Just a stone’s throw from Ponte Vecchio, Florence’s Church of Santa Felicita remains largely undiscovered by casual tourists, attracting only those truly seeking it out. This makes it easier to quietly admire the masterpiece within its Capponi Chapel: Jacopo Pontormo’s The Deposition of Christ. It’s a swirling vortex of intertwined figures and languid expressions, amassed in a challenging spiral that defies traditional rules of perspective.
This work stands out as one of Florentine Mannerism’s most original creations. The artist deliberately stripped away contextual elements to emphasize raw emotion. Pontormo’s masterful draftsmanship is evident in the virtuoso lines that twist and turn, forming arabesques, creating continuous flows, surprising shifts, and luminous areas. The scene is both deeply spiritual and intensely agitated, reaching for transcendence while embracing artistic artifice.
Born Jacopo Carucci in Pontormo in 1494 and dying in Florence in 1557, Pontormo painted during a period when the Italian Renaissance had already peaked, with giants like Raphael and Michelangelo having demonstrated their genius. Perhaps his generation felt a sense of witnessing “the end of history,” yet they also likely experienced less pressure to conform, choosing instead to explore audacious new artistic paths, liberated from classical dictates. This environment fostered the emergence of Mannerism.
One might wonder why the painting is titled Deposition rather than Descent. In 16th-century Italy (this work dates to 1528), the themes of Christ’s death and the Eucharist were highly prevalent—and actively promoted by the Theatine order, which included prominent prelates—as a direct response to Luther’s excommunication in 1520.
While traditionally interpreted as a Descent from the Cross, such images are often termed Deposition when the cross is absent, suggesting the moment of burial, even without a visible tomb or slab. The gathering of grieving figures also lends itself to being called a Lament: the instant Christ’s body is separated from his Mother for interment, depicted with strikingly disharmonious movements, such as the angel awkwardly supporting Jesus’ legs in the foreground.
Like many Mannerist artists, Pontormo was acutely aware of his painting’s significance and valued theoretical speculation. This might explain why, decades later (between 1554 and 1556, a fertile period for him), he kept a personal diary. It meticulously detailed not only his artistic practices but also his daily life, describing his meals (number of eggs, doves, pounds of bread), schedules, detailed digestions, and tavern expenses, all interwoven with updates on his fresco work at Florence’s San Lorenzo church.
These diaries offer insight into the term “maniera,” which Giorgio Vasari used to describe contemporaries with a distinctive style. “Maniera” encompassed not only artistic qualities but also human attributes: self-control, culture, refinement, and sprezzatura (effortless grace, a talented balance).
Pasolini: “These yellows and pinks are not colors, they are breaths; delicate, uneven, and powerful breaths, like the indelible ruins of a fire.”
The word “maniera” derives from “mano” (hand), thus referencing the manual skill of accomplished creators. Indeed, hand positions held vital importance during this period; in Pontormo’s work, Christ’s left hand appears deliberately displayed by the bearers, almost gaining autonomy from the rest of the body, likely symbolizing the divine hand governing human destiny. However, “maniera” also shares a root with “manía” (mania). Mannerism, like Pontormo’s diaries, exhibits an obsessive quality in its sophistication. Consequently, critics from the late 16th century onwards often denounced it as “amaneramiento”—affectedness, a lack of naturalness, and a tendency towards ostentation, preciousness, and peculiarity.
Beyond its lines and figural treatment, The Deposition of Christ captivates with its colors, considered among the most praised of the Cinquecento. This piece shows a clear debt to Michelangelo’s palette, featuring shades of green, vibrant pinks, oranges, diffused blues, and violet-tinged grays. The serenity Pontormo imparts to the Virgin bridges the terror of death with the solace of Resurrection.
Pier Paolo Pasolini recreated this artwork in his film La Ricotta, part of the Rogopag anthology. His comments on the painting revealed the profound influence of lessons from historian Roberto Longhi during WWII in Bologna. His vivid impressions are worth quoting: “Colors? To call these colors… I don’t know. Gather a few poppies in the melancholy sunlight of a sunset and crush them; they release a juice that dries instantly; then moisten it a little and ask a child to run a finger soaked in this liquid over a white cloth: in the middle of the finger’s trace, a very pale red will emerge, almost pink, but dazzling thanks to the whiteness of the immaculate fabric, while at the edges of the trace, a thread of violent and magnificent decolorized red will concentrate, drying immediately, becoming opaque, as if lying on a layer of lime. Even when diluting, it will retain the liveliness of red in its death. In the center, there will be nothing left but a paleness, an emptiness, a nothing with something red, which was red and still is, but like a phantom smell (…). These yellows and pinks are not colors, they are breaths; delicate, uneven, and powerful breaths, like the indelible ruins of a fire.”
