Mais que savent ces gens des peines de celui qui travaille? You corps indisposé par les fatigues de l'art? Certes, an esprit fastidieux plutôt qu'un gain de vie! Trop hardi en voulant imiter les choses de la nature with les colors pour qu'elles paraissent identiques ou encore les améliorer pour rendre ses travaux riches et pleins de choses variées faisant des lumières éclatantes, des nuits with des feux ou d'autres lumières semblables, ciel, nuage, paysages lointains et proches, demeures avec diverses observations de perspectives, animaux de toutes sortes aux couleurs variées, et toutes choses qu'il est possible de mettre dans une scène comme jamais ne fait la nature… De plus, les améliorer et leur thunder par l'art de la grace en les disposant et en les composant là où elles seront le mieux. This saves the different modes of work, in fresco, in the paint, in the détrempe, in the colle, which requires a great practice in the manner of various colors, savoir reconnaître leurs effets et leurs différents mélanges, clairs, Sombres, ombres et lumières, reflections d'infinies combinaisons ?
Laurent Binet, Perspective(s), Grasset, 2023.
But what do these people know of the toils of a creator? Of the body exhausted by the labors of art? Certainly, a weary mind instead of a productive life! Too audacious to imitate the things of nature with colors so that they appear identical, or even to improve them, to make one's works rich and varied, with radiant light, nights with fires or similar lights, skies, clouds, distant and near landscapes, houses with different perspectives, animals of all kinds in various colors, and all the things that can be included in a scene as nature never does… Moreover, he improves them and lends them grace through the art of arranging and composing them where they are most effective. What do they know of the various techniques—fresco, oil, tempera, glue—all of which require great practice in handling so many different colors, recognizing their effects and their various mixtures, light, dark, shadow and light, reflections in endless combinations?
Laurent Binets Perspective(s) This historical crime novel, presented as a multi-perspective epistolary novel, delves into the aesthetic, political, and epistemological debates of 16th-century Italy, while simultaneously posing a profoundly modern question: How is truth constructed through the interplay of perspective, power, and medium? How can art—whether painted or narrated—be both sincere and effective? Perspective serves as an epistemological guide and stylistic organizing principle. It represents both the Renaissance's breakthrough in painting techniques and its Mannerist distortion and uncertainty, as well as Binet's narrative strategy, in which he acts as a "translator" of old letters, thereby exposing both historiography and fiction as narrative constructs.
Translator: Kristian Wachinger.
The novel opens in January 1557 with the shock of the death of the painter Pontormo in the chapel of San Lorenzo, where he had worked on frescoes for eleven years. The official version, that he killed himself out of dissatisfaction, is quickly challenged by circumstantial evidence pointing to murder (a chisel in his heart, a hammer blow to the head, and a peculiar overpainting of part of the fresco). Giorgio Vasari, painter, architect, and biographer, is commissioned by the Duke of Florence, Cosimo de' Medici, to investigate. From afar, he contacts Michelangelo, who lives in Rome, seeking his advice and discussing art and the fate of artists in this turbulent era. Michelangelo, who describes himself as old and frail, agrees to help from his "oblique" perspective. Simultaneously, a scandalous painting is discovered: Pontormo's copy of Michelangelo's "Venus and Cupid," in which Venus's face has been replaced by that of the duke's eldest daughter, Maria de' Medici. This painting becomes the focus of political and personal intrigue. Maria is appalled and feels deeply dishonored. Duchess Eleanor of Toledo, Maria's mother, demands the immediate destruction of the painting and Pontormo's "heretical" frescoes, as she sees Maria's planned marriage to Alfonso d'Este, the duke's son of Ferrara, as jeopardized. She considers Pontormo's depictions of nudes and the absence of saints to be Lutheran heresy. Cosimo, on the other hand, wants to keep the painting as evidence to solve the murder.
Content
Elongated bodies, floating figures, distorted proportions
In early Renaissance Italian painting, the invention of central perspective—particularly by Brunelleschi and Alberti—was an act of rationalizing the world. Perspective created order, depth, and mathematically coded truth. Perspective(s) This technique becomes a symbol of lost certainty. Vasari's "enlightenment" during a life-threatening scene, in particular, is to be understood metapoetically: In a moment of extreme danger, he suddenly recognizes the world as a geometrically structured matrix—a perfect image with a vanishing point that materializes at the center of his opponent. This revelation transforms into an epistemological insight: Perspective is not merely a pictorial principle, but also a way of thinking, a way of structuring the world. "To see is to think" becomes the novel's guiding principle.
The painters featured in the book (Pontormo, Vasari, Bronzino, Michelangelo) discuss style, technique, and artistic ideals. Vasari's personal revelation about perspective after surviving an assassination attempt is a pivotal moment in which he recognizes the universal and fundamental truth of perspective, not only in art but also in life itself. He realizes that the neglect of perspective by the artists of his time, who instead "distort reality" and "make figures float in the ether," was a departure from the essence of art.
Je n'avais guère le temps de me pencher sur ce mystère, car déjà j'entendais l'assassin tasser la poudre dans le canon de son arquebuse miniature. L'homme, se sachant découvert, available renoncé à toute discretion. The savait also que j'étais seul, mais armé d'une arbalète, et bien qu'il eût pu constater ma déplorable maladresse, souhaitait sans doute ne prendre aucun risque, pour m'achever d'un coup de pistol. À new, the crépitement de la mèche. De quel côté allait-il surgir ? Ou bien allait-il enjamber le tas de tableaux pour me tomber dessus? Je ne pouvais attendre d'avoir la réponse, sous peine de mort imminente. Mon épaule me lançait et j'étais saisi de vertiges mais je parvins à ramasser le carreau et à le glisser dans l'arbalète. Fort heureusement, il me revint à l'esprit un croquis de Léonard que j'avais vu jadis: je savais qu'il fallait tendre la corde jusqu'à poorer le mécanisme, ce que je fis au prix d'un effort surhumain. Ce qui suivit se déroula en un éclair, bien que j'eusse l'impression qu'il s'écoula un siècle, ou meme deux. À demi couché, je plongeai hors de ma cachette, tenant mon arme à bout de bras. The person who travels in the same direction, and the black gun of his pistol, and the other thing that he wants from the consumer. This is a moment when the advent of this phenomenal phenomenon comes to light: the man who brings me to life, the piece of furniture, the cartons, the furniture, the cadres aux murs, the toiles, the chassis, the chevalets, the bags of peinture maculant le sol, le garde mort au premier plan, celui mort à l'arrière-plan, le Bacchiacca agonisant (je n'entendais plus ses râles, ni aucun autre son), all m'apparut comme un tableau parfaitement composé. This is not the case: facing the lines, the design is in the space, forming a grille parfaitement geométrique, and reconnus the scheme of Alberti, the pyramid of rays convergent versus a unique point. C'étaient les lois de la perspective qui prenaient corps devant moi, aussi nices que si je les avais me-même traces à la règle ; If you touch the surface of the chosen things, you can't see it plus the real world that you've traveled to the profondeur, or you've got it! May the voyais comme à travers the camera obscura de Messire Brunelleschi – que son nom soit honoré jusqu'à la fin des temps! – and then, the space of the second, the world of my device as a surface plane, savamment quadrillée, in the clareté éblouissante de la theory qui nous fut révélée par ces génies suprêmes: Brunelleschi, Alberti, Masaccio, gloire à vous, qui êtes l'honneur de la Toscane éternelle ! Et ainsi, tandis que l'homme allait faire fire sur moi, car la mèche, je vous l'ai dit, achevait de se consumer (cela also je le percevais parfaitement), je vis - je vis ! – the point of the design on the front of Alberti in person and, I remember the words of the grand maître that told me the heart: « It is in vain that it tends ton arc, si tu ne sais pas déjà où diriger ta flèche ! » – and I'm saving, I'm saving now and then! –, je déclenchai mon tir, et le carreau de mon arbalète, suivant la trajectoire parfaite que my esprit avait calculée et qu'une main invisible avait tracée dans l'air, vint se ficherement exactement entre ses deux yeux. The bascula en arrière, the coup de fire se perdit dans le vide, et j'eus l'impression que la detonation me réveillait d'un long rêve d'une seconde. Mais je n'avais pas rêvé. Je m'étais souvenu de la perspective. Et voici de quoi je veux vous entrienir, Messire Michel-Ange, mon cher Maître. Dans notre soif de trouver une new manière de peindre pour surmonter, ou plutôt contourner la perfection atteinte par nos pères, la vôtre, celle de Raphaël et celle de Léonard, you three qui avez ramené les genies des siècles passés au rang de precurseurs annonçant Your rain, this light of Tuscan prophets courant of Giotto à Botticelli avant l'avènement de la Sainte Trinité, n'avènous pas oublié ce qui faisait justement the essence of this perfection? This is not what we have ignored: we have learned the theory of Alberti. Mais, little by little, nous all, del Sarto, Rosso, Beccafumi, Salviati, Pontormo, Bronzino, vous-même d'ailleurs et vos amis romains, nous avons souhaité nous en afffranchir, nous l'avons délaissée, nous l'avons méprisée. Et nous avons commencé à allonger les corps, à les faire flotter dans l'espace, à étirer nos raccourcis, à disposer nos paysages comme des songs, and plutôt que de le découper selon des principes mathématiques que nous jugions trop austères, à tordre the real. L'ordre, la symétrie, nous sont devenus unsupportables. Nous n'avons jamais renié nos grands ancêtres, Brunelleschi, Masaccio, Uccello, mais, all en continuant à leur rendre homage, nous les Avons laissés de côté, comme des vieillards sourds n'ayant plus toute leur tête, ceux-là qu'on relègue en bout de table dans les banquets et qui les other convives n'adressent plus the parole qu'avec quelques phrases creuses, par pure politesse, au moment de les saluer, et auxquels on a songe plus de all le repas, sans penser que sans eux, il n'y aurait pas de mets, pas de vin, pas de banquet. Sans eux, il n'y aurait personne à la table, n'est-ce pas vrai ? Aujourd'hui que je lui dois la vie, je me sens bien ingrat d'avoir pu écrire jadis qu'un Paolo Uccello s'était gâché le talent et la santé dans ses recherches sur la perspective. Et comme je trouve cruel Donatello, qui se moquait de son ami et qui l'interpellait en riant: « Eh, Paolo! Ta perspective te fait lâcher le certain pour l'incertain. These things are not good enough for the font of the marquetry! » En vérité, je pense désormais tout le contraire. Il n'y a rien de plus certain que la perspective, rien de plus essentiel, ni rien de plus éternel. C'est elle, et elle seule, plus que toutes les batailles et all les poèmes et all les traitsés de Machiavel or de Castiglione, qui a rendu notre Tuscane immortelle, qui a fait qu'on parlera de nous dans les siècles des siècles, de la Chine aux Amériques. " Oh ! Source you chose this perspective! » s'extasiait Messire Uccello du cabinet où il étudiait quand sa femme l'appelait au milieu de la nuit. Et vraiment, si elle lui fut bien douce, elle ne fut pas moins utile, grâce à lui, à ceux qui s'y sont exercés après lui. Voilà ce que ma mésaventure m'a rappelé ce matin, et dont je souhaitais vous faire part. Pardonnez à votre ami, mon cher Maître, ces élucubrations dictées par la fièvre.
Laurent Binet, Perspective(s), Grasset, 2023.
I barely had time to think about this riddle, because I could already hear the murderer stuffing the powder into the barrel of his miniature arquebus. The man, knowing he had been discovered, had abandoned all caution. He also knew that I was alone, but armed with a crossbow, and although he had noticed my lamentable clumsiness, he probably didn't want to take the risk of killing me with a pistol shot. The crackling of the fuse again. From which direction would he appear? Or would he jump over the stack of pictures to lunge at me? I couldn't wait for the answer, otherwise I faced certain death. My shoulder hurt and I felt dizzy, but I managed to pick up the disc and slide it into the crossbow. Fortunately, I remembered a sketch by Leonardo that I had once seen: I knew that I had to tighten the string until the mechanism was tensioned, which I managed to do with superhuman effort. What followed happened in a flash, although I felt as if a century or even two had passed. Half-lying down, I emerged from my hiding place, holding my weapon with my arm outstretched. I saw the man turning his weapon in my direction, and the black eye of the barrel of his pistol and the wicks that were just beginning to burn. And at that moment something supernatural happened: The man who threatened me, the whole room around him, the boxes, the furniture, the picture frames on the walls, the canvases, the stretchers, the easels, the paint stains on the floor, the gravedigger in the foreground, the dead man in the background, the dying Bacchiacca (I heard neither his wheezing nor any other sound) – everything seemed to me like a perfectly composed painting. But that was not all: I saw lines emerging in space that formed a perfect geometric grid, and I recognized Alberti's scheme, his pyramid of rays converging at a single point. It was the laws of perspective that took shape before me, so clearly as if I had drawn them myself with a ruler; I was touching the surface of things, for it was no longer the real world that I saw in its depths, or was it? But I saw them as if through the camera obscura of Messire Brunelleschi – may his name be praised for all eternity! – and so, for a fraction of a second, the world appeared to me as a flat, skillfully squared surface, in the dazzling clarity of the theory revealed to us by these supreme geniuses: Brunelleschi, Alberti, Masaccio, honor be to you, who are the honor of eternal Tuscany! And so, while the man was about to shoot me, because the fuse, as I already told you, was almost burned down (I clearly perceived that too), I saw – I saw! – the vanishing point on his forehead, as if drawn by Alberti himself, and I remembered the great master's words that encouraged me: "It is in vain to string your bow if you do not already know where to aim your arrow!" – and I knew it, I knew it in that moment! —I shot, and the bolt of my crossbow followed the perfect trajectory that my mind had calculated and that an invisible hand had drawn in the air, and pierced precisely between his eyes. He tipped backward, the shot echoed into the void, and I had the impression that the detonation woke me from a long dream of one second. But I hadn't been dreaming. I remembered the perspective. And that is what I would like to talk to you about, Mr. Michelangelo, my dear master. In our endeavor to find a new way of painting, to surpass or rather circumvent the perfection achieved by our fathers, you, Raphael and Leonardo, you three who made the geniuses of past centuries the forerunners of your rule, this line of Tuscan prophets from Giotto to Botticelli before the advent of the Holy Trinity, have we not forgotten what exactly constituted the essence of this perfection? Not that we don't know: We have all studied Alberti's theory. But gradually we all – del Sarto, Rosso, Beccafumi, Salviati, Pontormo, Bronzino, and you yourself, by the way, and your Roman friends – wanted to free ourselves from it; we abandoned it, we despised it. And we began to lengthen bodies, to make them float in space, to stretch our foreshortenings, to arrange our landscapes like dreams, and instead of dissecting them according to mathematical principles which we considered too strict, to distort reality. Order and symmetry became unbearable for us. We have never denied our great ancestors, Brunelleschi, Masaccio, Uccello, but while we continued to pay them homage, we have pushed them aside like deaf old men who are no longer quite in their right minds, who are banished to the edge of the table at banquets and with whom the other guests only speak a few polite phrases, out of sheer courtesy, when they take their leave, and whom one does not think about during the entire meal, without thinking that without them there would be no food, no wine, no banquet. Without them, there would be no one at the table, right? Today, since I owe him my life, I feel very ungrateful that I once wrote that Paolo Uccello had ruined his talent and his health with his research on perspective. And how cruel I find Donatello, who mocked his friend and called out to him laughing: “Hey, Paolo!” Your perspective makes you give up the safe for the uncertain. "All these things are only good for marquetry makers!" In truth, I think the exact opposite today. There is nothing more certain than perspective, nothing more essential, and nothing more eternal. She alone, more than all the battles and poems and treatises of Machiavelli or Castiglione, has made our Tuscany immortal, ensuring that people will still be talking about us a hundred years from now, from China to America. “Oh, how sweet this perspective is!” exclaimed Messire Uccello from the study where he was working, when his wife called him in the middle of the night. And indeed, as sweet as she was to him, she was also useful, thanks to him, for those who practiced her skills after him. My mishap this morning reminded me of that, and I wanted to tell you about it. Forgive your friend, my dear master, these feverish fantasies.
This extended excerpt is the autopoietic heart of the novel and a turning point in Vasari's investigation and personal development. Vasari, his life in danger in Bacchiacca's studio, experiences a "supernatural" epiphany of perspective. In this moment of extreme tension, he sees the world as a perfectly composed picture, with geometric lines and a vanishing point that materializes on his attacker's forehead. The vision, inspired by Alberti and Brunelleschi, enables him to fire the fatal crossbow shot and save his life. This experience is not only an explanation for Vasari's survival but also a metanarrative reflection on art and the structure of the novel. Perspective, a mathematical concept from painting, becomes a metaphor for the clarity of seeing and thinking ("voir, c'est penser") necessary to decipher complex reality. Vasari, who initially considered Pontormo's "manner" chaotic and flawed, now recognizes that the abandonment of classical perspective was a mistake that distorted art (and possibly our understanding of the world). He admits that the artists of his generation, including Pontormo and Michelangelo, disregarded the "perfection" of perspective established by the "fathers" Brunelleschi, Alberti, and Masaccio. The passage is a self-critique of art history (and of the author through Vasari's voice). Vasari, traditionally regarded as a chronicler of Renaissance artists, here revises his own viewpoint, acknowledging the fundamental principles of perspective as the "eternal" and "essential" element of Tuscan art. The fact that this realization comes to him in the face of death and literally saves his life underscores the importance of perspective as a fundamental organizing principle—both for art and for narrative and understanding the world. It is a plea for a clear, structured “view” amidst the mannerist “disarray” and political and moral confusion of the 16th century.
In contrast to the clear central perspective of the High Renaissance stands Mannerism. The Mannerists – Pontormo, Bronzino, Rosso Fiorentino – rejected mathematical correctness in favor of expressive distortion. Perspective(s) This style is more than just aesthetic ornamentation: it becomes a political, religious, and psychological metaphor for a world out of joint. Elongated bodies, floating figures, distorted proportions—all this expresses a time in which old certainties are crumbling. Pontormo's frescoes in San Lorenzo, on which a large part of the plot focuses, are initially rejected by Vasari as flawed, perspectivally "incorrect," even chaotic. Only later does Vasari recognize their emotional depth—a transformation that occurs in parallel with his own development as a character.
Mannerism is understood as a reaction to or departure from the ideals of the High Renaissance, perceived as "perfect" (represented by artists such as Brunelleschi, Alberti, Masaccio, Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo himself). In particular, geometric perspective, developed by Brunelleschi and Alberti and considered "truth" and "the most certain" in art, was consciously "neglected" and "despised" by the Mannerists. Mannerism is characterized by a distortion of reality. Vasari initially describes the works of the Mannerists, including Pontormo, Salviati, Cigoli, and Bronzino, critically in the preface as "too dry and too cold." Michelangelo's reflections and Vasari's later insights clarify these characteristics: The artists began "to elongate bodies, to make them float in space, to stretch their foreshortenings, to arrange their landscapes like dreams." Instead of following mathematical principles, reality was "distorted": "Order and symmetry became unbearable to us." Vasari criticizes Pontormo's frescoes in San Lorenzo for having "no regard whatsoever for perspective" and for making "the drawing, coloring, and adaptation of his figures appear so sad." He laments that Pontormo "wanted to force nature" and makes figures "float in the ether." Pontormo's heads in the frescoes are described as "completely devoid of that grace and singular beauty which one observes in his other paintings." Vasari blames "Dürer" and the "German manner" for the "dullness" in the expressions of the heads and the postures of the figures, which he claims has corrupted "the soul of all our brilliant artists."
Cher Maître, d'emblée je veux vous rassurer: votre Sistine ne sera pas surpassée par la chapelle du Pontormo. If you have nothing to say, you'll be able to see what you're looking for: everything on board, in various compartments, in the superior part of the chapelle, the Creation of Adam and Eve, the Désobéissance, the Expulsion of Paradis, the Travaux sur Terre, the Sacrifice d'Abel, the Mort de Caïn, the bénédiction of the children of Noé and the construction of the Arche. Ensuite, sur l'une des parois, dont la dimension est de quinze brasses en tous sens, un Déluge universel, où l'on voit une foule de cadavres et Noé conversant avec Dieu. C'est au pied de ce Déluge qu'on a retrouvé the Pontormo painting, and c'est sur this paroi qu'il a retouché a partie de l'ensemble, alors que the reste était sec depuis longtemps. Sur l'autre paroi, il a figuré une Résurrection universale, où domine une confusion égale, pour ainsi dire, à celle qui régnera le jour suprême. Vis-à-vis de l'autel sont groupés, de chaque côté, des personnages nus, qui sortent de terre et montent au ciel. Au-dessus des fenêtres, des anges environnent le Christ, qui dans toute sa majesté ressuscite les morts pour les juger. I would like to see Jacopo in a place with the feet of Christ Dieu le Père créant Adam et Ève. I also have different colors in both colors, and I can reproduce it in the same way as in the perspective. In a motif, the design, the color and the adjustment of the figures offer an aspect that is sad, but the title of the painting is not clear, but it is not clear. If you want to see your props for me to explain, you may have something to say about your work in the grand scheme of things. This composition is based on two torsos, two membres, two attachments to wonderful studies, with Jacopo also available to him as the executor of the maquettes in the terre d'un fine extraordinaire, but also with something special for the ensemble. The plupart des torses sont trop grands, tandis que les bras et les jambes sont trop petits. Quant aux têtes, elles sont totalement dépourvues de this grâce et de this beauté singulière que l'on observe dans ses other peintures. The ensemble is not occupied by certain things that are important for noticing more important things. In the summer, when you watch the work superior to the divine Michel-Ange, the rest is lower than the sun, which makes you want to force nature on the subject of the qualities that it offers to you in a liberated manner. Mais Jacopo n'a-t-il pas droit à notre indulgence ? Les artists don't have the same exposure as the same tromper as other men? Do you have this question about how you can rest without answering, will Jacopo send you to the tombe: pouring out souhaité, sometimes before the death, retouching a part of the child's fear? What does the situation mean to the deepest memories of this man?
Laurent Binet, Perspective(s), Grasset, 2023.
Dear Master, I would like to reassure you right at the beginning: your Sistine Chapel will not be surpassed by Pontormo's chapel. As you asked me, I will describe what I saw: First of all, in the upper part of the chapel, in various panels, the creation of Adam and Eve, their disobedience, their expulsion from Paradise, their work on Earth, the sacrifice of Abel, the death of Cain, the blessing of Noah's children, and the building of the ark can be seen. Then, on one of the walls, which is fifteen cubits in all directions, a universal flood is depicted, in which one sees a lot of corpses and Noah talking to God. Poor Pontormo was found at the foot of this flood, and on this wall he reworked part of the overall picture, while the rest had long since dried. On the other wall he depicted a general resurrection, in which there is a confusion that is similar, so to speak, to that which will prevail on Judgment Day. Opposite the altar, on both sides, are grouped naked figures rising from the earth and into the sky. Above the windows, angels surround Christ, who in all his majesty raises the dead to judge them. I confess that I do not understand why Jacopo placed God the Father under Christ's feet during the creation of Adam and Eve. I am also surprised that he has not varied the heads or the colors, and I further accuse him of completely disregarding perspective. In short, the drawing, the coloring, and the arrangement of the figures are so sad that, despite my title as a painter, I declare that I understand none of it. You would have to see it with your own eyes to be able to explain it to me, but I doubt that your judgment would then differ much from mine. Although this composition contains some wonderfully studied torsos, limbs and joints, because Jacopo had taken care to create clay models of exceptional perfection, the whole thing is not successful. Most of the torsos are too large, while the arms and legs are too small. The heads, however, are completely devoid of the grace and unique beauty found in his other paintings. It seems as if he only took care of certain parts here, neglecting the most important ones. Overall, in this work he did not prove himself superior to the divine Michelangelo, but rather fell short of himself, proving that if one tries to force nature, one arrives at qualities that one owes to its generosity. But doesn't Jacopo have a right to our leniency? Aren't artists just as prone to making mistakes as other people? One question remains unanswered, as Jacopo took it to his grave: Why did he want to revise part of his Flood shortly before his death? Who can say what constituted this man's deep reveries?
This letter from Vasari to Michelangelo illustrates the critique of art and the discourse on aesthetics within the novel. Vasari, as the author of the Biographies of the most distinguished painters, sculptors and architectsVasari assumes the role of art historian and critic here. His assessment of Pontormo's frescoes is predominantly negative. He criticizes the composition, the lack of perspective, the unevenness of the figures, and the insufficient variation in heads and colors. This stands in stark contrast to the later defense and admiration of the frescoes by Bronzino and Plautilla Nelli. Vasari's harsh criticism reflects the aesthetic conventions of the time and the beginning of a shift in the understanding of art. His comparisons with Michelangelo ("His Sistine Chapel is unsurpassed") reveal his traditional view and his hierarchical thinking in art. At the same time, he raises the question of why Pontormo retouched part of the "Déluge" shortly before his death—a question that becomes the central mystery of the murder and drives Vasari's investigation. The passage "It seems here that he only concerned himself with certain parts, neglecting the most important ones" can be read as a subtle reference to the later revelation of Michelangelo, who in fact only painted one Part the fresco was retouched in an attempt to save it. Vasari's lack of understanding of the whole, despite his detailed analysis, underscores the idea that his "perspective" is limited. The text contributes to the novel's polyphonic poetics by presenting Vasari's specific, often dogmatic, but also sincere view of art. It lays the groundwork for the later revelation of the true reasons for Pontormo's death and the overpainting of the fresco, which will refute Vasari's initial assessment as mere artistic shortcoming. The extract demonstrates how the understanding of art is directly linked to the understanding of hidden truth.
Despite the criticism, it is clear that the Mannerists did not simply deviate from the tradition, but rather worked innovatively and experimented. Pontormo himself described his art as "too bold" in his attempt to imitate nature with colors so that they appeared identical or even improved upon, in order to create "luminous lights, nights with fires or other similar lights, skies, clouds, distant and near landscapes, dwellings with different observations of perspective, animals of all kinds in different colors." He wanted "to surpass nature by giving spirit to a figure and making it appear alive by painting it flat." This demonstrates his pursuit of expression and a new, perhaps more complex, reality beyond mere imitation.
Mannerism, as a stylistic movement of the 16th century, is often considered a decadent afterthought of the High Renaissance. In Perspective(s) He is rehabilitated – not as a mere distortion, but as an expression of artistic resistance against dogma, be it against political power, religious morality, or formalistic rigor. Pontormo's frescoes, which are called obscene and censored, are simultaneously radical acts of self-assertion and symptomatic of a time in which art becomes existential. This tension is evident, for example, in Michelangelo's belated admission that he killed Pontormo to save his art – a shocking moment that pushes the relationship between art, violence, and truth to its extreme.
Art as a mirror of socio-political conflicts
Nude depictions in art are a central point of religious and moral controversy. Pope Paul IV (the former head of the Roman Inquisition) condemned nudity in the Sistine Chapel and was described as an "enemy of artists." Duchess Eleanor, influenced by the "Spanish taste for chastity and propriety," wanted to whitewash Pontormo's frescoes, viewing them as "heresy." Savonarola's followers, such as Sister Caterina de' Ricci, labeled Pontormo's works "obscene" and "godless," and the painter himself a "sodomite." Here, the perspective of religious fanatics on art becomes clear.
Art was politically instrumentalized during the Renaissance: Duke Cosimo's ambition for the title of King of Tuscany led him to opportunistically adopt the papal stance on art in order to gain Rome's favor. The "Venus and Cupid" painting, featuring the face of Princess Maria, became a tool of political intrigue by Caterina de' Medici and Piero Strozzi, intended to humiliate and weaken Cosimo. Here, art became a battleground of differing political "perspectives."
Added to this are artistic rivalries and personal motives: Vasari is initially prejudiced against Pontormo's style, but his "perspective" changes due to his traumatic experience and his "enlightenment" about perspective. Bronzino defends Pontormo and his work out of loyalty and artistic conviction. Naldini betrays Marco Moro to further his own career with Vasari. These personal motives influence the characters' "perspectives" and their actions in the criminal case.
The unfolding search for truth takes the form of an investigation: Vasari's inquiry is a process of piecing together different "perspectives." He must gather the statements of witnesses, suspects, and those directly involved, all of whom have their own interests, lies, and partial truths. Michelangelo's contribution from afar is a "distorted," non-Florentine "perspective." The discovery of Pontormo's diary and the interpretation of its entries are crucial. Vasari's own sensory perception (e.g., the color variations in Pontormo's fresco) is repeatedly challenged or confirmed by other "perspectives" (Borghini, Michelangelo).
Binet interprets Pontormo's Mannerism as a form of protest: Pontormo himself, in his posthumously published letter, reveals his resignation and resentment towards the Duke and the changing times. He feels betrayed and disrespected. The painting of Mary's face on Venus is his "little revenge," an artistic provocation against the hypocrisy and double standards of the court and the Pope. His desire to destroy his frescoes in order to restore their "purity" before the world defaces them is the ultimate Mannerist gesture of despair and resistance. Michelangelo's murder of Pontormo is ultimately portrayed as an act of preserving this important Mannerist "perspective" and the work itself.
Binet's title Perspective(s) is thus a multifaceted play on words that not only alludes to the picturesque perspective and its mannerist distortion, but also to the numerous, overlapping and often contradictory viewpoints of the characters that drive the multifaceted story forward and reflect the complex relationships between art, power, religion and individual truth in 16th-century Florence.
Letter form and historical truth
The political situation in Europe is a powder keg, and Florence is at the center of conflicts between the Medici and their enemies, such as Caterina de' Medici and Piero Strozzi. These various actors have differing political perspectives on the future of Italy and their own power. Religious tensions, such as Pope Paul IV's campaign against nudity in art, the ideas of Savonarola, and the Church's reform efforts (Valdesianism), shape the actions and judgments of many characters and offer further moral and theological perspectives on the world. The social perspectives of the various strata of Florentine society, from the Duchess to artists to workers like Marco Moro, who champions the rights of the "popolo minuto" (the common people), are also explored.
Perspective(s) It is written in the form of an epistolary novel – more precisely: as an epistolary crime novel, i.e., a polar historique épistolaireThis form contributes decisively to the poetics of the text. By dissolving the unity of a single narrative voice into a multitude of subjective voices, which often contradict each other, a multi-layered tableau of different "perspectives" on one and the same event emerges: the death of the painter Jacopo da Pontormo.
The investigation into this crime, led by Vasari and assisted from afar by Michelangelo, requires the collection and evaluation of diverse witness statements and clues. Each suspect or participant offers their own perspective on the events and their motives, which shift or are revealed as the story unfolds. Vasari himself struggles to separate the facts from the rumors and personal opinions of those involved. Each letter is written by a different person (e.g., Maria de' Medici, Giorgio Vasari, Michelangelo, Agnolo Bronzino, Sister Caterina de Ricci, Benvenuto Cellini), expressing their individual viewpoints, emotions, knowledge, and prejudices. Like the investigator Vasari, the reader must piece together the "truth" from this fragmentary and often contradictory information. This makes reading an act of constructing one's own perspective.
The epistolary novel does not generate an omniscient truth, but rather compels readers to develop an interpretation from fragmentary information, stylistic peculiarities, omissions, and contradictions. This decentralization of the search for truth lies at the heart of the aesthetics of Perspective(s).
The choice of epistolary form is not merely an aesthetic choice, but contributes to the novel's epistemology. Each letter is a filter of reality, shaped by the language, interests, and psychological makeup of its author. Thus, we see the world through the eyes of Vasari, Michelangelo, Bronzino, Sister Caterina de' Ricci, and many others. Their perceptions contradict, complement, and dissolve one another. This polyphony generates a kind of cognitive mannerism: a multitude of voices, styles, and perspectives that preclude a linear narrative, instead creating a dazzling fresco of uncertainty.
Binet uses the tools of the historian—source criticism, documentation, archival findings—to create fiction. In the fictional "Préface," a French intellectual recounts how he discovers a collection of old letters at an antiques market in Arezzo, which later turns out to be the corpus of this novel. This construct ironically plays with the claim to authenticity of historical narrative and reveals it as a narrative technique.
The resulting story is reconstructed in two ways: firstly by the translator (i.e., Binet), and secondly by the readers themselves, who must extract a plausible interpretation from the conflicting voices.
Art, Power and Morality
Je n'apprendrai pas au divin Michel-Ange ce que c'est que de se dévouer corps et âme à son art. Cependant, je veux vous faire part d'un sentiment que vous avez oublié peut-être, car jamais, sans doute, depuis l'époque où vous étiez jeune apprenti chez Ghirlandaio, votre genie ne s'est mis au service de celui d'un other. Or, you don't have to cross the path to the fois d'exaltation et d'angoisse dans lequel me plonge le chantier de San Lorenzo. Lourde est la charge qui m'incombe de finir les fresques de Jacopo. Mais aussi, quelle joie cela me procure de marcher dans ses traces! Jour après jour, je me pénètre du spectacle de ces murs, son Déluge, son Christ, son Moïse, ses noyés, son bestiaire, je vis au milieu des lions, des girafes et des moutons, je tremble devant la colère de Dieu, je m'enivre avec Noé, je meurs avec les morts, je Ressuscite with les élus, je monte dans l'Arche puis je monte au Ciel with les âmes, et tandis que je m'épuise à chercher toujours le ton juste, mes mains saignent comme cells d'Adam et Ève courbés par le labeur… Suis-je au Ciel ou en Enfer ? Je ne saurais le dire. I'm from Eurydice who marches from the Orphée, I'm placed in the hands of Jacopo, I'm also from Ombre, and then I'm left with a thank you to the genius. When I come to the world, when I pose with my pinceau on the wall, I note that the presence of the gêneurs is still there, so I can work and mine. Je suis seul avec Jacopo. Je dois sentir comme lui, voir comme lui, pandre comme lui, penser comme lui. Je dois adopter son langage. Ma voix doit se confondre avec la sienne. Je dois me couler dans son âme. Bien sur, personne ne le connaissait mieux que moi, et je me souviens du temps où les gens confondaient nos œuvres, tant son enseignement m'avait forgé a style comparable au sien. Mais vous savez, divin Maître, que le style n'est rien sans l'esprit, ou plutôt que le style et l'esprit sont une seule et même chose. Plus you work on your oeuvre, plus you crois pénétrer son secret, mais même vous, Maître sans égal dont the genie est davantage de nature divine que terrestre, ne devez pas ignorer comme les voies de l'inspiration sont fragiles: à all instant, the charme peut se rompre. Immediately, the fan of Jacopo can be returned, the pointer says to me and the accusator and, without recourse to the parole, I congédier comme un importun. Je dois avancer, calme, résolu, dans la forest obscure de son âme, y reconnaître chaque arbre, chaque branche, chaque motte de terre, la texture de la mousse sur une racine, savoir quand y mettre an oiseau à chanter, un renard fraîchement sorti de son terrier, des champignons à cueillir, a layman allaitant ses petits, a coulée de sève le long d'un tronc. Je dois être dans son œuvre comme chez moi. Je dois habiter chez Jacopo. Et en même temps, je ne peux pas cesser d'être moi. Je suis comme un truchement qui traduirait les phrases d'un étranger: the retranscrit le plus fidèlement possible ce qu'il entend, tout en choisissant ses propres mots. Bref, je dois devenir Pontormo, tout en restant Bronzino. Je ne dois pas seulement l'imiter. Je dois devenir lui. Et cependant, je ne peux cesser d'être moi, mais il n'y a que moi qui dois le savoir, ou disons quelqu'un qui nous connaîtrait aussi bien, moi et mon art, que je connais Jacopo et le sien.
Laurent Binet, Perspective(s), Grasset, 2023.
I will not teach the divine Michelangelo what it means to dedicate oneself body and soul to one's art. However, I would like to convey a feeling that you may have forgotten, because since your time as a young apprentice at Ghirlandaio, you have probably never placed your genius at the service of another. You wouldn't believe the state of excitement and fear that the work in San Lorenzo puts me in. The burden of completing Jacopo's frescoes is heavy. But it also fills me with great joy to follow in his footsteps! Day after day I immerse myself in the spectacle of these walls, its flood, its Christ, its Moses, its drowned, its bestiary; I live amidst lions, giraffes, and sheep; I tremble before the wrath of God; I revel in Noah; I die with the dead; I rise with the chosen, ascend into the ark, and then with the souls into heaven; and while I exhaustedly strive to always find the right note, my hands bleed like those of Adam and Eve, bent by labor… Am I in heaven or in hell? I can't say. I am like Eurydice, who follows behind Orpheus; I place my steps in those of Jacopo, I follow him like his shadow, and yet I remain at the mercy of his genius. When I paint after him, when I put my brush to the wall, I hardly notice the troublemakers who come to look at his work and mine. I am alone with Jacopo. I must feel like him, see like him, paint like him, think like him. I have to adopt his language. My voice must merge with his. I need to put myself in his shoes. Of course, nobody knew him better than I did, and I remember the time when people confused our works, so much had his teaching influenced my style that it resembled his. But you know, divine master, that style without spirit is nothing, or rather, that style and spirit are one and the same. The more I work on his work, the more I believe I am penetrating his secret, but even you, master without equal, whose genius is more divine than earthly in nature, must not forget how fragile the paths of inspiration are: the magic can break at any moment. At any moment, Jacopo's spirit could turn around, point an accusing finger at me, and send me away like a troublemaker without a word. I must calmly and resolutely penetrate the dark forest of his soul, recognize every tree, every branch, every clod of earth, the texture of the moss on a root, know where to place a singing bird, a fox just emerging from its den, mushrooms to pick, a wild boar mother nursing her young, or a stream of sap on a tree trunk. I need to feel at home in his work. I have to live with Jacopo. And at the same time, I mustn't stop being myself. I am like an interpreter who translates the sentences of a stranger: He reproduces what he has heard as faithfully as possible, but chooses his own words. In short, I have to become Pontormo and remain Bronzino at the same time. I must not merely imitate him. I must become him. And yet I cannot stop being myself, but only I may know that, or rather, someone who knows me and my art as well as I know Jacopo and his art.
This excerpt is a high point of autopoietic reflection in the novel. Bronzino, as Pontormo's pupil and successor, grapples with the immense task of completing his master's unfinished work. His description of this process transcends mere technical execution, becoming a profound metaphor for artistic imitation and the relationship between original and copy, master and pupil. Bronzino describes how he must enter Pontormo's "soul," adopt his "language," and penetrate his "spirit" in order to continue the work authentically. This is a direct parallel to the author's (Laurent Binet's) work, which requires him to empathize with historical figures and render their voices through their letters. The passage "I must become Pontormo while remaining Bronzino" encapsulates the dialectic of appropriation and self-identity that applies to both Bronzino's artistic work and Binet's literary creation. The novel itself is a kind of "completion" or "translation" of a past reality into a narrative form that is both historically grounded and claims its own fictional truth. The sensitivity and effort that Bronzino describes, the "fragility of inspiration," and the necessity of progressing "in the dark forest of his soul" demonstrate a serious engagement with the artistic process and a sense of responsibility toward the legacy of a genius. It is a tribute to art and the complexity of creative work that transcends the mere reproduction of facts and delves into the psychological and philosophical dimensions of art.
The novel reveals how art in late Renaissance Florence was a battleground of political and religious interests. Pontormo's frescoes become both an object of censorship and a source of intrigue. Pope Paul IV, Duchess Eleanor, and the nuns around Sister Caterina de' Ricci consider them blasphemous; Bronzino and Michelangelo, on the other hand, defend them as an expression of artistic freedom. In this way, art becomes not only a mirror but also a catalyst: the manipulated painting (Mary as Venus) triggers a chain reaction of political and personal dramas. The novel thus develops a theory of art as a force shaping reality—it is not a reflection but a creator of reality itself.
Laurent Binets Perspective(s) is a monumental novel about art and power, truth and construction, seeing and knowing. Its form—the epistolary novel—is both an aesthetic device and an epistemological model. Its content—especially the discussion of perspective and mannerism—is not only art-historical reflection but also metaphors for the polyphonic, chaotic, yet also epistemologically open present. Like Pontormo's frescoes, the novel remains fragmentary, contradictory, overloaded—but at the same time intense and vibrant. Perspective, this novel teaches us, is never objective—but it is the only thing we have.
In the end, many characters remain trapped in their respective "perspectives." Bronzino, who completed Pontormo's work, laments the Medici's ingratitude and the public's ignorance. Cellini, meanwhile, has a new A copy of the "Venus" painting was made – by Bronzino himself – depicting Maria's pregnancy, in order to further humiliate the Medici.
This article is written in German and can be found at https://rentree.de. Automatic translations into English and French are available. English, French.
