What do you think?
Rate this book
Borromini
Vilipendiado durante tres centurias, tachado hasta hace poco de arquitecto caótico y radicalmente irrespetuoso con las normas fundamentales del arte edificatorio, Borromini goza hoy de un reconocimiento unánime y está considerado como uno de los grandes maestros de la arquitectura barroca, quizá el primero en cuanto a la aplicación controlada de la inventiva más audaz a la solución de problemas constructivos y a la creación de modernos efectos espaciales. Faltaba, sin embargo, la obra de síntesis que resumiera las precisas razones de la importancia de la arquitectura borrominiana, el estudio crítico que, lejos tanto de los ataques furibundos como de las defensas apasionadas, analizara y justificara de modo definitivo el valor permanente de la obra de Francesco Castello, llamado Borromini. Esa es la labor que hace unos años acometió Anthony Blunt, que fue durante casi tres decenios catedrático de Historia del Arte de la Universidad de Londres y director del Instituto Courtauld. El resultado no pudo ser más satisfactorio, y así tenemos en este BORROMINI una obra concisa, didáctica y sumamente iluminadora sobre el arquitecto y la arquitectura de su período.
264 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1979
4 people are currently reading
85 people want to read
About the author
Anthony Blunt
107 books9 followersKnown as Sir Anthony Blunt, KCVO, from 1956 to 1979, was a leading British art historian who in 1964, after being offered immunity from prosecution, confessed to having been a Soviet spy. A closely held secret for many years, his status was revealed publicly by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in November 1979, and he was stripped of his knighthood immediately thereafter.
Blunt was Professor of the History of Art at the University of London, director of the Courtauld Institute of Art, and Surveyor of the Queen's Pictures. He was exposed as a member of the Cambridge Five, a group of spies working for the Soviet Union from some time in the 1930s to at least the early 1950s.
Blunt was Professor of the History of Art at the University of London, director of the Courtauld Institute of Art, and Surveyor of the Queen's Pictures. He was exposed as a member of the Cambridge Five, a group of spies working for the Soviet Union from some time in the 1930s to at least the early 1950s.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
June 20, 2023
Context: One of those books that's been on the shelves for decades, always "to be read someday". well, finally read. And, though the topic, Borromini, itself was of interest, so was the author, Anthony Blunt, independently.
A monograph as opposed to a biography, though with snippets of biography that whet one's interest in knowing more about the artist. A conventional structure of Early Life/Sources, Four Chapters of Masterpieces/Important Works, Unbuilt/Partially Built/Re-built Residential Works, then Death and Legacy.
My personal knowledge of Borromini began with my first Architectural History class in 1977, using Christian Norberg-Schulz's Meaning in Western Architecture as text. Norberg-Schulz heralded Borromini's emphasis on the primacy of space, and the baroque generally as being an architecture of inclusion. Two years later, I was in Rome for a summer study tour, headed by the same professor who taught the history class, John Pron, and saw first hand San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, S. Ivo alla Sapienza and the Collegio di Propaganda Fide, three of Borromini's masterpieces. San Carlo especially was impressive, intriguing and mysterious. Seven years later, I was working in Robert Venturi's studio, where Borromini was present in spirit (and in Bob's library!) in the produced designs of inclusion, complexity and contradiction.
Blunt's history is crisp, scholarly and engaging, only rarely straying into arcane or overly academic references/debates. One of the big takeaways for me is gaining a fuller understanding of the importance of geometry and order in Borromini's work, as the perception of it is more of exuberant forms breaking free of geometric order. It isn't the main focus of the book, but is emphasized in a few places and buildings, especially S. Ivo and San Carlo. Seeing the magnificent section drawing of San Carlo for example, clarified many things relating to its design, order and geometry, previously only generally understood by me to include an oval in plan and an intricately coffered dome. And the way the street facade here stands proud of the dome is certainly Bob Venturi's source/inspiration for the great clock on his Whitehall Ferry Terminal design. S. Ivo, on the other hand, is almost pure by comparison, a thorough and deep diving riff on the joys of a hexagon/six pointed star, with alternating bays, complex interplay between convex and concave curves, and monumental piers and giant structural ribs (and appears as the book's cover [and only color] photo!).
Another takeaway for me was the interesting urbanistic quality of Borromini's work, where buildings are adeptly and ingeniously laid out with interesting relationships between the interior spaces and the streets, and between pure geometries and the more incidental angles of exterior streets and piazzas. The Oratory of S. Filippo Neri, the Palazzo Carpegna and the Collegio di Propaganda Fide are all good examples of this, and bring into relief the use of pure geometries that complement the exigencies of urban palimpsest and previously-existing rooms and spaces.
One somewhat bothersome detail was the (over) frequent reference to an archival source (Albertina), images of which were not included, and which would have been helpful in understanding the discussion/explanations. Perhaps in the next Borromini text -- and interesting that there does seem to be a two-volume monograph by Venturi's pal Paolo Portoghesi, will have to search for that.
(And a side note here, about the interest in Anthony Blunt, the famous fourth man of the Cambridge Five British spy ring. I found it intriguing to think of Blunt's duplicity in furthering both his art history work AND a career of passing secrets to the Soviet Union. Were these two careers complementary? At odds with each other? The idea of doing the detailed and in some cases never conceived before research into arcane architectural ideas/comparisons/analyses in the morning, then meeting with a fellow Soviet spy in the evening to conspire/pass secrets/betray one's (birth) country both fascinates and gives one pause.)
The last chapter, dealing both with Borromini's death by suicide and his largely dismissed/ignored/frowned-upon legacy until the latter part of the 20th century has a surprisingly maudlin feel, given the liveliness and exuberance of both the building designs and the accompanying narratives in the previous chapters. Which whet my appetite for the actual biography, including/especially the heralded rivalry between Borromini and Bernini in the 17th century, which i have previously likened to that between Venturi and Gehry in the 20th century -- the brooding/tormented, unpopular genius as opposed to the glib, photogenic/popular but superficial media star.
A monograph as opposed to a biography, though with snippets of biography that whet one's interest in knowing more about the artist. A conventional structure of Early Life/Sources, Four Chapters of Masterpieces/Important Works, Unbuilt/Partially Built/Re-built Residential Works, then Death and Legacy.
My personal knowledge of Borromini began with my first Architectural History class in 1977, using Christian Norberg-Schulz's Meaning in Western Architecture as text. Norberg-Schulz heralded Borromini's emphasis on the primacy of space, and the baroque generally as being an architecture of inclusion. Two years later, I was in Rome for a summer study tour, headed by the same professor who taught the history class, John Pron, and saw first hand San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane, S. Ivo alla Sapienza and the Collegio di Propaganda Fide, three of Borromini's masterpieces. San Carlo especially was impressive, intriguing and mysterious. Seven years later, I was working in Robert Venturi's studio, where Borromini was present in spirit (and in Bob's library!) in the produced designs of inclusion, complexity and contradiction.
Blunt's history is crisp, scholarly and engaging, only rarely straying into arcane or overly academic references/debates. One of the big takeaways for me is gaining a fuller understanding of the importance of geometry and order in Borromini's work, as the perception of it is more of exuberant forms breaking free of geometric order. It isn't the main focus of the book, but is emphasized in a few places and buildings, especially S. Ivo and San Carlo. Seeing the magnificent section drawing of San Carlo for example, clarified many things relating to its design, order and geometry, previously only generally understood by me to include an oval in plan and an intricately coffered dome. And the way the street facade here stands proud of the dome is certainly Bob Venturi's source/inspiration for the great clock on his Whitehall Ferry Terminal design. S. Ivo, on the other hand, is almost pure by comparison, a thorough and deep diving riff on the joys of a hexagon/six pointed star, with alternating bays, complex interplay between convex and concave curves, and monumental piers and giant structural ribs (and appears as the book's cover [and only color] photo!).
Another takeaway for me was the interesting urbanistic quality of Borromini's work, where buildings are adeptly and ingeniously laid out with interesting relationships between the interior spaces and the streets, and between pure geometries and the more incidental angles of exterior streets and piazzas. The Oratory of S. Filippo Neri, the Palazzo Carpegna and the Collegio di Propaganda Fide are all good examples of this, and bring into relief the use of pure geometries that complement the exigencies of urban palimpsest and previously-existing rooms and spaces.
One somewhat bothersome detail was the (over) frequent reference to an archival source (Albertina), images of which were not included, and which would have been helpful in understanding the discussion/explanations. Perhaps in the next Borromini text -- and interesting that there does seem to be a two-volume monograph by Venturi's pal Paolo Portoghesi, will have to search for that.
(And a side note here, about the interest in Anthony Blunt, the famous fourth man of the Cambridge Five British spy ring. I found it intriguing to think of Blunt's duplicity in furthering both his art history work AND a career of passing secrets to the Soviet Union. Were these two careers complementary? At odds with each other? The idea of doing the detailed and in some cases never conceived before research into arcane architectural ideas/comparisons/analyses in the morning, then meeting with a fellow Soviet spy in the evening to conspire/pass secrets/betray one's (birth) country both fascinates and gives one pause.)
The last chapter, dealing both with Borromini's death by suicide and his largely dismissed/ignored/frowned-upon legacy until the latter part of the 20th century has a surprisingly maudlin feel, given the liveliness and exuberance of both the building designs and the accompanying narratives in the previous chapters. Which whet my appetite for the actual biography, including/especially the heralded rivalry between Borromini and Bernini in the 17th century, which i have previously likened to that between Venturi and Gehry in the 20th century -- the brooding/tormented, unpopular genius as opposed to the glib, photogenic/popular but superficial media star.
August 24, 2014
This lucid and fully illustrated account is more an analysis and assessment of Borromini’s art than a biography of the man himself. Blunt does an amazing job presenting Borromini as one of the great geniuses of Baroque architecture, perhaps the greatest in inventiveness and in use of spatial effects. A must read for any student of architecture, either amateur or professional.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews