Exhibition "Vasari and Rome" - In-depth Podcast

Museo: Mostra "Vasari e Roma" - Musei Capitolini

Introductory Audio

Welcome, gentle listeners! It is my greatest pleasure to welcome you to the halls of the Capitoline Museums. I can almost picture you, as you cast a curious eye over my paintings, the letters of my archive, and my beloved drawings. It is in those precious sheets that the secret of my craft resides, for drawing is to me the father of our three arts: proceeding from the intellect, it draws from many things a universal judgement akin to a form, or rather an idea of all things in nature. It is my first creative act: the moment in which the idea, still abstract, takes shape on paper before becoming an eternal work. It is I who speak to you: Giorgio Vasari, born in Arezzo in 1511. I studied the principles of art in Florence, first with a French painter, then in the workshop of Andrea del Sarto, and later in that of Michelangelo Buonarroti. I became a versatile artist — I was not only a painter but also an architect — and I was chosen by Popes, Cardinals, Princes, and Grand Dukes to create great works. I am also renowned for having written the Lives of the greatest painters, sculptors, and architects, from Cimabue to the divine Michelangelo, so that time would not erase their memory and their works might serve as a model for the artists of the future. I am here to guide you through the secrets of my ingenuity. "Let the visions you have just admired accompany your mind beyond these walls, to where the idea becomes stone and space becomes reality. I shall guide you with my voice to some of the most important places for me in Rome — not always open to visitors — where my intellect and my hand have left a mark that time cannot efface." I shall speak to you of the so-called Hall of the Hundred Days in the Palazzo della Cancelleria, and of how ingenuity can move swiftly: I frescoed that great hall in just over three months, celebrating the glory of Pope Paul III amid painted architectures that deceive the eye and elevate the spirit. I shall take you among the remains of the now-demolished Palazzo Altoviti: where I frescoed the rooms with the triumph of virtues and ancient wisdom, paying homage to the nobility of my dear friend Bindo Altoviti. Finally, we shall enter virtually into the Sala Regia in the Vatican, where I celebrated power and faith, staging "The Battle of Lepanto" as an immense architecture of bodies and ships.

Podcast no.1: The Hall of the Hundred Days

Let us begin with the first prestigious commission I obtained in Rome. Not far from Campo dei Fiori there is a place where, as I was saying, my ingenuity had to race faster than time itself. Today it is known as "The Hall of the Hundred Days" and it is located in the Palazzo della Cancelleria (an engraving of which is featured in the exhibition), a building that remains to this day the property of the Holy See. Allow me now to tell you a story: I had just finished painting a large panel depicting an allegory of Justice, commissioned by the powerful Cardinal Alessandro Farnese — whom you see portrayed here — who was none other than the favourite nephew of Pope Paul III, whose likeness is on display in the exhibition. The Cardinal was so pleased with my work and with what he described as my ability to move beyond "ordinary inventions," as he wrote in the letter displayed here, that he asked me to design the decoration for the great hall of his sumptuous residence, which you can still admire today as you stroll along Corso Vittorio Emanuele. Flattered by that request, I prepared many drawings on the advice of my friend Paolo Giovio, a renowned historian and collector of my time. Then, on the 29th of March 1546, the Cardinal issued me a challenge that would have made anyone's brush tremble: "Messer Giorgio, you have one hundred days to fresco the great hall of my house. Not one day more." One hundred days for such an undertaking! It would have required at least twice as many! Imagine standing before an abyss of bare walls: twenty-four metres in length, twelve in width, and as many in height. A vast void that I had to fill with stories, figures, coats of arms, and allegories celebrating the pontiff. Just over one hundred days to transform that silence into a theatre of wonders. It seemed impossible, yet I knew that "fresco painting is the most daring of all": it permits no errors, demands a resolute hand and a speed of execution that has no equal. And so I organised myself with assistants and apprentices, and we painted without pause, day and night, for nearly one hundred days. Yet haste has its price. I still remember when I showed the finished hall to my divine master Michelangelo. I said to him with pride: "Master, look what I have done in just one hundred days!" And he, with his sharp wit, replied: "It shows!" He was right — speed often steals perfection — but I sought that "grace and a certain ease, so that things do not appear laboured." You should know, however, that this story is a legend recounted by historians of the 19th century… What I created was a groundbreaking work without precedent: a true anticipation of what you today call augmented reality! I created the illusion that the walls opened onto perspectival vistas through which figures and allegorical characters move. But let us not dwell only on the figures — consider also the architectural framework I constructed through painting. You will notice a tall base running all around the hall: it serves to elevate you, to draw you into the story of Pope Paul III Farnese. Pause for a moment before those painted steps — the true secret lies in the staircases. I painted them concave and convex so that they would invite you to "ascend" ideally into the narrative of the life of Pope Paul III, to whom the hall is dedicated. It is a Mannerist perspectival trick that requires great precision in draughtsmanship, so that the eye does not detect the deception but is instead captivated by it. "Do not believe, however, that a work of such scope springs from the painter's inspiration alone. If my hand traced the marks, it was the minds of great men of letters who frequented the court of Alessandro Farnese that nourished my thinking. Some of them I portrayed in the scene depicting Paul III distributing rewards to virtuous men. Among the columns I portrayed, among others, Michelangelo and Monsignor Paolo Giovio dressed in white. Do you recall the medal bearing his portrait displayed here in the exhibition? He was the man who first ignited in me the spark for the Lives. It was he who suggested that I publish the memoirs of the artists, which I was already writing, and so I did in 1550, when I brought out the first edition, known as the "Torrentiniana," to distinguish it from the second, more extensive edition, which I published in 1568 with the publisher Giunti. But to Giovio I also owe the suggestions regarding the narratives, the choice of allegories and inscriptions that speak to the learned and enchant the uninitiated. On the wall depicting "The Peace of Nice" — that is, the peace between Emperor Charles V and King Francis I of France — the allegory of Hilarity is portrayed: the original drawing of which you can see here in the exhibition, discovered by the very curator of this exhibition in Arezzo. I now invite you to seek out a surprising detail in the fresco depicting "The Homage of the Nations to Paul III": the giraffe. Yes, indeed. Amidst elephants, camels, monkeys, and parrots, this exotic animal is not there by chance. I painted it with the celebrated giraffe in mind — the one the Sultan of Egypt gave to Lorenzo the Magnificent as a token of recognition of his international prestige. This is why the giraffe evokes a distant land, and here it alludes to the expansion of the Christian faith and the authority of the Church of Rome to the very limits of the then-known world. If you now lower your gaze to the steps, you will notice an elderly man reclining on the stairs, crowned with laurel, with a cornucopia beside him and, at his feet, a she-wolf. That figure is there to evoke the myth of the founding of Rome together with the She-Wolf who suckled Romulus and Remus, and thus to symbolise the River Tiber. In this way, the figure becomes a visual bridge between the ancient greatness of the Eternal City and the power of the papacy, which presents itself as the rightful heir to that glorious history. If instead we raise our eyes, we recognise the face of Julius Caesar. For his portrait, my friend Paolo Giovio chose this Latin inscription: "Expedito vigore animi cuncta pervicit," which translates as: with the ready vigour of his spirit, he conquered all things. It is not merely a celebration of the great Roman general, but a model of political virtue, energy, and universal dominion. Foto n.1: Giovanni Stradano (attrib.), Ritratto di Giorgio Vasari, ca. 1568-72, © Gabinetto Fotografico delle Gallerie degli Uffizi; Foto n.2: Artista Aretino (secolo XVIII-XIX), Busto di Giorgio Vasari, © Arezzo, Fraternita dei Laici. Foto: Alessandro Schinco; Foto n.3: Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori, Firenze, Giunti, 1568, Wikimedia Commons; Foto n.4: Giorgio Vasari, Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettii, 1568 v. 1, ritratto p (16) Wikimedia Commons; Foto n.5: Giorgio Vasari Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori, (Edizione Torrentiniana).1550, © Fondazione Casa Buonarroti, Firenze. Foto n.6 Ritratto di Paolo III Farnese, ca. 1543, © Collezioni d’Arte Fondazione Cariparma; Foto n.7: Sala dei cento giorni, Palazzo della Cancelleria (C) Amministrazione del Patrimonio della Sede Apostolica Tutti i diritti riservati; Foto n.8: La sala dei 100 Giorni, Creative Commons CC BY-SA 3.0, Wikimedia Commons; Foto n.9: Palazzo della Cancelleria, (esterno); Foto: DiscoverPlaces.travel; Foto n.10: Cortile Palazzo della cancelleria CC BY-SA 3.0 , Wikimedia Commons; Foto n.11: Pietro Ferrerio Il Palazzo della Cancelleria 1542-1546; Roma, Museo di Roma, Archivio Iconografico”, © Roma, Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali”. Foto n.12: Giorgio Vasari, Studio della testa di Hilaritas 1546 circa; (per la Sala dei Cento Giorni Cancelleria); Fraternita dei Laici, Collezione Bartolini, © Arezzo, Fraternita dei Laici; Foto n.13: Francesco da San Gallo, Medaglia con ritratto di Paolo Giovio 1522; CC BY-SA 3.0 Wikimedia Commons; Foto n.14: Giorgio Vasari Le vite de’ più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori, (Edizione Torrentiniana).1550, © Fondazione Casa Buonarroti, Firenze.

Podcast No. 2: Remains of the Frescoes of Palazzo Altoviti

Now I wish to tell you about a friendship, and about how my "ingenuity" sought to immortalise the dream of an extraordinary man. One of the encounters that changed my life was that with Bindo Altoviti. I met him for the first time at Camaldoli in the summer of 1540; on that very occasion, captivated by my work, he commissioned from me the altarpiece for his chapel in the church of the Santi Apostoli, in which I depicted the Immaculate Conception. Bindo Altoviti was no ordinary man. He was the banker of Pope Paul III Farnese. He was a Florentine of ancient lineage who had made Rome the theatre of his glories, yet never forgot the sweet call of the Arno — an opponent of the Medici and a great collector. When he received me, some years later, in his palace in Rome, I immediately felt the weight of his authority: a man austere in bearing, yet with a gaze that could read the value of a drawing "before colour had even touched the plaster." Bindo was seeking someone who could unite Florentine grace with Roman grandeur — the kind I had absorbed during my stays in Rome, studying the antique, the works of Raphael, and those of Michelangelo. In 1553, he asked me to fresco a loggia of his Roman palace — a loggia that looked out over the Tiber. The work immediately became an ambitious project. The position of the palace was extraordinary: it stood directly opposite Castel Sant'Angelo, in the Rione Ponte. Bindo wanted his loggia to be the gathering place of Roman cultural life. He asked me to celebrate not only his family, but also to depict the harmonious relationship between man and nature. To this end, together with my friend Annibal Caro — the celebrated poet and playwright from the Marche — we planned to fresco the central loggia of the palace with the myth of Ceres, the Roman goddess who nourishes all things and who teaches agriculture to the young Triptolemus, flanked by the allegorical figures of the Seasons. During the work, Bindo would often climb the scaffolding — not to oversee accounts and expenses, but to discuss my "manner," the contrapposto of the figures, the light that the river cast upon the vaulted ceilings. "Working for him was a relief after the labours of the papal court." Bindo appreciated that I painted with speed, yet he also demanded that every smallest detail have its reason for being. It was in that palace that I truly came to understand what it meant to decorate for the nobility of the soul. There I was not merely a painter in service; I was the house artist of one of the most cultured and wealthy men in Italy. With my young collaborators, I therefore took up the brushes to decorate those rooms overlooking the Tiber. We painted stories, allegories, and grotesques — those light and fanciful paintings typical of Renaissance aristocratic residences, inspired by the decorations discovered in the Domus Aurea of Rome. But fate is often cruel. That untamed Tiber, whose reflections kissed my frescoes, continued to lash the city with its floods. In 1888, to protect Rome, the new rulers decided to raise the great embankment walls. And despite the outcries of protest from the citizens, the demolition of my friend Bindo's home was decreed. Fortunately, however, one year before the demolition of the palace, a decision was made to save the frescoes, which were "detached" — that is, removed from the ceiling — by a renowned restorer of the time, Pietro Cecconi Principi. The paintings were then mounted on canvas and subsequently reinstalled in a room of the Museo di Palazzo Venezia, where today one can observe the reconstruction of the loggia. But not all the frescoes were transferred to Palazzo Venezia: the Municipality chose to distinguish between: The works of my brush — that is, the parts judged to be certainly by my hand — which found a home between 1919 and 1929 in the rooms of Palazzo Venezia; and the grotesques of the workshop circle: those decorations that adorned the lunettes and vaulted ceilings of the palace's studiolo, executed by my skilled assistants, which were at the time deemed of "lesser artistic value," but which today you may admire at the Scuola Arti e Mestieri in Rome. At Palazzo Venezia, in addition to the myth of Ceres, one can also see the reconstruction of the Signs of the Zodiac and the personifications of the Months and the Seasons. When I created them, I wanted Bindo, dining with his guests, to feel the rhythm of time flowing amid deep blues and luminous yellows. The decorations also include the allegories of Florence and Rome, underscoring the bond between the two cities. The work reflects what historians call my "mature manner," with elegant figures, complex compositions, and a refined use of perspective, characteristic of those years. And now, a small secret: in the central panel, in that priest wearing a saffron-yellow mantle who offers an amphora to the Goddess, critics would come to recognise none other than my lord Bindo Altoviti. And if you then look at the man beside him — that face carved by marble and by genius — yes, it is indeed my master, the divine Michelangelo. I wished that the two greatest souls I had known in Rome should be immortalised together in this temple of art. The grotesques too were detached and remounted on new supports, then handed over to the Municipality of Rome, to be brought to the Scuola delle Arti Ornamentali in Via di San Giacomo. After all, if they could no longer adorn the dwelling of a prince, let them at least serve as models for students. May the young learn upon those plasters the art of interweaving monsters, leaves, and figures, capable of enriching architecture — just as I myself did when studying the Domus Aurea of Nero, where such fantasies had their origin. If even a single young artist, pausing before these plasters, should learn the art and grace preserved within them, then my spirit and that of my lord Bindo Altoviti will continue to live on within the walls of Rome… Foto n.1. Ettore Roesler Franz, Il palazzo di Bindo Altoviti presso il Ponte Sant’Angelo, 1882, , Archivio iconografico Museo di Roma; “© Roma, Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali”. Foto n.2. Robert MacPherson, Palazzo Altoviti sul Tevere, 1851. Fonte: Wikimedia Commons, pubblico dominio; Foto n.3. Raffaello Sanzio, Ritratto di Bindo Altoviti, ca. 1515. Fonte: Wikimedia Commons, pubblico dominio; Foto n.4. Affreschi Palazzo Altoviti, © 2026 Associazione Metamorfosi. Foto: Antonio Idini; Su concessione del Comune di Roma Capitale / Scuola Arti Ornamentali; Foto n.5. Affreschi Altoviti, (Ricostruzione) presso Palazzo Venezia, (C) VIVE - Vittoriano e Palazzo Venezia; Foto n.6. Benvenuto Cellini, Medaglia con il ritratto di Bindo Altoviti 1540 circa, archivio Museo nazionale del Bargello; © Gabinetto Fotografico delle Gallerie degli Uffizi; Foto n.7. Jacopino del Conte (attr), Ritratto di Michelangelo Buonarroti, sec. XVI; Roma, Musei Capitolini - Archivio Fotografico dei Musei Capitolini”. © Roma, Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali" Foto n.8. Jacopo Zucchi (attrib) Ritratto di Annibale Caro 1566, Wikimedia Commons,pubblico dominio.

Podcast No. 3: The Battle of Lepanto (Sala Regia, Vatican)

Welcome to the heart of the Apostolic Palace of the Vatican, a place of absolute majesty. I can only imagine your astonishment as you cross, even if only in spirit, this threshold. We are in the Sala Regia, the hall reserved for public ceremonies in which the Popes receive kings and ambassadors from every corner of the earth. From here, one can access both the Pauline Chapel and the Sistine Chapel, where the great Michelangelo painted, not far from the Raphael Rooms, including the Room of the Segnatura, which may be called 'the most honoured room of painting in all of Rome.' Following the pontifical victory at Lepanto, which took place on 7 October 1571, I had been summoned to Rome by Pope Pius V to create the frescoes for this hall, which were to celebrate that miraculous event, as you can see in the engravings displayed in the exhibition. I arrived in the city in February 1572, and before the Pope died on 1 May 1572, I managed to complete only the one depicting the Battle, the drawing of which you can see in the exhibition. I myself wrote in my Lives that art must be an imitation of nature, but also an ornament and a glory of great things! And what could be greater than a victory that seemed a gift of Providence? I found myself faced with the task of recounting the battle, not merely as a historical event, but as a celebration of the faith that moves all things. Every element of the fresco had to serve a precise purpose, every movement had to tell a story: I understood then that the narrative could unfold across different visual planes, like overlapping layers of action, depth, and meaning. If you enlarge the work on your device, you will notice the foreground, where the sea seems almost within reach. The galleys of the Holy League are pressed close together, a tangle of prows and sterns, tension and rhythm. The chained oarsmen strain their arms, their faces contorted with effort. Some fall into the water, others brandish weapons that reflect the sunlight. The young commander Don John of Austria emerges through smoke and banners, leading, at just 24 years of age, the Christian coalition in the Gulf of Patras, halting the Turkish expansion in the Mediterranean. Every sail, every oar, every glint of metal is deliberate: nothing is left to chance. Flames lick the ships, the waters ripple, reflecting reds and greens, as if animated by a divine spirit. The middle plane reveals the vastness of the conflict: the more distant galleys multiply, the sailors become flecks of light among the sails, and the confusion acquires rhythm and harmony. The diagonals of the ships guide the eye, the sea opens up spaces and depths, and the viewer perceives at once the immensity of the battle and the precision of the strategy. Here the tumult finds order, transforming itself into visual narrative: every wave, every movement, every detail has its own logic. Above the smoke and the churning waters, the scene opens upward into light. The clouds receive celestial figures: Christ hurls lightning bolts, Peter and Paul look on, the patron saints of the allied nations accompany the victory. They are not passive symbols: they take part in the story, they transcend it. In the lower left, Faith, represented by a female allegorical figure, dominates the scene, treading with her right foot upon the enemy's turban, reminding us that without divine guidance even human strength would be in vain. Light filters through the clouds and illuminates the sea, the oarsmen, the sails. Sky and sea are in dialogue, and one perceives the tension between earth and the divine, between human toil and Providence. Each level embodies a moral and virtuous meaning: the foreground speaks of courage, pain, and toil; the middle plane of the strategy of battle; the upper plane of Providence and transcendence. And yet, all is united: the movement of the galleys, the trembling of the waters, the light on the armour, the clouds parting toward celestial glory. Through this fresco, I wished to draw the viewer into the heart of the battle, to make them feel the roar of the cannons, the crackling of the flames, the struggle of the oarsmen, and the courage shown by Don John of Austria. This was my challenge: to transform a historical event into a living experience, where the chronicle rises to become an eternal symbol and art becomes the very breath of history itself. Allow me, finally, to confess my greatest pride: "prestezza" — swiftness of execution. Many painters lose themselves in minute detail and labour for years; I did not. 'I command the drawing with such sureness that my hand runs as fast as thought itself.' This vast expanse of frescoes, this tangle of armour and waves, was accomplished in a time that made people cry out in wonder at the miracle! And now tell me: Does it seem to you that these figures breathe? Does it seem to you that you are among those galleys? Foto n.1. Giorgio Vasari, (Disegno) La Battaglia di Lepanto 1572 ca., © Gabinetto Fotografico delle Gallerie degli Uffizi; Foto n.2. Giorgio Vasari, La battaglia di Lepanto, Wikimedia Commons; Foto n.3. Sailko, La Battaglia di Lepanto, CCBY 3.0, Wikimedia Commons; Foto n.4. Sailko, La battaglia di Lepanto CC BY 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons; Foto n.5. Franceco Panini, La Sala Regia in Vaticano, Roma, Museo di Roma, Archivio Iconografico”, © Roma, Sovrintendenza Capitolina ai Beni Culturali”; Foto n.6. Giorgio Vasari, La battaglia di Lepanto per la sala regia in Vaticano, © Governatorato SCV – Direzione dei Musei Tutti i diritti riservati. If your heart beats faster, then I have not laboured in vain!