Michelangelo and Meit

composing heads?
What is that supposed to be?

Rest assured: it’s possible.
Scultpors think in forms.
Let yourself be surprised!

we always ask ourselves when we´re inspired by artists. I have Johannes Jäger to thank for that, my great art teacher at the Johanneum in Lübeck. He told us students to ask three questions: “What do I see? How does it affect us? Why does it affect us in this way?” And because it doesn't leave me in peace, I ask even more, namely: “How does he do that?”

These questions lead deep into the matter. They show that even the greats were only cooking with water, but they were particularly good at it. I'm not trying to demystify things - on the contrary, my admiration grows the more I understand. Plastic forms are geometry. Constellations can be proven. And that is exactly what I want to do in this short essay: show how Michelangelo and Meit compose heads. The insights I gained from Michelangelo's heads can easily be shown by means of entries in photographs. I was not able to do this with Meit. I had to scan the bust I want to present here in order to show what Meit is doing here by means of virtual sections and by entering axes and planes. Otherwise I would have had to saw and drill through the work several times ...-

Two minds on both sides of the Alps

Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564) and Conrat Meit (1470/85-1550/51) represent two fundamentally different approaches to the Italian and German Renaissance.

I am particularly fond of Conrat Meit. A cast of his bust of Philibert II of Savoy (title right) has been on my desk for many years and shows me some very strange things. Things that testify to extensive knowledge and at the same time are so cleverly concealed that no sculptor can tie in with it in terms of quality and we can find nothing about it in any author. In Mechelen in the Netherlands, where Margaret of Austria (1480-1530) raised her nephew, the future Emperor Charles V, the court sculptor Conrat Meit created a historically unique composition with the bust of Philibert. It builds on Albrecht Dürer's (1471-1528) developments, which were decisive for the German Renaissance north of the Alps.

During the Renaissance, many artists were inspired by the canon of Polyklet (c. 480-c. 400 BC), which has only survived in fragments. Dürer also drew on this legendary ancient set of rules to create an ideally proportioned system of the human physique for the sculptor (fig. 2,3). Despite the fact that his designs were wrested from the natural model, even forced upon him with compasses and straightedges, they remain astonishingly organic. However, if we contrast this system with nature, it generally deviates from it. Moreover, it is not spatially conceived. At the slightest lateral turn of the figure, the structural framework creaks.

In contrast, the Italian approach has a completely different elegance. It is analytical, derives directly from nature and is based on a single observation, from which it is even possible to work wonderfully spatially.

South of the Alps: Michelangelo

Michelangelo in particular taught me the most about portraiture. Paradoxically, he never made a portrait in his entire life (apart from the figure of Julius in Bologna, which was destroyed early on)! All his heads are freely conceived, despite their lifelike quality. Perhaps this is precisely why the knowledge of their structure and mechanisms of action is so transparently reflected in them. I was surprised when I saw the following two pictures for the first time over thirty years ago. They show a reclining figure with a finished, expressive and striking head (Fig. 4) and a stone roughly carved into the shape of a head (Fig. 5). I could hardly believe it. It is the same head. The head of Crepuscolo (1524-1533) in the New Sacristy of San Lorenzo in Florence. Nothing is formulated, and yet there is an enormous expression. What did Michelangelo do? How was he able to achieve so much with so little?

We see an energetically lowered head like that of a ram. The chin is pressed down onto the breastbone and the forehead is pushed far forward. Accordingly, the forehead and bridge of the nose are drawn together frontally to form a single plane. Up to this point, Michelangelo has used easily and immediately comprehensible instruments of body language. But what is it about this head that makes it seem so full of energy?
Next, I discovered a grid of parallels pointing in three directions (fig. 6).

I think you can immediately see the dynamically directed force that the lines rising diagonally forwards give the sculpture, and also how the plane of the forehead and nose is condensed by many short parallels. Further lines run upwards from front to back. What in this case already intensifies the head in the rough layout down to every lock of hair is based on a seamless concept and refers to a fundamental knowledge of the structure of every head. Michelangelo uses this knowledge freely and again and again - just like nature.

Use? The head, the face are carriers of expression. Expression always depends on the gaze and therefore also on the direction of the gaze. The eye has an interesting triple function: it is both a turning and receiving organ of a person who encounters the world with his gaze. Michelangelo and several other artists in Italy observed that the three directions shown here on the Crepuscolo can be used in the sense of this triple function. Depending on the view, the two diagonally ascending directions can be interpreted as either facing or receiving. The direction for the person is inevitably parallel to the position of the iris.

In the head of Michelangelo's David (1501-1504), we can easily find the direction of looking backwards and, particularly strongly, the direction of looking forwards (figs. 7 and 8).

What about the emotions? Even the posture of the head reveals a backward and a forward turn: Distance and skepticism paired with pride and a slight disdain. Looking at the face from the front makes these aspects even clearer (Fig. 9 and 10).

David faces his adversary anxiously and worriedly, clearly reserved and even more derogatory than in the profile view, even annoyed and angry. Responsible for this impression are the strangely protruding upper lip, the distended nostrils, the labial folds and the root of the nose, both tense, and the ambiguous eye area. “Simple facial expressions”, you might object, but you can immediately see how much the directional structure already contributes to this impression. What happens to the gaze here is a small, brilliant detail. We find our directions again. They run like a star through the iris and connect prominent areas in the surroundings. But that's not all. Once we have got the idea of making directions speak, we discover even more with new possibilities: Even David's entire head is slanted. No coincidence. No inability. David's gaze from the corner of his eye only looks really contemptuous when his head is shifted in the opposite direction. Michelangelo places another ray through the iris just as cleverly: a direction for fearfulness.

Even this brief outline gives an idea of how all the means and processes can be combined to create an expression. Michelangelo's compositions are completely thought through. Of course, I am not claiming that this explains the magic of his works.

North of the Alps: Meit

Meit cannot come up with such a structure derived from nature. He does not know it. Instead, he was inspired by Dürer's constructions, transferring them from the surface to the space and contributing his own ideas and processes.

At the most elegant court in Europe, in Mechelen, Margaret of Austria, twice widowed at a young age and governor of the Habsburg Netherlands, commissioned her court sculptor Conrat Meit to create a miniature portrait bust of her deceased second husband Philibert II of Savoy (1480-1504). This is a cabinet piece, a testimony to her personal admiration for her husband, who, portrayed as a humanist free spirit, does not need the insignia of a ruler (figs. 11-13). With this commission, Margarete demonstrates her high education, her refined taste - and the power to define the state of the times.

With his novel composition, Conrat Meit finds a solution that is at least on a par with it, which not only completely fulfills Margaret's demands, but also goes far beyond what was already outstanding at the time in terms of artistic quality. Dürer confirmed this when he wrote in his diary about Meit: “I have seen nothing like it”. No greater praise is imaginable. What Dürer was referring to is unknown, but what he might also have had in mind is shown here by the bust of Philibert.

Now we should put ourselves in Meit's shoes to get an idea of how difficult his task was: resemblance without a model; the finest elaboration; in miniature; compositional innovation; Margaret's critical demands; his own critical demands; hard wood. All this for a sculpture that forces you to start again at the slightest mistake? What a tightrope walk!

If I had been entrusted with such a task in a time without photography, I would have made a clay bozzetto based on the existing portraits (which there were) and then worked with the client for one to three evenings until we were completely satisfied. But can you imagine such close contact between Meit and Margarete that he was constantly allowed to come and ask whether the mouth, nose and corner of the eye were really right? Would Margarete have been able to describe accurately enough? After all, Margarete of Austria and Meit were neighbors. His house was right next to hers. Not possible at court - or was it? The extent of their collaboration was considerable. I would have used this bozzetto as the basis for my own composition. Meit will also have needed one. Meit's finesse was outstanding, but there are also formally weak early works by him. I suspect that Meit used sophisticated calculations because he obviously lacked the spontaneity needed to create a bust like this one without a design model.

The bust is carved from a single piece of boxwood and is 11.7 cm high, 11.2 cm wide and 8.7 cm deep. The base is given by a simple cut at chest height, as was customary for reliquary busts until then. The sculpture shows Philibert elegantly dressed in a fashionable shirt, doublet and fur tabard. On his head is an expansive beret over an elaborately crafted hairnet. A colored frame is not visible.

I wanted to know what my observations were all about. I had noticed the position of the beret in relation to the shoulders (figs. 14-16, 20).

I had to check three axes: 1. the shoulder axis (blue), 2. the steepest inclination of the beret and 3. the greatest depth of the beret (both green). And indeed: The first two axes are parallel, and the third is not only a) perpendicular to these two, but b) divides both in the middle and is c) itself divided in the middle by the second. It is almost incidental that the highest point of the beret is exactly above the shoulder axis (Fig. 16). Coincidence? There are too many of them for that ... With this arrangement of shoulder, head and beret, Meit provides the framework for the composition. Anyone who starts like this has big plans!

Now we have to look at the gaze, because where someone turns is always important for the conception of a portrait: and again the precision is striking. Without any tilt, the upright head turns to the left, by about 45° - and the gaze turns another 45°, just over the shoulder. For this turn over the shoulder - a gesture used to express spirit, boldness and sovereignty at the time - Meit allows the gaze to come from below, as it were, by placing the back right eye lower, while at the same time he allows the attention to grow by raising the front left eyebrow. But stop! How do I come to speak of a direction of gaze with blindly modeled eyes?
Perhaps the eyeballs are bulging in front of the iris, as in nature. But that is not recognizable. Only the eyelids remain. And we can actually read the position of the eyes. The eyelids deform accordingly: the eyes are dilated. Wrinkles appear where the iris pushes the skin together. The curvature creates a strong dynamic in the direction of the gaze, as if the iris were underneath (Fig. 22-24).

Then I noticed strange structures at precisely these points in the facet model of the scan and was astonished: the iris is indicated after all. The two irises flatten out by perhaps 0.1 mm and the pupils emerge! This detail is so sublime - I would never have noticed it without a scan (Fig. 25-27).

But I was already sure about the eyelids. In any case, we now have two pieces of evidence for the state of the eyes. All of these details around the eyes not only demonstrate Meit's extensive knowledge of how eyes behave in nature, they also show that he was able to apply this knowledge compositionally and not merely reproduce it. After these initial observations, it is not surprising that things become even more complex:

Even as inexperienced viewers, we notice an elusive, slightly unnatural deformation of the head, which becomes obvious in the oblique top view from the front: What is happening? Spatial relationships can be shown better in virtual sections than in any photograph. A single horizontal cut at the height of the cheekbone reveals how far it has moved forward from the axis of symmetry to the right and backward to the left. In this way, Meit intensifies the turn of the head in the direction of the gaze (Fig. 28).

But that is not all. The turn seems to intensify and culminate in the left eye. We can therefore see a twist that rises from bottom to top, a torsion (Fig. 29, 30).

From the front it is easy to see that the facial axes (yellow) fan out evenly. It is interesting to note that axes 2 to 5 are almost parallel to each other when viewed from above. Only the lowest axis 1 does not change Meit. Why? By leaving the chin in the axis, the torsion is well hidden because the silhouette remains undistorted. Whether Meit conceived in such axes remains speculation, but it is very likely if we only remember the axial arrangement of the bust that provides the frame. Because now the madness begins:

I noticed that data was still missing that I simply hadn't thought of before (figs. 17-21): 1. At which points is the brim the same height at its widest point? 2. where is it highest and lowest? If we connect these points, a new, slightly skewed cross (red) is created, which is almost exactly at the same point as the axes entered at the beginning, but follows the torsion of the face. A hint?

And now? What's the point of this perfect frame and this ingenious facial system if they have nothing to do with each other? The puzzle is almost complete. The only thing missing is the binding link to turn the constellation into a composition. Which one is it? What must it be like? It must simultaneously be the support for the construction of the facial torsion, integrate itself into the initial framework and also introduce the bold turn (the theme of this composition). The sensationally sublime quality of Meit's design depends on the existence of this link. How much finesse can Meit be credited with?

Perhaps we simply have to ask ourselves technically how Meit was able to execute this head with such precision. Was Conrat Meit perhaps so sure of his eye that he was able to work the bust lying in his hand? Possible, but very unlikely. How else? Let us remember the fascination of this period for measuring instruments and constructions, the artists' desire to use technical innovations to create striking effects and thus compete with other artists. It is therefore easy to imagine working tools that can clamp a workpiece vertically and horizontally in a vibration-proof manner and guarantee permanent measuring accuracy in several directions. However, this only makes sense if there is a deviation for the desired winding, the deviation, from which the facial axes deviate. This can only be an unchanging reference value. And since one result as a prerequisite, the face itself, fails, it can only be the plane of symmetry that reflects a head in its two halves.

The plane of symmetry can be found as follows: The beginning is easy. At the front, choose the center of the chin and the root of the nose. But where do you continue? You need a third point for a plane. At the very back, hidden under the brim, the artfully crafted hairnet winds its way under the hat in a voluminous dynamic. So artistic that Meit eventually replaces the continuous cassette pattern with another ornament. Creative excess? Arbitrariness? At the very back, right in the middle of the back of the head, there is a small, new, circular ornament with a tiny raised center like a tiny target (Fig. 31). There you go, the third point!

Is this plane of symmetry also the missing link? We summarize our previous results and look at the bust from above (Fig. 32): The initial architecture is still marked in blue and green, yellow are the facial axes with their plane of symmetry, red are the new values of the brim, white indicates the direction of gaze. Now it's time to measure, and I'm staggered: the facial axes have increased by an average of 9° (81° to the plane of symmetry) from their usual staggering. At 6° above the right angle, the second steep hat axis is exactly parallel to the line of vision. And the plane of symmetry actually fulfills the requirement of creating the connection. It initiates the turn with an extra 3° (48°). Strikingly clear: 3, 6, 9. The bold spirit is the theme of this bust - in content, form and authorship - and this is where the bar is set. Here a master demonstrates - no, hides himself.

Conrat Meit's reputation preceded him. Margaret of Austria appointed him court sculptor on the recommendation of Frederick the Wise (1463-1525). But did anyone know what his skills were when he had no successors? Today, it almost seems as if Dürer's praise alone justified waking Meit from his five-hundred-year slumber.

Concluding remarks

If I referred in advance to Dürer's idealized proportional models of the human physique, it was also because Meit attempted to interpret the antique Belvedere torso precisely according to them (figs. 33, 34). An attempt that would probably have turned out differently if Meit had seen this torso himself

... nevertheless, Meit's Judith with the Head of Holofernes (Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich) (fig. 35) proves that Meit was able to combine Dürer's system with his process. Meit's examination of Dürer was thorough and intelligent. Although the bust of Philibert also belongs in this historical context and is an essential part of the departure into the Renaissance, it does not derive from an approach that could also be found in Dürer. Here we see a completely new method of thinking about the head in compositional terms. Conrat Meit hides a strict architectural construction in a human head and uses a self-developed game to bring the content into an adequate ideal form.

We see a similar idea formulated in Michelangelo's David, in which the deliberate tilting of the entire head reinforces the impression of hesitation (figs. 9 and 10). Without knowing this idea, Meit here develops his solution of shifting and twisting the head. In terms of sophistication, he is even superior to Michelangelo at this point.
Michelangelo's work is so varied, high-quality, large and well-placed that his reputation as a composer is irrefutable. Dürer was keen to publish his sensational results himself and distribute them widely. Meit preferred to hide his Glass Bead Game in private courtly miniatures.