September 24, 2013
Charles Nicholl
C/o penguin publishing
Dear Charles,
Recently I came across "Leonardo da Vinci: Flights of the Mind" at Costco (!) and realized that it was time I acquainted myself with a man about whom I knew next to nothing but is always first on my list of people with whom I would like to dine. Further, I knew he was left-handed, as am I, and while I certainly do not mean to imply that I believe we are similar in any other way, I do love that we share this mysterious trait, and I'd like to think that if I had met him he would have delighted in showing me his mirror writing and other ways he adapted to the right-handed world. But first! Back to your book.
I loved it so much. Never have I devoured a biography so greedily and with such intensity. Partially it is the subject matter, (I can't imagine I would have enjoyed reading about, say, Alan Greenspan), but mostly it is you. The way you put it together, the history of the artwork after it left his studio, the lives of his patrons and those close to him, painted--pardon the pun--such a vivid picture of his daily life, that I felt as though I was a fly on the wall, watching him scribble in his notebooks, sketch birds and whorls of water, and agonize over brush strokes in 'The Last Supper'. Through your portrait, I discovered a man I would have loved to know; not just because of his enormous talent and intellect, but also his ceaseless awe of nature and the world around him, his discovery of beauty in the smallest things and his constant pursuit of truth.
As I am writing this, my sons (ages 3 and 5) are flying balsa wood airplanes in the backyard, and it occurs to me how much Leonardo would have loved this; the simple construction of the airplanes, the way they glide and loop in the breeze, and how much the boys delight in their flight. How sad it is that Leonardo did not have children in his life; even nieces, nephews and neighborhood kids are absent. It seems he would have taken great pleasure in passing along his enthusiasm for discovery, taking them on adventurous nature walks, dissecting bugs, etc. I imagine he would have made wonderful little contraptions for them, perhaps little automaton animals, and taught them how to fix them when they broke. He could have been that favorite uncle to what I imagine was quite an army of nieces and nephews, but that was not to be either, and I am struck by a feeling of profound loneliness. Though he had assistants and companions of sorts, it seems as though he did not have people who loved him so purely or a person upon whom he could consistently depend for emotional support. I want to smack Salai on the back of the head, as it seems that Leonardo cared for him deeply and Salai had no problem taking that affection and whatever money he could find. I wish there was more about him that might change my opinion. Though maybe the fault lies with Leonardo, whose devotion to physical beauty was (in this case, perhaps) unfortunate.
I have a few questions as well, and while I don't really expect to hear from you, I certainly welcome a response if you are so inclined.
What of 'La Scapagliata'? It is one of my favorites. I love the soft lines, the unguarded moment captured.
After I finished your book I turned to the copyright page and realized it is almost ten years old, and after a little research learned that 'The Da Vinci Code' came out the year prior. You make no mention of it, and I was wondering if that was because it was too late by the time 'Code' was causing a stir, or you'd rather not dignify it with any sort of comments or further publicity. Either explanation is understandable, but I was wondering about the claims he makes regarding 'The Last Supper'. I know it is a fictitious book, but the thing about Mary Magdalene sitting next to Christ will not leave my mind, as I can find no trace of a man in that face and body. Much like the bird in the St. Anne painting, I can't not see the woman sitting next to Jesus.
Along that same vein, regarding the Mona Lisa. I have seen online how someone has spliced together the Mona Lisa and the famous self-portrait Leonardo did in his sixties, and all the features line up exactly, as if they are the same person...?
How, exactly, did Leonardo die? It seems he had a stroke, paralyzing his right arm (and side?), then much later he draws up his will and dies shortly after that. It seems Leonardo knew the end was near, yes?
Thank you Charles, for writing a truly brilliant account of Leonardo's life and work. I feel like I know him! I love that feeling, and I think I will take up mirror writing and do more exploration of the world around me to make him proud.
Sincerely,
Anne Marie Woodward
annemarie.woodward@gmail.com
