The “Sexiest Invitation” in European sculpture and her name is Costanza

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The Portrait of Costanza Bonarelli by Gianlorenzo Bernini

Look at her. Her eyes are wide, not downcast and she is speaking, not silent. She is obviously assertive, staggeringly sexy and unafraid. Gianlorenzo, who recreates her forever in Carrara marble, is obviously besotted with desire for her. Today, you may be one of those tourists in the Bargello in Florence, feeling so art-exhausted you can’t look at another sculpture. Ah, but you should. Look at her.

The sculpture is now in Florence but it is in Rome where it is carved in 1638 at the height of the artist’s affair with his model, Costanza (who is married to an assistant of the now-famous sculptor). The artist is not under commission of a wealthy patron for this work. He has created her portrait in the most durable of stone to please, if not intoxicate, himself.

The top of her chemise is open. Has a hand flicked open her shirt to reveal the curve of her right breast? Was it the playful hand of her lover and portraitist, Gianlorenzo, or her own?

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She has large, wide set eyes, an oval face and full mouth, lips slightly parted, with a lovingly carved ridge above her upper lip. As you move around her sculpture, you see her cast in different light and attitude. She is both matronly and youthful, depending on your view. Her luxuriant hair, seen only from the front, is slightly unruly, but swept up and anchored in back by the coil of a braid. A “kiss curl” has escaped the coil at the nape of her neck.

The tradition of portrait busts as “speaking likenesses,” where the sitter is poised to speak or has just finished speaking, is venerable in the likenesses of important men. But here is this woman, commanding the same attention with her direct gaze and her intention to speak.

Sadly, the back story here is not pretty. The artist discovered that she had another extra-martial lover, his own brother, Luigi. Gianlorenzo was enraged. He attacked his brother with a crowbar, breaking two ribs, and he hired a servant to slash Costanza’s face with a razor.

She lives. But she is declared a “donna dishonesta” and forcibly confined to a house for wayward women staffed by nuns. She has most likely been whipped, shorn of her hair and instructed to meditate on the Magdalen. The servant is sent to prison for his assault. Luigi Bernini is exiled to Bologna, where he works on another Bernini project. Costanza’s husband, Matteo, continues to work on Bernini projects (even though the artist had publicly insulted him after discovering the affair) and goes on to become a well-known artist of his day. After Matteo’s death in 1654, Costanza oversaw the completion of one of those projects, and became an art dealer in her own right until her death in 1662 at the age of 48. Being astute and literate, she drew up her own sale contracts and even wrote her own plea for release from her confinement (and was successful; she was “restored to her husband”).

And Gianlorenzo? He is fined, but the fine is waived by his friend and patron, Pope Urban VIII, who orders the artist to get married. Gianlorenzo then marries a woman reputed to be the most beautiful in Rome and has 11 children with her. He continues to work and produces some of Rome’s most famous sculpture over his long lifetime.

He must, however, give the bust of Costanza away. His new wife would not permit him to keep it.

Personal note: I have seen Costanza “in person” twice. The first time was at the Getty in L.A. That exhibit of Costanza and several other important sculptures by Bernini was an enormous coup in the high stakes/hot ticket world of museum art shows. But it would not have been possible if the museum had not settled the volatile dispute it had with the Italian government over looted Italian antiquities the museum claims it had acquired “unknowingly.” The museum returned them and the Bernini exhibition went forward.

My second viewing was two years later in Florence. Alas, on the day I went to the Bargello she was locked in a storage closet due to a temporary staffing shortage. Would the main guard on the floor be so kind to unlock the closet door and let me peek in for a few minutes, since I had come all the way from the U.S. just to see Costanza?, I asked in the best Italian I could muster to impress the guard with my profound respect. My pleas were overheard by others who gathered, now quite curious to see what the fuss was about. The guard smiled benevolently and took out her keys...