
142 The Young Leonardo
approach here was to conceive the entire work as he would a large
study in pen, brush, and wash, broadly determining the placement of
the strongest lights and darks, and a few of the medium tones. By this
means, indicative of the comprehensive manner in which his mind
grasped the matter before it, he achieved an unprecedented coherence
in Renaissance painting, in terms of both design and idea, emphasizing
certain figures and symbols, suppressing others – an internal dialogue
in black and white. In this working method, color became almost an
afterthought, an embellishment on a rigorously intellectual scheme.
Only after countless revisions to his composition would Leonardo
introduce, as final touches, “superficially” attractive elements of color
and dashes of spontaneity – just as, only after careful preparations and
contributions by others, had he placed the finishing glint or sparkle
on a Verrocchio-shop picture. This form-over-color approach was
in accord with notions espoused by the Neoplatonists, particularly
Ficino, who wrote in his treatise, “On the Immortality of the Soul,”
that “sight cannot perceive colors unless it assumes [first] the forms
of these colors.” That is, color has no reality independent of a solid
object.
Powerful as the Adoration of the Magi was in its unfinished state,
Leonardo’s failure to consummate it must have displeased not only the
patrons but also his supportive father. Eventually, the S. Donato monks
were able to hire the painter Filippino Lippi, illegitimate son of Fra
Filippo by the nun, Lucrezia Buti, to take over the commission, and
he wisely availed himself of Leonardo’s drawings in creating his own
altarpiece, completed in 1496. No doubt glad to be relieved of the
long moribund project, Leonardo, then living in Milan, would have
gratefully instructed his father to donate his designs to Lippi, who had
earlier executed the altarpiece for the Palazzo della Signoria, when
Leonardo did not follow through on that work.
How Ser Piero, probably mortified, handled the S. Donato situa-
tion is not known. Leonardo, too, must have felt some embarrassment
along with regret, for by that time his rival and former colleague, an
artist of more limited talents, Perugino, had attained a sterling reputa-
tion and important patronage in Rome. He had executed a fresco for
Pope Sixtus IV in Old Saint Peter’s basilica around 1479, and he was at
work, at the pontiff ’s behest, on his monumental fresco, Christ Giving
the Keys to Saint Peter (c. 1480–82), in the Sistine Chapel. Impressive in
its spatial grandeur and narrative clarity, the work was, in truth, hardly