Exhibitions and Installations, Prints and Drawings, Publications

Leonardo da Vinci, Anatomist

Leonardo da Vinci worked for 25 years on a complete guide to the human form that would have transformed the study of anatomy in Europe. But the project was never finished and the notes were all but lost for centuries after his death.

The new book Leonardo da Vinci: The Mechanics of Man, co-published by Getty Publications, brings together the finest of Leonardo’s work toward this treatise—18 sheets teeming with over 240 anatomical diagrams and notes running to 13,000 words. Together these sheets make up what’s called “Anatomical Manuscript A,” one of the Leonardo treasures in the Royal Collection. English translations of Leonardo’s mirror-writing, placed on the drawings where he wrote them, provide insight into his thought process.

The Muscles and Tendons of the Soles of the Foot / Leonardo da Vinci

From the new book: Leonardo's exploded view of the muscles and tendons of the soles of the foot (recto), with anatomical notations and art historical commentary (verso)

The treatise was to be staggeringly comprehensive, boasting not only a full anatomy and physiology of fetus, child, man, and woman, but also, in what reads like a Renaissance prototype of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, “the four universal conditions of man”:

That is: joy, with different ways of laughing, and draw the cause of the laughter; weeping in different ways, with their cause; fighting, with the different movements of killing; flight, fear, ferocity, boldness, murder, and everything belonging to such events.

Leonardo created the outline for his book as early as 1489, but his progress was hampered by lack of access to anatomical material—in other words, corpses. Existing books and the dissection of monkeys, cows, dogs, and the occasional human skull could only teach so much. By about 1507, however, he was gaining fame as an anatomist; bodies, primarily of executed criminals, began to flow, likely due to his partnership with anatomist Marcantonio della Torre of the University of Pavia medical school.

Leonardo dug in, creating the first exploded views of structures such as the foot, hand, shoulder, and spine. Alongside the drawings, he added to-do lists:

Begin your book on anatomy with a perfect man, and then draw him old and less muscular, then stripping him in stages down to the bone—and then draw the infant, with a diagram of the womb.

Describe what sound is, and what din is, tumult, noise, etc.

Depict here the foot of a bear, a monkey, and other animals, inasmuch as they differ from the foot of a man, and also put in the foot of some bird.

Leonardo’s zest for dissection repelled some colleagues. Physician Paolo Giovio accused him of being “indifferent to this inhuman and disgusting work.” In one corner of his page of drawings on the bones and muscles of the shoulder, Leonardo rebutted nasty opinions by reminding us how he got the cadavers in the first place:

And you, man, who witnesses in this labor of mine the marvelous works of nature, if you would judge it to be a wicked thing to destroy it, well think what a very wicked thing it is to take the life of a man.

Leonardo’s labor was cut short by catastrophe. In 1511 his collaborator della Torre died of the plague, and political turmoil drove him to Rome and later to France, where his anatomical studies largely petered out.

Upon his death in 1519, the hundreds of fluid-stained notes and drawings passed from collector to collector, forgotten, rediscovered, forgotten again, and not published in a coherent form until 1898.

This loss makes a note found on his renderings of the spine all the more poignant. Aware that his drawings would only be properly captured in engravings, rather than the woodcuts that dominated book illustration of the time, he noted:

I pray to you, O successors, that avarice does not constrain you to make the prints in woodcut.

Several of Leonardo’s anatomical drawings from the Royal Collection are on view in Leonardo da Vinci and the Art of Sculpture: Inspiration and Invention, including one that compares the layers of skin, membrane, and bone covering the human brain to the structure of an onion.

Of course Leonardo knew about onions, too; botany was a topic of yet another of his unfinished treatises.

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3 Comments

  1. Posted June 22, 2010 at 6:07 pm | Permalink

    Hi

    Very interesting and if he lived today he could obtain a wealth of information in seconds online about anything he so desired. Sadly though most of us living in this day and age are only interested in YouTube.

    Again this was very interesting, thanks.

  2. Ruby Flores
    Posted November 25, 2011 at 3:50 pm | Permalink

    Are any Leanardo Da Vinci’s work on display, what about Bottecili, brunelleschi? Thanks so much.

    • Posted November 25, 2011 at 6:48 pm | Permalink

      Hi Ruby — Thanks for asking. The Getty Museum has two drawings by Leonardo (three, if you count the verso of Studies for the Christ Child with a Lamb). These two drawings aren’t on view right now, though they do rotate on view in our exhibitions — drawings are sensitive to light, which is why they aren’t on permanent display. Last year we had an exhibition on Leonardo. We don’t have any works by Sandro Botticelli or Filippo Brunelleschi, but coming next year will be a great exhibition about the Florentine Renaissance, so stay tuned for that.

One Trackback

  • […] “Leonardo da Vinci worked for 25 years on a complete guide to the human form that would have transformed the study of anatomy in Europe. But the project was never finished and the notes were all but lost for centuries after his death. Leonardo created the outline for his book as early as 1489, but his progress was hampered by lack of access to anatomical material—in other words, corpses. Existing books and the dissection of monkeys, cows, dogs, and the occasional human skull could only teach so much. By about 1507, however, he was gaining fame as an anatomist; bodies, primarily of executed criminals, began to flow, likely due to his partnership with anatomist Marcantonio della Torre of the University of Pavia medical school. Leonardo dug in, creating the first exploded views of structures such as the foot, hand, shoulder, and spine.” (source: Getty Images Blog) […]

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      A Chat with Photographer Tomoko Sawada

      A conversation about Japanese matchmaking traditions, self-portraiture, clothes, and identity.

      When did you start photographing yourself?
      I began making self-portraits when I was 19. It was an assignment for a photography class. I can’t even explain in Japanese why I liked them so much. It was instinctual. It’s as if I knew that this was going to be my style, that this is what I wanted to do. And I’m still doing it because I love the self-portrait, but I don’t know why. 

      What themes are you exploring in your work?
      I’m interested in the relationship between inside and outside. If you wear a sexy dress or if you wear kids clothes or casual clothes, people treat you differently. Even though you are you no matter what you wear. It’s that relationship that makes me think. 

      My new work is from when I was living in New York. When I was in New York, people didn’t think I was Japanese. Sometimes they thought I was Korean or Chines or Mongolian. Even Singaporean. It was funny, when I would go to the Japanese market, they would speak to me in English. When I went to the Korean market, they would speak to me in English again. I don’t seem to look Japanese outside of Japan. I was surprised because I think I look totally Japanese. It’s funny that people’s points of view are totally different.

      Could you talk a little about OMIAI, the series that represents a traditional Japanese matchmaking technique.
      OMIAI is a tradition that is somehow still working today. Usually, there is a matchmaker and photographs are exchanged before meeting. If both sides are interested, they can meet for lunch or dinner accompanied by their parents and steps for marriage proceed from there. In the old days, some people chose their marriage partner just through photographs, without even meeting each other. 

      When OMIAI was exhibited in Japan I saw people making various comments in from of the work. People would say things like, “she looks like a good cook; surely she would prepare delicious meals every day,” or “ this girl could be a perfect bride for my son,” or “I can tell she would not be a good housewife,” or “she’s such a graceful girl; she must be the daughter of a decent family.” Comments like that. 

      What was the process of making that work?
      I gained 10 pounds before I started taking the pictures, and in six months I lost forty pounds, because I wanted to look different in each photo. I wanted to change the way my legs looked. 

      Every weekend I went to the hair salon and put on a kimono. Then I went to the photo studio on the street in Japan. I would take a picture and then change my clothes to western dress. Then I would go to the studio again the next weekend. 

      Did you tell the photographer how you wanted it done?
      I told him I was an artist and wanted to make photographs with him. I told him to think that each weekend new girls would show up to make the OMIAI. I didn’t want him to think of me as the same girl who came every weekend. He understood the concept. 

      We had fun. While he was taking pictures, his wife would tell me how to lose weight. She gave me many tips.


      Tomoko Sawada’s work is on view at the Getty until February 21, 2016 in “The Younger Generation: Contemporary Japanese Photography”

      02/11/16

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