Antonio Canova: neoclassicism and Greek mythology. The sculptures at Museo Correr

This might be an unpopular opinion, but I have never enjoyed Venice as much as I did since the COVID-19 pandemic put mass tourism on hold. I am sorry if some business suffer a decrease in their revenues, but, honestly, mass tourism was never what the city, nor these tourists, needed. It is just impossible to enjoy Venice without taking things slow, allowing oneself to get lost.

Because of this, and the fact that my time in Venice as a student before and as a worker after has always been characterised by a certain degree of hecticness, this time I decided to spend some times just enjoying the city, and ‘invest’ time in taking pictures with my reflex instead that with my iPhone. I am privileged because a friend of mine is lending me a beautiful house in the main island that I got to enjoy all by myself.

I only recently started to consider myself a photographer. I have my first ‘official’ assignment coming up next year, when I’ll be in charge of a couple of friends’ wedding. Nonetheless, the more I watch my old pictures, the more I think I have been unnecessarily severe with myself in the past. But of course, everyone typically is oneself’s harshest judge. During this trip I was also helped by the fact that many popular museums were definitely not as crowded as usual, and I think that this contributed much on the final results of the pictures I have taken of sculptures, which I always found difficult to portray.

I hope you will be able to appreciate the Antonio Canova’s craftsmanship that I tried to capture through my lenses. I especially admired the realism of the bodies, that gave me the impression, or rather the certainty, that these sculpture would feel as soft and warm to the touch as real flesh and skin.

In this article, I will present two works of the Canova, who was born in Possagno (at the foot of the Treviso Prealps) in 1757. The first one is the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice (1775–76), while the second is his masterpiece Daedalus and Icarus (1777–79). For the descriptions, I will generously refer to the Museo Correr’s guide to the neoclassical rooms.

Antonio Canova, the beginnings: Orpheus and Eurydice (1775–76)

Canova came from a family of sculptors and stonecutters, and received his technical training mostly from his grandfather Pasino. Christina Ferando writes that Canova is considered the greatest Neoclassical sculptor of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Together with the French painter Jacques Louis David, he is credited with ushering in a new aesthetic of clear, regularized form and calm repose inspired by classical antiquities.

The Oath of the Horatii (Le Serment des Horaces) is a 1784 painting by the French painter Jacques-Louis David and is currently kept at the Louvre Museum in Paris. The work can be considered as the manifesto of neoclassical art and since its first exhibition at the Paris Salon in 1875 it met with enormous success, so much so that it was defined as “the most beautiful painting of the century” (Daniela Ricupati). Image: Google Art Project.

The statues of Orpheus and Eurydice (1775–76), were made by a young Canova, barely 18 years old. Now at the Museo Correr, are made in soft stone and were originally on the pillars of a Senator’s villa gate in Asolo (Veneto). One could tell that this is the work of a young Canova, since the sculptures reveal he was still under considerable influence from the painting style of the Eighteenth century.

That of Orpheus and Eurydice arguably is one of the most beautiful and at the same time tragic story that can be found in Greek mythology. Orpheus, famously the greatest poet and musician in history tries to reclaim his wife, Eurydice (a nymph of uncontested beauty), who died instantly after being bitten by a snake. He successfully convinces Pluto and Persephone, Gods of the underworld, to return his wife to the world of the living, but to one condition: that he would lead Euridice out of Hades without looking at her until they leave the underworld. Of course, as the tragedy goes, Orpheus turns around to get a glimpse of his wife just seconds before she steps into the world of the living. Eurydice, was still standing in the world of the dead, is dragged and destined to live there forever. This is the exact, tragic moment that is immortalised by young Canova.

Canova’s first masterpiece: Daedalus and Icarus (1977–79)

This marble group is considered to be Canova’s earliest masterpieces, as he started working on this project when he was only 20 years old. The young Canova is visible in the treatment of the marble surface, which is vibrant and still a long way away from the polished purity that was to become his signature. Nonetheless, with amazing geniality here Canova pursued and achieved a suggestive contrast between the classical model (Icarus) and the characteristically Venetian particular eighteenth-century pictorial naturalism, inspired by Giambattista Piazzetta’s ‘heads’ (Daedalus).

The work was commissioned by the procurator Pietro Vettor Pisani for his Palazzo Pisani Moretta (overlooking the Grand Canal), and was fundamental to set Canova’s lifepath. It was initially presented at the ‘Fiera della Sensa’ (Ascension) in 1777 where it met with resounding success, and the young Canova in fact earned 100 gold zecchins for this work, which he used to travel to Rome for the very first time. It was there that his experience of the Ancient and the support of a variety of different people were to result in his decisive turn to the classical and his rise to international fame.

The scene immortalised in this marble group expresses a form of emotional and dramatic communication, with the usually cunning Daedalus’ face contracted by doubt. He is in fact attaching the wings he made of feathers and held together by wax to the arms of his young son Icarus, who is humouring him, naively looking forward to the joy of the flight that will allow him to flee the labyrinth and the threat of the Minotaur. Icarus and his father Daedalus were imprisoned in the Labyrinth (together with the Minotaur) by King Minos, as punishment for the help Daedalus gave Queen Pasiphaë. Actually, speaking of ‘help’ would be an understatement: Pasiphaë, queen of Crete, is notable for being the mother of the Minotaur, whom she conceived after mating with the Cretan Bull hidden within a hollow cow that the Daedalus built for her. This was a result of a curse by the god of the sea Poseidon, who made the queen fall in love with the beast her husband Minos failed to sacrifice, as he had promised.

Before the flight, Daedalus gave his young son Icarus instructions in how to fly. He warned him that if he flew too close to the sea, the spray would soak the feathers, making the wings useless. If, on the other hand, he flew too close to the sun, the heat would melt the wax and destroy the wings. Icarus agreed, but he was so thrilled with flying that he got carried away and turned it into a game, ignoring his father’s advice. He climbed high in the sky, so high that the sun melted the wax, the wings fell apart and Icarus fell into the sea and drowned.

To conclude, young Canova definitely had a gift to immortalise the most tragic moments of Greek myths. The older Canova’s most famous works, Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss (1787-1793) or The Three Graces (1812-1817) communicate on the contrary a sense of great tranquillity, calmness and beauty.

Personally, the detail that hit me the most after seeing these (maybe less known) young Canova’s work, is the realism of the bodies, which are not necessarily ‘sculpted’ (pun intended). In particular, I stared for several minuted at Eurydice’s leg, and even went back to try to better capture how the light reflected on her skin, giving the impression of real flesh being hidden under the stone.

I also wholeheartedly recommend you to visit the museums of Piazza San Marco next time you are in Venice. Not only the artworks are impressive, but these museums are also quieter compared to others in the same tier. Moreover, the palace itself is a marvel.