An Allegory: Female Figure with a Compass, God the Father Seated on Clouds, and a Demon 1512 - 1597

Curator: Prospero Fontana gifts us this puzzling drawing, "An Allegory: Female Figure with a Compass, God the Father Seated on Clouds, and a Demon." It’s rendered in ink on paper and dates, roughly, to between 1512 and 1597. Editor: Whoa. My first impression is of organized chaos, you know? A battle, perhaps, between intellect and something darker…or is it lighter? All those clouds... Curator: Indeed. Look closely at the materiality of the drawing. The ink strokes, so delicately applied, seem to create volume but also ethereality. The lines are his primary tool and make such form. It almost feels alchemic in its precision. We see here Fontana attempting to elevate the artist through craft itself. Editor: So, tell me, does the female figure holding a compass, her gaze fixed upwards, ground you as she does, or does she represent something less solid? To me, she anchors the piece. Perhaps, she's human reason in earthly form? But with that demon breathing down her neck—or, I suppose, tickling her arm—reason seems very, very vulnerable! Curator: Fontana was an instructor, so let's consider the possibility that the piece wasn’t intended as finished art. It might simply be a masterclass in form, in contrapposto… in academic gesture… even academic themes. That being said, yes, I read some vulnerability, here—but less hers, and more… everybody else’s? I cannot decide whose allegiances I admire or don’t. Editor: You think of it as a lesson in line and I jump right into this… I guess somewhat adolescent feeling, a feeling of helplessness in the face of cosmic struggles. What does that say about *me*? And I wonder: was this work ever really intended to leave the studio? Curator: Oh, that’s wonderful. And probably true of you. It might also say that he succeeds—that this so-called exercise succeeds in activating your empathy as much as your intellect. It makes me wonder about the marketplace and where his labors ended. Editor: I am thankful Fontana made it leave. His choice of sepia ink provides a striking shadow tone, and it enhances, in a peculiar way, my mood of hope and despair. So thank you, Prospero Fontana. Curator: My thanks as well—both to Fontana and to you. For as you said, for reminding me about how drawings like this engage the inner world in surprisingly intense, complex, and human ways.