Historia: The Maestro and the Patron

Filippo dipped his brush and began to paint. He was adding the finishing touches to the Maestro’s largest work yet. The huge canvas was exquisite. It depicted a view of the city, celebrating its intricate streets, grand architecture and mighty walls.

Around the studio, assistants were busy working on the Maestro’s other commissions. The Maestro painted the most important sections himself, but backgrounds and secondary figures were delegated to assistants like Filippo.

Once Filippo began to paint, his brush flowed almost with a life of its own. He was the Maestro’s most trusted assistant, but the Maestro also feared him. Filippo’s skill was exceptional, and his own creative ideas were brilliant. The Maestro worked hard to keep Filippo in his place.

“Truly a masterpiece,” said a voice behind Filippo.

Filippo hadn’t noticed: the Maestro’s patron had made a surprise visit to inspect the work. The patron was standing behind him, watching, with the Maestro by his side.

“Everyone who sees it in the Council Chamber will be awed.”

“Indeed,” said the Maestro. “Every nobleman in the city will hear of your civic pride, wealth and generosity.”

“But what is this?” the patron said, pointing to the background that Filippo had painted.

“That shows the landscape beyond the city,” said Filippo. “The hills and forests in this area are truly beautiful.”

“I asked for a painting to celebrate the city, not the grass!”

The Maestro looked at Filippo angrily. “I told you to paint the city walls there,” he said sternly.

Then the patron gasped. “Who are these figures?”

He was pointing to the people in the streets in the foreground. Filippo had added peasants, poor children and beggars.

“Those are the real people who live in the city,” said Filippo. “Without those people, the city couldn’t exist.”

“Are you mad?” the patron asked the Maestro. “We can’t display beggars in the Council Chamber!”

“I assure you, sir, these were not my instructions,” said the Maestro quickly. “I will personally change those figures for noblemen this afternoon.”

After the patron had left, the Maestro screamed at Filippo for ten minutes. Filippo argued back. He believed passionately that the city’s greatness and beauty included both rich and poor, both architecture and landscape.

At last, the Maestro shouted: “Get your things, leave my studio, and never return.”

Filippo carried everything he owned in a small satchel. He wandered the same streets that he had been painting. He greeted the peasants, gave bread to the children, and gave his last coins to a beggar. At last he sat down in the market square and wept.

His career as an artist was over. No other maestro would accept him now.

He pulled a sheet of rough paper from his satchel, and a stick of charcoal. He began to sketch furiously. He captured the market stalls, the traders and the peasants; the muddy streets and the detritus; and the shadow of the palace. Soon, he forgot about his misery and was absorbed in the work.

“I have never seen art with such honesty,” said a voice behind him. It was a nobleman who had stopped to watch.

Filippo stood up to show respect. The nobleman asked which studio Filippo worked for. Filippo explained.

“Then I shall provide you with a space, assistants and all the materials you need. Make a painting from your sketch, and I’ll donate it to the new hospital. Every patient, rich or poor, will see it.”

“But that will cost —”

“It will be worth it. There are thousands of paintings throughout this city, but very little art. You should see the rubbish they display in the Council Chamber.”