I must have a better reputation than I thought, because somehow I got Leonardo Da Vinci to agree to a casual interview with me. I am so excited and anxious; what a genius and what an opportunity! After doing a bit of background research, I am very intrigued by the quirky tidbits I have gathered about his life and his work, and cannot wait to hear his opinions.
We agreed to meet at Trafalgar Square in London, and conduct our conversation while walking around London’s National Gallery of Art. I was surprised at how open he was to leaving his native Italy, but I guess that just confirms his supposed charming nature.
Preparing for the barrage of questions I yearned to throw his direction was excruciating. A once in a lifetime chance as this, I didn’t want to leave any area untouched. I decided to start the conversation off with examples of things we had in common (trivial things, of course; by no means do I have any right to compare myself to this archetypal Renaissance man), I just wanted to create rapport. When we first met outside on the steps of the museum, he appeared to be a lot older than his final age of 67, which I guess is why there is speculation about his red-chalk self portrait. But there he was, standing in front of me, clear as day.
I introduced myself and told him one of the main reasons I wanted to bring him here today was that I had previously analyzed his Virgin of the Rocks painting, and was curious about his thought process that drove the piece. I also wanted to get a glimpse of what he thought of modern life, especially since it gave birth to many of the inventions he documented, such as a primitive helicopter and tank, as well as detailed studies of human anatomy.
As we walked through the museum, he seemed pleased that a lot of his scientific ideas had taken off now, even if they were somewhat of a flop during his era. I got the feeling that he had much better social skills and interactions with people than his sour peer, Michelangelo, although I didn’t dare mention it. We made small talk, sharing the fact that we are both left-handed and vegetarian, although the term for it wasn’t around during the Renaissance, and made a little joke about how Italian cooks are awful at preparing dishes without meat. I suggested he visit France instead, and he smiled.
We finally came to Virgin of the Rocks, and I asked him how he felt about having his work here for everyone to observe. He didn’t seem to mind, although he admitted he was more a private person. He was grateful for the attention though, and joked that he should’ve finished more of his projects. I chimed in that we shared the gift of procrastination, as well. I asked him to describe his painting for me, what he was thinking and feeling and what his intentions were, so I could truly gain insight to his artistic genius. I have never been so overwhelmed in my life. I was scratching his comments down on my notepad, but was frozen in awe as he so methodically dissected his work, as if it were another cadaver. I could not even repeat half of what he said, but I remember him saying how the pyramid shape he used to guide the eye between the figures was incredibly calculated, along with dozens of other tiny details that most people don’t even notice. In the middle of his explanation, I realized my mouth was gaping and quickly closed it.
As we exited the museum and parted ways, I graciously thanked him for his time and conversation. As I watched him walk away, it was obvious how he still seemed to march to the beat of his own drummer, and it made me smile. After all, the Renaissance encouraged that anyway.
We agreed to meet at Trafalgar Square in London, and conduct our conversation while walking around London’s National Gallery of Art. I was surprised at how open he was to leaving his native Italy, but I guess that just confirms his supposed charming nature.
Preparing for the barrage of questions I yearned to throw his direction was excruciating. A once in a lifetime chance as this, I didn’t want to leave any area untouched. I decided to start the conversation off with examples of things we had in common (trivial things, of course; by no means do I have any right to compare myself to this archetypal Renaissance man), I just wanted to create rapport. When we first met outside on the steps of the museum, he appeared to be a lot older than his final age of 67, which I guess is why there is speculation about his red-chalk self portrait. But there he was, standing in front of me, clear as day.
I introduced myself and told him one of the main reasons I wanted to bring him here today was that I had previously analyzed his Virgin of the Rocks painting, and was curious about his thought process that drove the piece. I also wanted to get a glimpse of what he thought of modern life, especially since it gave birth to many of the inventions he documented, such as a primitive helicopter and tank, as well as detailed studies of human anatomy.
As we walked through the museum, he seemed pleased that a lot of his scientific ideas had taken off now, even if they were somewhat of a flop during his era. I got the feeling that he had much better social skills and interactions with people than his sour peer, Michelangelo, although I didn’t dare mention it. We made small talk, sharing the fact that we are both left-handed and vegetarian, although the term for it wasn’t around during the Renaissance, and made a little joke about how Italian cooks are awful at preparing dishes without meat. I suggested he visit France instead, and he smiled.
We finally came to Virgin of the Rocks, and I asked him how he felt about having his work here for everyone to observe. He didn’t seem to mind, although he admitted he was more a private person. He was grateful for the attention though, and joked that he should’ve finished more of his projects. I chimed in that we shared the gift of procrastination, as well. I asked him to describe his painting for me, what he was thinking and feeling and what his intentions were, so I could truly gain insight to his artistic genius. I have never been so overwhelmed in my life. I was scratching his comments down on my notepad, but was frozen in awe as he so methodically dissected his work, as if it were another cadaver. I could not even repeat half of what he said, but I remember him saying how the pyramid shape he used to guide the eye between the figures was incredibly calculated, along with dozens of other tiny details that most people don’t even notice. In the middle of his explanation, I realized my mouth was gaping and quickly closed it.
As we exited the museum and parted ways, I graciously thanked him for his time and conversation. As I watched him walk away, it was obvious how he still seemed to march to the beat of his own drummer, and it made me smile. After all, the Renaissance encouraged that anyway.
Biographical Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leonardo_da_Vinci's_personal_life
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