Venice’s church of the frari, or “brothers” of the Franciscan order, is filled with art that captures the Franciscan love of Man and Nature.
It’s off the beaten path… which makes finding the place one of the challenges. It’s on the west side of the Grand Canal.
It may not look very impressive, but it is the only Gothic church you’ll see in Venice. Since Venice’s spongy ground could never support a real stone Gothic church (like France, etc.), the Frari is made of light and flexible brick. The white limestone foundation you can see insulates the building from the wet soil.
The spacious, well-lit church is truly a remarkable sight in a city otherwise crammed with exotic froufrou. It’s 100 yards long, built with rough wood crossbeams and decorated with a plain red-and-white color scheme. The pointed arches mark it as one of Venice’s rare gothic churches.
The church was built over two centuries, roughly from 1250 to 1443, and was dedicated in 1492. Traditionally, churches in Venice were cross-shaped. But since the Franciscans were an international order, they weren’t limited to Venetian tastes. This new T-shaped footprint featured a long-lofty nave – flooded with light and suited to large gatherings – where common people heard sermons.
The church was built by the Franciscan order, which arrived in Venice shortly after the death of the order’s founder, St. Francis of Assisi in 1226 (we’ll catch up with St. Francis in a few stops. 🙂 ) Francis had dedicated himself to a non-materialist lifestyle – part of a reform movement that spread across Europe in the early 1200s. The Roman Church felt distant and corrupt, and there was a hunger for religious teaching that connected with everyday people. While some of these movements were dubbed heretical, the Franciscans eventually earned the Church’s blessing.
Structures like this choir area allowed the Friars to hold smaller, more intimate services. The organs are on either side – and the fine carved wooden inlays above the choir chairs show the Renaissance enthusiasm for Florentine-style 3-D. Surviving choirs such as this are rare – counter-reformation churches got rid of the idea of the choirs and altar screens in order to get priests closer to their flocks.
Glowing red and gold like a stained-glass window, this altarpiece sets the tone of exuberant beauty found in the church. It shows Mary at the end of her life – though she looks like she’s only 17 – when she was miraculously “assumed” to heaven. As cherubs lift her up to meet a Jupiter-like God, the stunned apostles on earth reach up to touch the floating bubble of light.
Unveiled in 1518, the work scandalized a Venice accustomed to simpler, more subdued church art. The rich colors, twisting poses, and mix of saccharine angles with blue-collar apostles were unheard of. Most striking, this Virgin is fully human, not a stiff icon on a throne. In a burst of youthful innovation, Titian (1488-1576) had rewritten the formula for church art, hinting at changes to come with the Mannerist and Baroque styles. He energized the scene with a complex composition. He starts with a circle (Mary’s bubble), then overlaps that with a triangle – draw a line from the apostle reach up to Mary’s face and down the other side. All this is arranged on three horizontal levels – God in heaven, Man on earth, Mary in between. Together, these elements draw our eyes from the swirl of arms and legs to the painting’s focus – the radiant face of a triumphant Mary, “assumed body and soul into heaven.”
At first, the Franciscans were unsure about Titian’s creation. They thought this teenage Mary aroused.. well, excitement rather than spirituality. Only after the Holy Roman Emperor offered to buy the altar if they refused did they agree to pay Titian.
The official name of the Frari church is Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari – dedicated to Glorious Saint Mary. Titian’s altarpiece captures the Madonna in all her youthful glory.
The church is littered with chapels and tombs “made possible by the generous financial support” of rich people who donated to the Franciscans for the good of their souls. As a perk, they would often get a tomb-topping statue of themselves. :-)To the right of altar, we find a life-sized wooden statue of John the Baptist.
Emaciated from his breakfast of bugs ‘n’ honey and dressed in animal skins, the cockeyed prophet of the desert freezes in the middle of a rant as he spies something in the distance. His jaw goes slack, he twists his face and raises his hand to announce the coming of… well, it’s either of Christ or of the Renaissance.
This is a work by the pioneering Renaissance sculptor Donatello. Florentine expatriates living in Venice commissioned their fellow Florentine to make this statue for their local chapel, and it reflects Florentine tastes. The Renaissance began in Florence in the 1400’s, where Donatello (1386 – 1466) created realistic statues with a full range of human emotions. Contrast this warts-and-all John the Baptist with, say, Titian’s sweet Mary, and you’ll see the difference between Venetian and Florentine art. Florentine art was always more sculptural, even in paintings, with strong outlines, muted colors, and harsh realism. Venetian art was painterly, soft-focus, and beautiful, with bright colors.
Next up, we find a golf-framed altarpiece by Bellini. The Pesaro family, who funded much of the Frari’s construction and decoration, built this delightful chapel dominated by Bellini’s masterpiece.
Mary sits on a throne under a half dome, propping up baby Jesus, who’s just learning to stand. They’re flanked by saints and serenaded by musician angels. Giovanni Bellini (c. 1430 – 1516), the father of the Venetian Renaissance, painted fake columns and a dome to match the real ones in the gold frame, making the painting seem to be an extension of the room. He completes the illusion with glimpses of open sky in the background. Next, he fills the artificial niches with symmetrically posed, thoughtful saints -left to right, find Saints Nicholas, Peter, Mark, and Sean Connery. (OK… Benedict).
Renaissance humanism demanded Madonnas and saints that were accessible and human. Bellini delivers, but places them in a physical setting so beautiful that it creates its own mood of serene holiness. The scene is lit from the left, but no one casts a harsh shadow – Mary and the babe are wrapped in a glowing aura of reflected light from the golden dome. The beauty is in the details, from the writing in the dome… to the red brocade backdrop… to the swirls in the marble steps… to the angels’ dimpled legs.
Bellini combined the meditative poses of the Venetian Byzantine tradition with Renaissance innovations. He pioneered paintings in oil – using pigments dissolved in vegetable oil – rather than medieval tempera, or egg-yolk-based paint. It let him paint subtler shades of colors, made with successive layers of paint. And because darker colors aren’t so muddy when painted in oil, they “pop,”, effectively giving the artist a broader palette.
Bellini virtually invented the formula for Venetian Renaissance altarpieces. This type is called a “holy conversation” (or sacra conversazione), where Mary is placed together with saints from different historical era in a mythical dialog. Bellini’s iconic formula would later be broken by his brash and precocious pupil, Titian.
If Titian broke Bellini’s mold, Bellini broke the mold of altarpieces he’d inherited from earlier Venetians.
Bellini’s Byzantine roots can be traced to the first real “name” artist in Venice, the man who helped shape the distinct Venetian style, Paolo Veneziano – literally, “Paolo the Venetian.” In this altarpiece, Veneziano paints simplified Byzantine-style icons, then sets them in motion. Baby Jesus turns to greet a kneeling Doge Dandolo, while Mary turns to acknowledge the doge’s wife. None other than St. Francis introduces the Doge to the Madonna. Both St. Francis and St. Elizabeth (on the right) bend at the waist and gesture as naturally as 14th-century icons can. With these simple movements, Veneziano gets these uptight icons to lighten up, hinting at the naturalism of the Renaissance.
Veneziano was inspired by Byzantine artists who came to Venice to search of more freedom of expression. They had chafed under strict societies (both Byzantine and – in some locals – Islamic) that frowned on painting figurative images. In Venice, these expats found an eager community of rich patrons who indulged their love of deeper color, movement, luxury, and emotion.
As we look down the nave, we see that – like in so many European churches – it’s lined with tombs and small altars. Wealthy parishioners wanted a burial spot for their families and a small altar for their descendants to say prayers. They hired famous artists to decorate the chapels and tombs with statues and altarpieces. By donating money to the Franciscans, they were investing in salvation insurance – paying monks to say prayers for their mortal souls.
One of the Frari’s church most distinguished parishioners was the painter Titian. A winged lion stands on top, and, on the base, two angels hold a wreath with Titian’s name spelled out in Latin – Titiano Ferdinandus.
In the center sits a statue of Titian wearing a beard and the crown of laurels given to great artists. The tomb celebrates both the man and some of his famous paintings which are carved in relief.
Titian – who lived from roughly 1488 to 1576 – was the greatest painter of his day – perhaps even more famous that Michelangelo. He moved to Venice as a child, studied first as a mosaic-maker and then under Giovanni Bellini. He mad a name for himself with a bold new style starring youthful Madonnas. Titian became wealthy and famous, traveling Europe and hobnobbing with the aristocracy. He excelled in every subject; portraits of dukes, kings, and popes; racy nudes for their bedrooms; solemn altarpieces for churches; and pagan scenes from Greek mythology. He was cultured and witty, a fine musician and a shrewd businessman – an all-around Renaissance kind of guy. Titian resisted the temptation of big money that drew so many of his contemporary Venetian artists to Rome. Instead he always returned to his beloved Venice and favorite place of worship – the Frari Church.
In his old age, Titian made arrangements to be buried in the Frari. To decorate his tomb, he began painting a dark, tragic masterpiece called the Pieta’ – see a relief of it in the upper left. Nearing 90, Titian labored to finish his Pieta’ as the 1576 plague enveloped Venice. One in four people died, including Titian’s son. Heartbroken, Titian died soon afterward of natural causes. He was buried here at his request in a humble spot, but the unfinished Pieta’ ended up in the Accademia Museum. Three centuries later, in MDCCCLII (1852) – this big monument was erected to remember and honor Venice’s greatest painter.
Directly across – Venice’s greatest sculptor is honored in a pyramid-shaped monument.
Two centuries after Titian, Antonio Canova created gleaming, white, highly polished statues of beautiful Greek gods and goddesses in the Neoclassical style. We saw some earlier in Lake Como. Canova himself designed this monument and its statues. The pyramid shape is timeless, sugesting pharaoh’s tombs or the symbolism of the Christian Trinity. The statues represent mourners, bent over with grief, who shuffle up to pay homage to the master artist. Even the winged lion is choked up. A portrait of Canova is carved above the door.
Canova designed this pyramid-shaped tomb, not for his own use, but as the tomb of an artist he greatly admired: Titian. But the Frari Church used another design for Titian’s tomb, so Canova used the Pyramid for an Austrian princess… in Vienna. After his death, Canova’s pupils reused the design here to honor their master. In fact, Canova isn’t buried here – instead, he lies in southern Italy. But inside the tomb’s open door, you can barely make out an urn, which contains his heart.
One last masterpiece to view…
Titian’s second altarpiece for the Frari Church displays all of his many skills. Following his teacher, Bellini, he puts Mary (seated) and baby Jesus (standing), in the midst of saints having a holy conversation. And , like Bellini, he paints fake columns that echo the church’s real ones.
But wait. Mary is off-center, and the traditional Renaissance symmetry is off-kilter. Titian’s idealized saints mingle with Venetians sporting five o’clock shadows, and the stairs run diagonally away from us. Mary sits not on a throne, but on a pedestal. Baby Jesus is restless. The precious keys of St. Peter seem to dangle unnoticed. These things upset traditional Renaissance notions, but they turn a group of figures into a true scene.
St. Peter sits in the center, in blue and gold, with a book. He looks down at Jacopo Pesaro, a Venetian noble, who kneels to thank the Virgin for his recent naval victory over the turks (in 1502). A flag-carrying lieutenant drags in a turbaned captive. Meanwhile, St. Francis talks to baby Jesus while gesturing down to more members of the Pesaro family. At the lower right, the little guy looking out at us is the Pesaro descendant who administered the trust fund to keep prayers coming for his dead uncle. Titian combines opposites: a soft-focus Madonna with photo-realist portraits: chubby winged angels with a Muslim prisoner; and a Christian cross with a battle flag. In keeping with the spirit of St. Francis’ humanism, Titian lets mere mortals mingle with saints. And we’re right there with ’em.
We were very moved by this beautiful place. As is our custom, we light candles to remember those from each side of our families that went before us. Here is Jackie lighting her candle, with special remembrance of her father Dave.
and me for my side.
Special thanks and an inspirational hat tip to Rick Steves for his books and tours. If you have not downloaded his Audio Europe app while visiting the major cities of Europe, you are making a significant mistake.