There are places where art seems to come closer to us. For me, the Vasari Corridor was one of them: a space where Medici history, architecture and an extraordinary collection of self-portraits came together, turning a visit into an almost personal encounter with the artists.
Years ago, this experience inspired an article I wrote for Pensalibero. Reading it again today, I still recognise that same feeling: in front of a self-portrait, even a great and seemingly unreachable Master can suddenly appear less distant.
Face to face with artists in the Vasari Corridor
Walking through the Vasari Corridor, one of the great architectural projects commissioned by the Medici, I encountered many protagonists of Italian and international art: Bernini, Chagall, Rubens, Ottone Rosai.
On one level, it felt like a human encounter. The unreachable artist suddenly seemed closer: the calluses on the fingers, alert and vibrant eyes, light falling through the hair. At the same time, you could almost hear the artist’s thoughts while painting the portrait and deciding what to reveal about himself or herself.
Frivolity, weariness, restraint. Behind every self-portrait there is a story. Perhaps this is exactly why self-portraiture is so compelling: it can be autobiography, an exercise in style and a kind of introspective selfie long before photography existed.
The self-portrait as a story of identity
When artists portray themselves, they show us more than a face. They decide how they want to appear, what to emphasise and what to conceal. The result always lies somewhere between public image and private perception, between profession and identity.
This is why a collection of self-portraits can become a collective story. Periods, clothes, poses and artistic languages change, yet the same question remains: how does someone who has spent a lifetime observing and representing others choose to see themselves?
Women and self-portraits in the Vasari Corridor
My memory of the Corridor also includes women painters. Some represented themselves through roles considered more suitable for women in their own period. One example is La Tintoretta, Tintoretto’s daughter, portrayed as a musician.
Other self-portraits reveal a more fragile reality. I think of Anna Piattoli, who represented herself in a dark room, with faint light and modest clothes. Details like these turn a face into a story and allow an image of the self to tell us something about the time in which the artist lived.
Mirrors, games and provocations
Then there are self-portraits built like games of mirrors: double or triple images, exercises in style and artistic provocations. I think of Autocaffè by Giacomo Balla, where reflection on identity meets the freedom of artistic experimentation.
In front of works as different as these, the self-portrait stops being simply “the artist’s face”. It becomes a way of speaking about character, social role, society and even the artist’s relationship with painting itself.
When art is not only seen, but felt
Walking through a collection of self-portraits is a special experience because it constantly connects the person looking with the person being looked at. The centuries that separate us seem to grow shorter.
That is the feeling I wanted to describe then, and it still gives meaning to these words today: art and beauty come closer, whisper and warm us. And you can feel them.
