern, which is, in its turn, created by the most refined interlacing. The hairdo, called in Milan a “coazone” is also characteristic of the period and was fashionable at the Sforza court.
Limpid is the detail of the eye that interprets Leonardo’
s concept of the Window of the Soul and expresses in its unconventional gaze the interior grace and strength of character of the sitter. The rhythms of the contours and borders, and the lines and profiles that intersect and vary in their course animate the subject. Equally as harmonious are the different proportions of the facial elements that correspond to an anthropometric ideal.
One is tempted to think that this actual portrait may have inspired other Lombard portraits, including the Dama con la reticella di perle in the Ambrosiana and perhaps the lost and this still mysterious painting attributed to Leonardo by Adolfo Venturi in 1941: “Leonardo executed the portrait of Beatrice d’Este, beloved of Ludovico il Moro, who he called his puttina. One sees this, unfortunately totally ruined, almost destroyed, at Kraków, in the Museo Czartoryski, the young little bride.”
Even Cristina Geddo excludes the possibility that one is dealing here with the work of a follower, and, in effect, the comparison with paintings attributed to Ambrogio de Predis or to Bernardino de’ Conti ultimately confirms the assignment to Leonardo. A hypothesis for the identification of the sitter might also be suggested in passing: she could be a member of the Sforza or a similar noble family, for example Bianca Maria Sforza as a young woman. In 1494 Bianca Maria, the second-born daughter of Galeazzo Maria, Duke of Milan, and Bona di Savoy, kinswoman of the king of France, married the Emperor Maximilian I, who would praise her beauty rather than her character. The wedding ceremony and the marriage procession, at which it is sometimes said that Leonardo himself may have participated, were memorable. The comparison with the presumed portraits of Bianca Maria, attributed to Ambrogio (National Gallery of Art, Washington) or to Bernardino (Louvre), is eloquent: they reveal not insurmountable distances.
Leonardo's Lost Princess: One Man's Quest to Authenticate an Unknown Portrait by Leonardo Da Vinci Page 21
