by Ali Smith
On this last wall, the north wall, on which I can see there has been some dampwork done and plastering which has an air of recency, there is 1 picture : it is the study the girl took with her magic box tablet of the house we sat outside on the poorly made wall and were looking at until the woman with the bristles came and dispatched us.
She fixed this study of this house – the windows, a door, a gate, a high bush, the front façade – on to the wall by her bed with the earnestness I sense central to her nature.
Then she sat on the bed and stared into it with a like earnestness almost as if she wished she were of the size to enter it bodily.
Better to have a much bigger picture, lifesize and detailed, to look to with such intent.
A painter could make a larger one from a small study with ease : if I had materials or even just one arm, I’d
like when the court of the Duke of Modena and Reggio, the Marquis of Ferara, Borse (whom I’d seen those 10 and more years ago serenaded by the tiny swan-blood angel of Justice) put out a call for painters to cover the walls of the palace of not being bored with lifesize pictures of him and his world.
This longing came I think in part from the fact that his father had had a Bible made before and to rival it Borse had wanted a bigger better one of his own, filled full of tiny miniatures, a thousand small pictures of holy things and people including some pictures of local scenes : I see him in my mind’s eye, Borse, sitting regarding these pages one day, each picture beautiful, each a masterpiece less than the size of the palm of his hand, and finding himself thinking how if he had such pictures made large enough, say they were the size of his own substantial body, then he could be seen by all the townspeople and all the neighbouring dignitaries to walk about inside a Bible of himself : and what better time to do such a thing than now since he was finally to be made first ever Duke of Ferara too which he’d waited for all these years, and by the Pope himself no less.
So he had a new upper floor built on the old palace his ancestor Alberto built way before any of us : the palace was quite far from the middle of town but with a new big hall in it for feasts and dancing and round that hall’s walls was where he wanted painted a whole year of his own life, month by month, to show the people who’d live in the future what a good ruler he’d been.
So in my 33rd year, when I’d been in Venice and Florence and learning my trade and had made good money in Bologna and also a name in Ferara by my work at the palace of beautiful flowers, Mr de Prisciano the Falcon looked my horse and myself and my torch bearer up and down and assigned me for my talent 3 whole months of Borse’s painted year, a season to myself alone, March, April, May, in fact the whole east wall : other lesser painters from the court workshop were to collaborate on the other months : it was a winter–spring job, cause the new building was brick not stone, which meant less time in the making : but as fast as you can go is best for fresco in any case.
I got the blues and golds from Venice cause skills are nothing without good materials and good materials and skill together will make for a kind of grace (and also for good payment in the end).
We stood in the new hall.
(Cosmo wasn’t there.)
I knew none of the workshop workers : compared, they were mere boys : their eyes on me let me know they knew my reputation.
(Cosmo’d had a private tour of the room on a different day. Cosmo’d been instrumental in the design.)
Francescho, this is your assistant, the Falcon said.
The boy at his side looked 16 years of age and had the demeanour of a pickpocket.
(Cosmo had more assistants than Cosmo had family : most of the people in this room had been assistant to Cosmo one time or another.)
I waited till the Falcon moved off to speak elsewhere.
Were you ever assistant to Cosmo? I asked.
The pickpocket boy shook his head.
Good, I said. Cause if I’m not here and Cosmo ever tries to touch my wall, I want you to refuse him. Tell him it’s by order of the Marquis, he’s not to touch my wall.
Is that a lie? the pickpocket said slanting his eyes at me.
Yes, I said.
I’m a very bad liar, the pickpocket said. I need paid extra for lies.
I’ll pay you what you’re worth, I said.
But what about when I’m working on my own bit of wall? the pickpocket said. Cause if they think I’m any good, I’m to be let to do my own work maybe on August or September too. What if he comes in and I’m so busy I don’t see him?
Not see Cosmo come in? I said. Then you’ve really never seen Cosmo.
Oh, you mean him, the pickpocket said. I know who you mean. I’ll lie to him for nothing.
The Falcon told a boy in court clothes to climb on to a chair and stand on the mixing table in the middle of the room : then the Falcon positioned himself beneath the boy, who dipped his head and his knee to put his ear closer to the Falcon then stood straight up again in an instant on the table.
That way, I needn’t, the Falcon said.
THAT WAY I NEEDN’T, the boy shouted as if through a horn and in a voice unexpectedly deep for such a small boy.
Raise my voice, the Falcon said.
RAISE MY VOICE, the dipping boy said.
In this way the Falcon let us know us what would be expected of us.
The walls will be THE WALLS WILL BE. Divided from left to right DIVIDED FROM LEFT TO RIGHT. Except here and here EXCEPT HERE AND HERE. Where there’ll be WHERE THERE’LL BE. Gracious city scenes GRACIOUS CITY SCENES. The scenes will be THE SCENES WILL BE. Scenes of the Dukedom SCENES OF THE DUKEDOM. Of good architecture OF GOOD ARCHITECTURE. Scenes of shows and jousts SCENES OF SHOWS AND JOUSTS. And here will feature AND HERE WILL FEATURE. The Papal visit THE PAPAL VISIT. By which the beloved BY WHICH THE BELOVED. Marquis will be made MARQUIS WILL BE MADE. First Duke of Ferara FIRST DUKE OF FERARA. In celebration IN CELEBRATION. Of this historic OF THIS HISTORIC. Event in our town EVENT IN OUR TOWN. The walls of this room THE WALLS OF THIS ROOM. All the way round ALL THE WAY ROUND. Will tell this story WILL TELL THIS STORY.
The Falcon held up a hand and moved round to the other side of the table : the boy on the table stepped over to be behind him again and dipped down to hear : the Falcon gestured to my wall : down up, down up.
THE YEAR BEGINS HERE. IT BEGINS WITH MARCH. THEN APRIL HERE. THEN MAY HERE.
The boy resembled a drinking bird : the Falcon came round the table to face the north wall : the boy dipped
(later I put this boy in my month of March : I attached a lewd monkey to his lower leg)
the boy rose.
JUNE TO SEPTEMBER, the boy said. HERE, HERE, HERE. OCTOBER TO DECEMBER. HERE AND HERE. (He turned to face the west wall with the Falcon, then spun round to the south.) JANUARY IS HERE. FEBRUARY IS HERE. THE WALL SECTIONS AND MONTHS. WILL BE DIVIDED. FROM EACH OTHER. BY PAINTED PILASTERS. BUT WITHIN EACH SECTION. THERE WILL ALSO BE. ANOTHER DIVISION. CAUSE EACH MONTH. WILL BE DIVIDED. TOP TO BOTTOM. INTO 3 PIECES. AT THE TOP. THE MYTHICAL GODS. ARRIVE IN CHARIOTS. WITH THE SEASONS. MINERVA, VENUS, APOLLO. MERCURY, JUPITER, CERES.
Vulcan, and so on, the Falcon said waving his hand (cause he had no notes with him and had forgotten his order of gods).
VULCAN AND SO ON, the boy said.
At the top of the new wall we were to paint lifesize gods arriving all through the year : at the bottom we were to paint lifesize scenes of Borse’s year, with the seasonal work of a common year and the illustrious Borse always at its centre.
In the middle, though, between these, there was a broad blue sky space planned.
(When I heard this I was pleased, cause I’d quality azzurrite from Venice.)
As if floating in this blue, like clouds, the Falcon wanted a frieze of astrologicals : he wanted 3 figures for each month, one symbolizing each 10 days.
GOD TAKES PLEASURE, the boy announced. AS WE KNOW. IN GIVING US THINGS. ARRANGED IN 3s. SO TO CORRESPOND. EACH MONTH WILL BE. SPLIT INTO 3. GODS THE TOP. SKY IN THE MIDDLE. EAR
TH DOWN BELOW. EACH BLOCK OF SKY. AT THE CENTRE. OF EACH MONTH. WILL ALSO BE. SPLIT INTO 3.
The gods, the stars, the earth, the Falcon said.
THE GODS THE STARS THE EARTH, the boy on the table shouted at us. THE GODS THE STARS THE COURT. THE GODS THE STARS OUR PRINCE. GOING ABOUT THE WORLD. A WORLD HE’S MADE. PEACEABLE AND PROSPEROUS. IN HIS GENEROSITY. IN HIS SPLENDOUR. IN HIS WHITE GLOVES. THE SEASONS FRUITFUL ROUND HIM. THE WORKERS HAPPY ROUND HIM. THE PEOPLE FULL OF JOY. ABOVE THIS, SKY. ABOVE THAT, GODS. IN TRIUMPHANT ARRIVALS. ON THEIR CHARIOTS. SURROUNDED BY. THEIR ASSOCIATED SYMBOLS. AND USUAL ATTRIBUTES. THE DESIGN FOR THIS. CAN BE FOUND. IN THE ANTEROOM. BEHIND THE EAST WALL. STUDY IT CLOSELY. DO NOT DEVIATE. FROM ITS INSTRUCTION. OR ITS EXAMPLE. OR ITS DEMONSTRATION. IN ANY WAY.
And for this, the pickpocket at my side said. We’re to be paid. Only 10 pence per. Bloody square foot.
I made a note to myself to ask the Falcon about my rate of pay : the Falcon, when the speech was done, put his arm round my shoulder and took me over to show me my own wall.
Borse departing on hunt – here, he said. Borse dispensing justice to aged loyal infidel – here. Borse presenting gift to Court Fool – here. St Giorgio day palio – round about here. Gathering of poets – up there. Gathering of university scholars, professors and wise men – up over there. Representation of the Fates – here. Spring image, fertility kind of thing, use your imagination – that area there. Apollo – there. Venus – there. Minerva – there. All in chariots. Minerva will need unicorns. Venus will need swans. Apollo will need Aurora driving and he’ll need a bow and arrow. He’ll also need a lute and the delphic tripod and the snakeskin.
I nodded.
Illustrate the gods from the poems, he said.
I will, I said none the wiser.
Now, he said. The decans. For the 3 decans of each month, check the schema in the anteroom. For instance, as the schema shows, and this is very important, Francescho. The first decan of Aries should be dressed in white. He should be tall, dark, powerful, a masterful man of great good power in the world. He is to be the guardian not just of the room but of the whole year. He should be standing next to a ram to symbolize the constellation. And next to that please put a figure which stands for youth and fruitfulness, holding, say, an arrow, for skill and for aim. A self-portrait maybe, Francescho, your own fine face, what do you say?
He winked an eye at me.
And over here, April, one of the decans should hold a key. Make the key large. And over here … and here … on and on he went, and one should have the feet of a camel and one should be holding a javelin and a baton and one should be holding a lizard, and …
There was no space left in all the requirements for asking about payment.
But I knew my work would speak for itself and bring when done its own due.
I began with May and Apollo : I worked hard on the horses : I invented 4 falcons all sitting on a birdframe : I added the bow and the arrow but had to give a standing girl minstrel the lute (cause Apollo’s hands were already full with the bow, the arrow and the black hole of the sun which I made a little like a black seed, a burnt walnut or the anus of a cat, which is what the sun looks like if you look too long at the sun).
What was a delphic tripod?
I painted a 3-legged stool with a snakeskin draped over it.
When he saw it, the Falcon nodded.
(Phew.)
I painted all the citizens of the Ferara court, not as they looked now but as an infinite crowd of babies swarming out of a hole in the ground as if conjured from nothing, replicating by the second and all as naked as the day they were born, their teething rings around their necks on cords their only jewels and adornments, their arms cordially through each others’ arms as they went their passeggiata.
When he came up on the scaffolding and saw this the Falcon laughed out loud : he was pleased enough to drop his hand to my breeches to take hold of me where something or nothing should be.
Ah! he said.
I’d surprised him.
He sobered.
I see, he said.
But he put his arm round my shoulder in a brotherly way, and I liked him all the more, the thin scholarly Falcon.
You caught me out. It’s not at all what I expected after the dishevelled state of my maid when you came to my house that day, he said
(cause when I’d come to his house and drawn for him the running torch bearer, and the girl at the door had been sent finally to assure me of employment and dispatch me, I’d asked her could I borrow her cap just to have a look at and she’d taken it off, then I’d backed her gently further into the house off the street so no one could see us and I’d asked her kindly to take off some other things for me just to have a look at, which she smiling did, then I’d kissed her cause I should in the places bared, which she’d liked and had kissed me back and before I’d left she’d tied the cap sweetly in jest about my head and said you make a very handsome girl, sir).
So you’re a little less, Francescho, than I believed, the Falcon said now.
A very little thing less only, Mr de Prisciano, I said, and no less at all when it comes to picturemaking.
No, you’re talented, true, all the same, he said.
Exactly the same, I said. No less.
I said it with passion but he wasn’t listening : instead he slapped the side of his own leg and laughed.
I’ve just understood, he said. Why Cosmo calls you it.
(Cosmo? talks of me?)
Cosmo calls me what? I said.
You don’t know? the Falcon said.
I shook my head.
That Cosmo, when he talks of you, calls you Francescha? the Falcon said.
He what? I said.
Francescha del Cosso, the Falcon said.
(Cosmo.
I forgive.)
A mere court painter, I said. I’ll never be. I’ll never do anyone’s bidding.
Well but what are you right now, the Falcon said, but a court painter?
(It was true.)
But at least I’ll never knowingly choose to be in the pay of the flagellants, I said
(cause I knew Cosmo to be making a lot of money with the images asked of him by some).
The Falcon shrugged.
The flagellants pay as well as anybody else, he said. And have you seen his St Giorgio for the cathedral organ? Francescho. It’s sublime. And – didn’t Cosmo train you? I thought you’d been apprentice to Cosmo.
Cosmo? Train me? I said.
Who then? the Falcon said.
I learned by my eyes, I said, and I learned from the masters.
Which masters? the Falcon said.
The great Alberti, I said. The great Cennini.
Ah, the Falcon said. Self-taught.
He shook his head.
And from Cristoforo, I said.
Da Ferara? the Falcon said.
Del Cossa, I said.
The brickmaker? the Falcon said. Taught you this?
I pointed down to my new assistant, the pickpocket, filling the time between plastermaking and colourgrinding by doing the drawing work I’d set him of the pile of bricks I’d made him fetch in from the gardens : I look back at my rich court babies pouring out of the hole in the stony ground into life as if the whole world was nothing but theatre and them its godgiven critics.
Since I was infant I’ve lived, breathed, slept brick and stone, but you can’t eat bricks, you can’t eat stones, Mr de Prisciano, which is why –
(and here I got ready to ask for my money).
– on the contrary, the Falcon said. Best way to get birds to hunt well, no? Is to feed them stones
(cause it’s true that this is what falconers will do to keep a bird hungry and sharp, they’ll fool it into thinking it’s been well fed by giving it pellets of stone so that when the hood is removed and the bird out working it’s surprised by its own hunger which makes it sharper-eyed than ever in finding prey).
But it was a dodge to my question and he knew
it, the Falcon : he looked askance, ashamed : he looked to my army of babies instead.
Infantile sophisticates, he said. Bare of everything, seen for what they are. Good. And I like your Apollo. Where’s the lute? Ah. Yes. And I like very much the grace of your minstrels. And – these –oh. What’s this?
The gathering of poets you wanted, I said, in the top corner, as required.
But – is that – isn’t it – me? he said.
(It was true I’d painted unasked a likeness of him, in with the poets : I sensed he’d prefer to be seen as a poet rather than a scholar.)
What’s that I’m holding? he said.
The heart, I said.
Oh! he said.
And this’ll be, see, here, heat, I said. As if you’re examining a heart off which heat is rising like breath from a mouth on a cold day.
He coloured : then he gave me a wry look.
You’re a politician, Francescho, he said.
No, Mr de Prisciano, I said. A painter, by the work of my arms and hands and eyes and by the worth of the work.
But he turned his back very quick then in case I asked about the money again.
On his way down the ladder backwards he looked back up at me.
Keep it up, he said.
Then he winked.
So to speak, he said.
(One night I came through the curtain over the month room door, it was only midnight, not late, a good damp night and very few others working cause I preferred it when quiet, but as I came down the room I saw by the shadows the swing of a torch up on one of the platforms at the far end of the room : I stayed in the dark by the foot of the scaffolding : the Falcon, I could hear, was somewhere up there speaking to someone –
Veneziano, yes. Piero, certainly. Castagno, maybe some Flems, certainly a bit of Mantegna, Donatello. But as if, your Grace, the work’s soaked itself deep in them all but then washed itself new and clean and come up with a freshness like nothing I’ve ever.
Your Grace.
Yes, the other said. I’m not sure I like the way he’s done my face.
There’s a charm, the Falcon said. A great, I don’t know what else to call it. Likeableness.
Must never underestimate charm, the other said.
