Possagno’s Antonio Canova Plaster Gallery: A Neoclassical Temple Dedicated to the Sculptor

It is a truly dazzling sight. On entering the Gipsoteca Antonio Canova in Possagno (Treviso), visitors are immersed in an ocean of light. The 1836 building with its austere façade was the work of Venetian architect Francesco Lazzari. The interior, in the style of an ancient Roman basilica, is an authentic neoclassical sanctuary: a temple celebrating this Italian sculpture master, the bicentennial of whose death took place in 2022. Everything contributes to the atmosphere of contemplation and reverence: the hushed silence, the immaculate walls and the soft northern Italian light that streams in through three large skylights in the big coffered barrel-vaulted ceiling. It seems to caress the plaster, giving it a warm and gentle glow that accentuates its chaste sensuality. It also illuminates the voluptuous marble sculptures revisiting the great myths of antiquity and commissions for powerful patrons. These works are marked by a “contemplative and adolescent erotic indolence,” to quote the art critic Mario Praz, the man behind the rehabilitation of Canova (1757-1822). For the posterity of the artist dubbed “the latter-day Phidias” during his lifetime suffered for many years from the hostile attitude of certain Italian art historians, who refused to consider the man hailed as one of the most original interpreters of neoclassicism—according to Johann Joachim Winckelmann’s theory—as the greatest sculptor of his time. Canova, who expressed in marble the ideal of “noble simplicity and quiet grandeur” developed by the German theorist, was no longer to their liking. Roberto Longhi, for example, considered Canova “a stillborn artist, whose heart is in the Church of the Frari in Venice, whose hand is in the Academy, and the rest I don’t know where.” Traces of his genius are incontestably found in the plaster cast gallery in Possagno, his hometown. Almost all of his output has been assembled there, including over 200 plaster casts he used as models for his marble statues and busts. To meet the demands of an ever-growing clientele, Canova used the hollow casting technique. After sketching his idea on paper, he worked the design as a small clay model, then as a life-size model. This was covered with a thin coat of reddish plaster, to which a thick layer of white plaster was applied, which formed a mold as it hardened. The mold was filled with plaster to create a new model, which Canova then studded with small iron nails. These markers were used by his assistants to transfer the measurements to the marble block the maestro would then bring to life. Finally, wax and polishing water were applied to give the stone the shade and velvety texture of skin: a patina that has left very few traces today. On the other hand, it is light that brings the casts in the plaster gallery to life, whose marble versions are now in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, and the Louvre in Paris. They seem to move in space and quiver around the visitor. Hercules taking his revenge on Lichas is terrifying; Theseus seems to be catching his breath after his victory over the Minotaur, while Venus clings lasciviously to Mars in a charmingly humorous scene.

All this is watched mockingly by Napoleon‘s mother, while the monumental statue of her son, portrayed as Mars the peacemaker, eyes the public up and down. They all hold sway in the 19^th century wing of the plaster gallery, the largest in Europe, which has undergone seven months of restoration work. This has included modernizing the lighting system and earthquake safety standards, as well as a vast digitization project covering the entire complex. The museum was created by Canova’s half-brother, Bishop Giovanni Battista Sartori. After the sculptor’s death, he had the works from Canova’s Roman studio transported by sea to protect them from thieves, forgers and the ravages of time. But in 1917 they were the victims of war, which almost deprived art lovers of an extraordinary heritage. Possagno lay not far from a front line broken through by the Austro-Hungarian and German troops after their victory at Caporetto. The retreating Italian army was unable to protect the plaster gallery, which was hit by a shell. Several casts were reduced to dust, and others seriously damaged. Once peace was secured, the curators Stefano and Sirio Serafin set about restoring them, and the gallery was reopened to the public in 1922. In 1957, Venetian architect Carlo Scarpa was commissioned to enlarge the building for the bicentennial of Canova’s birth. The light still highlighted the dialogue between the works there, but the syntax involved was completely different. The once diffuse and enveloping light in the 19^th century wing was now broken and refracted, making intense play with shadow and chiaroscuro. The languid Pauline Borghese lends herself delightfully to this effect, but Cupid and Psyche are far too busy with each other. The original marble sculpture of their embrace is now in the Louvre, while copies can be found in the Hermitage and in Villa Carlotta on Lake Como. They can have a disconcerting effect on viewers: “I looked at nothing else in the gallery,” wrote an entranced Gustave Flaubert. “I returned several times, and on my last visit, I kissed the swooning woman’s armpit as she stretched out both her long marble arms toward Cupid—and her foot! Her head! Her profile! I should be forgiven: it has been my only sensual kiss in a long time. But there was more to it than that. I was kissing beauty itself. It was to genius that my ardor was devoted.” The Scarpa wing will be undergoing extensive restoration work this year. It also contains the terracotta sketches that art historian Cesare Brandi liked even more than the finished works in marble, because he found in them all the fire of Canova’s original ideas. “Possagno is the place to go not only to learn about his work and creative process, but also to gain a better understanding of the man and the public figure he was,” says Moira Mascotto, director of the plaster cast gallery. She reminds us that Canova also played a diplomatic role: the Pope assigned him to negotiate with Dominique Vivant Denon for France’s restitution of the artworks seized by Napoleon’s armies in Italy. In addition to the plaster gallery, visitors can tour the artist’s birthplace, which houses paintings, drawings, engravings and his personal effects. “His talent was not limited to sculpture alone,” says Moira Mascotto. “He was also a fine painter. In addition to all the plaster casts and almost all of his clay models, we have the largest art gallery dedicated to him, with some 50 oil paintings and over 30 watercolors.” Canova often said, “What I am most impatient to see is the effect my work will have on the souls of the public.” Whatever the medium—paper, clay, plaster or marble—, it never leaves anyone indifferent.

Worth seeing
Antonio Canova Museo-Gipsoteca,
Possagno (Treviso).
museocanova.it