Who is compared to leonardo da vinci and why

While da Vinci was very much focused on proportion, Michelangelo regularly exaggerated perspective and size to give his art a larger meaning. Instead of everything being perfectly anatomically representative, his works were adjusted depending on what he wanted to get across.

In relation to Jesus Christ, The Virgin Mary is abnormally large, especially since the Pieta depicts Jesus as a grown man after he has been crucified.

Both Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci were prominent artists, each with their own successes. And while both developed their art styles with a great interest in anatomy and the human body, how each studied it resulted in different manifestations of the same thing. For Leonardo, the end goal was not art. Rather, art and anatomy were tools used hand in hand to gain a greater meaning to the microcosm.

As such, he studied the intricacies of how each organ and vein interacted with each other to gain a greater understanding of the whole, which manifested itself in his artwork as rigid, scientific proportions with no room for error.

However, in contrast, Michelangelo saw art as the end, with anatomy simply a tool to get there. He was focused on the form of the body, how the body changed with movement, and used that to give greater meaning to his artwork. As such, Michelangelo freely changed and manipulated the human body to convey his attitudes and ideas. Given the same materials, each individual will create a different thing based on his own goals and perspectives.

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Want us to write one just for you? We use cookies to personalyze your web-site experience. This essay has been submitted by a student. This is not an example of the work written by professional essay writers. Get help with writing. Of the remaining paintings and sculptures two of his paintings are among some of the most famous and well known pieces of art in the world. The Last supper is a tempura and oil mural on plaster. It depicts the Passover, where Jesus Christ addressed the apostles.

When Milan was invaded, Leonardo escaped to Venice and then went to Florence. Donatello Donatello , was an Italian Renaissance sculptor, who is generally considered one of the greatest sculptors of all time and the founder of modern sculpture.

Donatello was born in Florence, the son of a wool comber. When he was 17 years old, he assisted the noted sculptor Lorenzo Ghiberti in constructing and decorating the famous bronze doors of the baptistery of San Giovanni, Florence.

Later, Donatello was also an associate of the noted architect Filippo Brunelleschi, with whom he reputedly visited Rome in order to study the monuments of antiquity. Donatello's career may be divided into three periods. My artist is Leonardo da Vinci. He was born on April 15, in Vinci, Italy. The famous artist died on May 2, in Amboise, France.

While he was alive he was a part of the Renaissance style of art. Michelangelo worked for a long time on the statue of David to make sure it was perfect.

Encyclopedia of the Renaissance. Michelangelo was able to create a magnificent sculpture because he was focused and determined to make it perfect. Michelangelo brought hope to his day by advancing humanity and contributing to its list of achievements. The Renaissance was a time of rebirth of culture and intelligence made possible by Michelangelo and men like him who sacrificed themselves for the betterment of humanity. The accomplishments he made are some of the most coveted in history.

No other artist has been as admired and documented as he has. Open Document. Essay Sample Check Writing Quality.

But in truth, this is wonderful. Here is a painting that is five centuries old — a relic from history, some would say. And yet it gets more visitors, from more places, than any modern work of art. This isn't to denigrate today's art, only to marvel at the timeless and universal genius of Leonardo da Vinci. Inevitably, the very fame of the Mona Lisa incites disappointment — having a pop at it is a critical vice — but I happen to believe she's worth every bit of adulation.

The crowd is right. If you were to look for an analogy with the fame of the Mona Lisa, the pushing and noise, only one other work of art comes close. Just as people make a beeline through the Louvre to find Leonardo's masterpiece, so do they queue right along a street in Florence, on a hot summer afternoon, to get into the Accademia gallery. The graffiti on its walls — "Don't bother, it's just a big statue" — doesn't put us off.

Centuries after they were created, these are surely the two most renowned artistic objects in the world. They seem almost mirror images of one another — or rather, positive and negative: the woman who sits smiling, the man who stands grimacing. That is no coincidence, because they were created at the same time, in the same city, by artists who were direct rivals, watching each other as intently as Matisse would one day watch Picasso. David and the Mona Lisa are monuments to a competitive standoff as direct and public and frenzied as today's Turner prize.

It was the original and ultimate art competition, the Genius prize. Over time, it became Michelangelo's habit to leave marks of the chisel on his works the only signature most of them bear , as if his living, straining actions were fossilised in the chipped, unpolished surface of the marble.

Entire works look like this: unfinished conundrums. Others are divided in their nature, with beautiful lifelike limbs and anguished faces bursting from pillars of stone, raw as it came out of the mountain. But there are no marks on the perfect youth. No chisel wounds blemish the masterpiece that made Michelangelo's name. Luna was the Roman name for the quarry of Carrara, whose marble is as white as the moon's shining disc.

The block Michelangelo stood in front of in had come from the quarry years before, had been "badly begun" by a semi-competent sculptor in the busy workshops of the cathedral, and then left there unwanted for 40 years. The tools with which the year-old proposed to hew this massive lump of stone into a human shape were hammers and chisels, rasps and files and scrapers, and a wooden bow like an archer's whose string you could pull back and forth to rotate a drill.

With this simple technology, he had to excavate slowly into the 13ft-long marble slab, negotiating the clumsy damage done by its previous assailants, hoping his labour would not be wasted and that he would find the perfect limbs, the breathing sternum, the keen gaze within. The work was dusty, sweaty, back-breaking and secret, done behind partitions in the cathedral workshop so no one could spy on his measurements with the dividers, or watch him drill heart-shaped pupils into the statue's stone eyes.

It is impossible to picture this labour as you approach David today in the Accademia gallery; inconceivable, really, how he got from toil to miracle. Other works by Michelangelo may call attention to the struggle of creation — you walk towards the tall hero down a long avenue of unfinished bodies, striving to be liberated from formless stone — but this hero of youth is as absolutely himself as are any of the people walking around his plinth.

Stand far back, and his outline is a sharp drawing, as if Michelangelo had confidently mapped the shape in the air with pen and ink. The face, turned almost 90 degrees to look to the left, with its triangle of a nose, mountain outcrop of an overhanging brow and florid hair flying out into space, forms a scintillating profile.

The proportions of the body are, from this distance, mathematically graceful. The measurement from the hair on the head to the fusillade of hair above the penis appears identical to that from genitals to toes. You can almost feel the weight of the body gracefully shifting on to its right foot, as the figure easily inclines its left knee forward, rolling its ribcage on top of its stomach to move its centre of gravity.

As you approach, this harmonious silhouette stays in your mind, yet also dissolves into glances and momentary impressions. The ridges and tensions of the immense chest high above you — the statue is more than twice the height of a living person, still higher because of the tall plinth — drink in nuances of shadow so that, up close, David is richly shaded: the belly button a pool of darkness, the nipples and ribs collecting delicate grey-greens.

At his side hangs his gargantuan right hand — out of proportion, you suddenly realise, not just in scale but in the mesmerising, exaggerated attention to detail the sculptor lavished on it: those veins throbbing in the marble, those knobbly knuckles and wrinkled skin on the vast thumb.