della robbia

The Della Robbia colours are unmistakeable: the bright, bold cerulean, the gleaming porcelain. They glisten, as if the centuries-old glaze was applied just a moment ago, still wet. The more you wander through Florence, the more there are — in churches, as decorations, inside chapels. Little ceramic stores catch the corner of my eye, and for a moment I believe I’ve found another, although these are just modern emulations of the Renaissance workshop’s trademark style.

Compared to other famous works of the time — Boticelli’s paintings and Michelangelo’s sculptures — the works are simple, humble. There isn’t an abandonment of old ideals, or a reworking of religious figures for a political or personal agenda. The trademark embellishments of the Renaissance’s intellectual revolution are gone. Left in their place is a quiet humility: Mary unadorned, surroundings of winged cherubs and wreaths of green leaves. This visual language of humility seems almost deliberately positioned against the growing ostentation of Florence's wealthy elite. The careful treatment of religion aligns with the later movement of Savonarola, a priest who passionately rallied against the excesses and sins of the city’s affluent, corrupt rulers. His ideas were extreme, as he prophesised catastrophe, called for the destruction of secular art, and convinced the city to overthrow its rulers — but within these radical cries is a timeless conservative desire to revive the simplicity of times past. Using Della Robbia’s productions, we can understand the attraction for the average Florentine citizen of the Friar’s incensed speeches.

While reflecting a nostalgia for the past, Della Robbia’s artworks reflect further societal changes, telling us about the emergence of a new kind of art market in Renaissance Florence. Unlike the towering marble sculptures or delicate, grandiose paintings commissioned by the city's elite families, Della Robbia pieces were relatively affordable and could be produced in multiples thanks to their molding process. This manufacturing innovation effectively created what we might call "populist" art – beautiful, durable pieces that could be purchased by the growing middle class of merchants and craftsmen.

This democratisation of art ownership represents a significant shift in the traditional patronage dynamic, where only aristocrats would form relationships with artisans and commission artworks. Even artworks created for churches or public buildings were requested and funded by wealthy families — for chapels bearing their family name, or to flaunt their riches in a quasi-charitable donation to the city. While the Della Robbia workshop certainly received major commissions from aristocratic patrons and religious institutions, they also produced smaller devotional pieces for domestic settings. These works – small medallions of Mary, statuettes, household decorations – allowed middle-class Florentines to participate in the city's artistic culture in a way previously reserved for the elite. Specifically, it allowed them to see this realm not only in their glimpses of the city’s grand cathedral, or sculptural rounds hanging on the doorway of aristocratic palaces, but for the first time in their own homes. It is hard to imagine how drastic that transformation must have been; for those whose relationship with art has always existed through a barrier of distance and class, to being able to possess what before they could only see. In the Della Robbia workshop an entire class were given a sense of ownership in their own culture.

The success of the Della Robbia workshop parallels broader economic trends in Florence, as the city's prosperity had created a substantial middle class of skilled artisans, merchants, and professionals who, while not wealthy enough to commission frescoes or marble sculptures, could afford their glazed terracotta pieces. This new market for art reflects the unique economic structure of Florence, where by means of the traditional patronage relationship wealth was distributed through the guild system and commercial enterprises. In a way this sculpture blends the classes together — the aristocratic love for aesthetic beauty and artistic innovation, met with the rustic and religious values held by average citizens.

The Della Robbia legacy reminds us that great art doesn't always require palatial settings, but can be found in the modest homes and neighbourhood churches of ordinary citizens, speaking directly to their hopes, values, and aspirations. As I continue to study these works, I'm struck by how their simple beauty embodies the democratic possibilities of art. In their workshop, the Della Robbia family created something revolutionary: art that was both exquisite and accessible, innovative and traditional, commercial and devotional. In their echoing of cultural themes — religious images, a strong history of sculpture, a growing art sector — they wove their society together, allowing the cultivation of artistic talent by the aristocracy to literally and figuratively colour their whole society.

sources

Cotter, Holland. “The Art of Della Robbia: From Earth and Water, Pure Beauty.” Nytimes.com, The New York Times, 18 Aug. 2016, www.nytimes.com/2016/08/19/arts/design/the-art-of-della-robbia-from-earth-and-water-pure-beauty.html. 

“Della Robbia.” National Gallery of Art, 2017, www.nga.gov/features/della-robbia.html#:~:text=The%20sculptures’%20humble%20materials%20expressed,easy%20to%20read%20and%20understand. 

“Della Robbia: Sculpting with Color in Renaissance Florence.” Nga.gov, 2017, www.nga.gov/exhibitions/2017/della-robbia-sculpting-with-color-in-renaissance-florence.html. 

‌McNab, Jessie. “Maiolica in the Renaissance.” In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000–. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/maio/hd_maio.htm (October 2002)