It was in Milan that Leonardo decided—as Ezio had somewhat predicted—to sculpt the horse without his rider. Il Moro hadn’t been too keen on it originally, as it wouldn’t be much of a monument to Francesco Sforza without a Francesco Sforza riding the horse. However, the Duke changed his mind when he saw the sketches of horses the artist had produced at Monteriggioni, looking on in breathless awe as Leonardo showed pages of horses in movement or at rest, with and without riders, each as detailed and expressive as any of his paintings.
“The horse will be a metaphor,” the Duke decided, folding his arms proudly. “A symbol of my father’s pride and success as a military and political leader. And if anyone argues with that, possono farmi una pippa.”
In those moments, Leonardo was reminded of the fact that Ludovico “Il Moro” Sforza, despite being much more coarse and brutish than he was used to seeing in major political figures, was not without some gentility.
The horse he sculpted was the one he had described to Ezio: a horse trotting as if he led the triumph, head held high, muscles shifting under the skin. A thick mane swept over his right side and uniformly curled at the edges, save for the stray curls closest to his face and the ones that tumbled between his ears and above his left brow. His tail was perhaps even more magnificent, held upright until it gracefully swooped down, the hairs waving with deliberate wildness. His back right and front left hooves were raised in movement, with the front one so lifelike that it seemed that, at any instant, it would come slamming down to the floor to crush whatever was in his path. His mouth was open, mid-whinny, which seemed to echo soundlessly around the statue as if to say: "I am here; I am alive."
The sculpture took some time to complete, even with the help of both his apprentice Salaì and some men he had hired for this occasion. Though Leonardo was prone to procrastination and putting off his work as he grew distracted by this or that idea, he actually dedicated much of his time to its completion. It was simply that this ambitious clay model—which he decided to make much larger than a real horse, though he knew that this would make it more difficult to cast later—needed to be perfect, lifelike, an absolute masterpiece. He would accept no less to honor the majesty of the horse.
...to honor Francesco Sforza. Right, of course. This was a monument to Sforza, not to the horses he had spent a lot of time sketching in Monteriggioni.
To his credit, particularly as one who preferred expressing himself on canvas or paper and not in stone or clay, the final product was exactly the masterpiece he had hoped for.
Re: Equitazione - 2/?
“The horse will be a metaphor,” the Duke decided, folding his arms proudly. “A symbol of my father’s pride and success as a military and political leader. And if anyone argues with that, possono farmi una pippa.”
In those moments, Leonardo was reminded of the fact that Ludovico “Il Moro” Sforza, despite being much more coarse and brutish than he was used to seeing in major political figures, was not without some gentility.
The horse he sculpted was the one he had described to Ezio: a horse trotting as if he led the triumph, head held high, muscles shifting under the skin. A thick mane swept over his right side and uniformly curled at the edges, save for the stray curls closest to his face and the ones that tumbled between his ears and above his left brow. His tail was perhaps even more magnificent, held upright until it gracefully swooped down, the hairs waving with deliberate wildness. His back right and front left hooves were raised in movement, with the front one so lifelike that it seemed that, at any instant, it would come slamming down to the floor to crush whatever was in his path. His mouth was open, mid-whinny, which seemed to echo soundlessly around the statue as if to say: "I am here; I am alive."
The sculpture took some time to complete, even with the help of both his apprentice Salaì and some men he had hired for this occasion. Though Leonardo was prone to procrastination and putting off his work as he grew distracted by this or that idea, he actually dedicated much of his time to its completion. It was simply that this ambitious clay model—which he decided to make much larger than a real horse, though he knew that this would make it more difficult to cast later—needed to be perfect, lifelike, an absolute masterpiece. He would accept no less to honor the majesty of the horse.
...to honor Francesco Sforza. Right, of course. This was a monument to Sforza, not to the horses he had spent a lot of time sketching in Monteriggioni.
To his credit, particularly as one who preferred expressing himself on canvas or paper and not in stone or clay, the final product was exactly the masterpiece he had hoped for.
And then the war between France and Milan began.