Friday night, I had dinner at a small restaurant in Viareggio’s dock area called “Lucifero.” What an unusual name for a restaurant; it carries a sense of seductive contradiction. On one hand, we have the ‘bearer of light,’ a symbol of brilliance and knowledge. On the other, it evokes the ‘prince of darkness,’ master of deception and shadows—a warning that the promise of light may conceal traps and illusions. This antinomy makes the name Lucifero a provocative choice, a play between light and darkness, truth and falsehood, essentially a declaration of intent and culinary mystery!
After dinner, as I was leaving, I noticed a convex mirror on the wall that reminded me of the iconic painting “Portrait of the Arnolfini Couple” by Jan van Eyck. And so, I found myself reflected in the mirrored globe, simultaneously at the center of the age-old debate on the invention of perspective.
We know that attempts to represent three-dimensional space on two-dimensional surfaces like canvases, fabrics, walls, and panels date back to ancient times, but these attempts are difficult to categorize and organize in a timeline. Generally, we can distinguish three main methods through which artists represented, and continue to represent, perspective in their creations:
“Intuitive Perspective” – This was the form of representation used before the Renaissance, characterized by inconsistent spatial rendering, with objects and figures depicted without a mathematical rule to create realistic depth. This perspective was often used in classical and medieval compositions, where narrative or symbolic function outweighed accurate spatial representation.
“Geometric or Linear (Italian) Perspective” – Developed and formalized by artists such as Filippo Brunelleschi (1377-1446) and Leon Battista Alberti (1404-1472), it was based on mathematical principles that allowed artists to draw a scene with consistent depth, using lines converging toward a vanishing point. This technique revolutionized Italian Renaissance art; some identify it as the beginning of the Renaissance period, as it allowed artists to create a realistic illusion of three-dimensional space on a flat surface. According to Vasari, this technique conveyed an idea of beauty deeply rooted in classical tradition.
Lastly, “Optical (Flemish) Perspective” – Flemish painters like Jan van Eyck took a different approach, focusing on extreme realism and empirical observation rather than a strict geometric system. They used tools like mirrors, lenses, and camera obscura to study light, reflection, and fine details. Their attention to detail and light was so precise that it produced a sense of depth and realism that could be termed ‘optical’ because it approximated how the human eye naturally perceives reality. However, this perspective did not rely on a single, strict vanishing point, as in the Italian approach, but rather on a more practical representation.
To summarize, we’ve said that in ancient times, there were approximate attempts at perspective, but it was perfected during the Renaissance. First experimented with by Filippo Brunelleschi, uncertain sources suggest that in 1425, Pippo (as Alberti referred to him in his dedication in the treatise De Pictura) drew the Baptistery in Piazza Duomo with such precision that no miniaturist could have equaled it. He then positioned himself with the piece, a 30×30 cm panel, about 3 arms (1.8 meters) beyond the central doorway of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. With ingenuity, from that precise spot, he aligned the panel with the Baptistery, verifying the perfect overlap and continuity of the lines. This experiment laid the foundation for his theoretical formalization, which Leon Battista Alberti later articulated in De Pictura (1435), describing the geometric and mathematical principles that govern a harmonious and rational vision of space.
Giorgio Vasari (1511-1574), in his Lives (1550), tells us that Brunelleschi, regarding his studies on perspective, “… found a method that allowed for a correct and perfect result. This method consisted of representing it using the plan and profile (elevation), and through the method of intersection.”
Thanks to Vasari, an eyewitness to the cultural atmosphere of that time, we gain a sense of an era in which art literally reborn after centuries of decline by reviving classical antiquity’s models and values. Influenced by Renaissance Neoplatonism—a philosophical movement that flourished in Florence with figures like Marsilio Ficino (1433-1499) and supported by Lorenzo de’ Medici, better known as Lorenzo the Magnificent (1449-1492)—this philosophy viewed art as a means of approaching ideal beauty and spiritual truth, concepts it deemed fundamental and distinguished Italian art from Flemish realism. Vasari identified Giotto di Bondone (1267-1337) as the first great innovator, breaking with the Byzantine style and initiating a process of artistic renewal. According to Vasari, this process would reach its pinnacle with figures like Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Michelangelo, whom he considered the ultimate example of artistic perfection.
But was Vasari truly objective in his critiques of Flemish painting, or was he perhaps influenced by the local pride typical of the Tuscan tradition? After all, the rivalry between Lucchese, Pisan, and Florentine communities is well-known and represents the origin of the very term campanilismo. Imagine the sentiment toward artists from northern Europe! Vasari believed that art should transcend simple representation of the visible world, aspiring instead to a higher form of beauty and meaning, as prescribed by classicist principles. He felt that the Flemish artists became lost in minute details and ornaments, to the detriment of the composition’s overall harmony. In this, Vasari clearly differentiated Italian art, which he admired for its ability to balance detail, composition, and a universal idea of beauty.
For me, though, the most fascinating concept is perspective as deception. In The Republic, Plato disapproved of art because he considered it a deceptive copy of reality, an imitation far removed from the world of ideas, diverting the soul from the truth. Plato asserted that artists create an illusion, a copy of a copy, as the sensible world is already a pale imitation of the world of ideas. In Book X of The Republic, he claims that art is three times removed from the truth because it is merely an imitation of reality, which itself is an imitation of Ideas—the perfect and immutable forms representing the true essence of things. As a result, art imitates not the essence but the appearance of objects that are already imperfect copies of Ideas, distancing itself further from absolute truth. Therefore, art can never lead to authentic knowledge, only to the deception and confusion of the senses. But perhaps sometimes, we seek that very deception, because within us lies a yearning for wonder, that innocent dream of returning to the land… from which we were cast out.
Like in the film The Prestige, where John Cutter (Michael Caine) says: “Every magic trick consists of three parts, or acts. The first part is called The Pledge. The magician shows you something ordinary. The second act is called The Turn: the magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. But you wouldn’t clap yet, because making something disappear isn’t enough; you have to bring it… back. Now, the truth is that we’re looking for the secret, the trick, but we won’t find it because we’re not really looking. We don’t really want to know; we want to be fooled!”
Perhaps artistic perspective is also a trick we choose to accept—a way of viewing the world from an angle that isn’t necessarily true, but that promises us something extraordinary. Isn’t this, after all, the power of art? The ability to make us see reality in a new way, to show us the ordinary transformed into the extraordinary, to make us believe, even for a moment, that what seems impossible can become real.