Hand Chasing

FINE HAND CHASING, or the final working of cast or hand raised forms in bronze, brass or copper, silver or gold, is an all but lost art form. In relation to bronze casting, hand chasing is the finishing technique that can give emphatic force to the form of an eye, bounce to a curl, or delicacy to the fingers of a hand, thereby restoring the vitality that sculptures inevitably loose in the casting process.

The restoration of Cellini's Perseo being carried out at the Uffizi draws one's attention to this ancient and most difficult technique. The skill with which Cellini exploits the decorative potential of hand chasing brings to mind silversmithing -- the fauna, ribbons and curlicues used for centuries to emphasize the form of hand-raised bowls or teapots, or the finishing floral borders given to forks and spoons.

This antique art form is absolutely dependent on a well-developed drawing ability, for once a line or form is chased on metal, it becomes a permanent three-dimensional image. Because of this, the learning of cesello, as it is called in Italian, requires constancy, determination and many years of effort. The effort is not really physical, for the tools are normally no larger than a pencil and are frequently much thinner. The problems arise in controlling the form of the image to be impressed in the metal.

There are many chasing tools, each with the form necessary to produce a particular effect, and all come in a variety of sizes. In Italian there is a specific name for each shape, which describes both the function of the tool and the tool itself. For example, il profilo is the preferred tool for outlining (profiling) a design, whereas l'unghtto, which is shaped like a fingernail, is used for tight curves, etc.

Chasing is normally taught on small sheets of copper, bronze or brass supported by warmed pitch that gives resiliency as well as tolerance to the metal. Both surfaces of the sheet are worked to develop the three-dimensionality of the desired form. Because of this constant working of the surfaces -- that is, the cleaning, reheating, and subsequent turning of the piece to work the other side, only the incredibly determined can hope to develop proficiency in this art form.

I was lucky enough to have as Maestro one of the last fine Florentine chasers, Marcello Rovini. I found the various techniques I learned from him important not just for their technical aspects, but from a conceptual standpoint as well: They reveal a sensibility that has its roots well-planted in the Renaissance if not before, and which is not commonly found, at least not in the U.S., where I began my studies.

Just the first exercises in chasing can give an idea of the richness of these concepts. A series of concentric circles is drawn on a small sheet of non-ferrous metal which is then placed on the warmed pitch supported by the chaser's palla, or ball of pietra serena (the soft gray stone typical of Tuscany). When the pitch has lost much of its elasticity the drawn circles are chased with the small iron (actually soft steel) tools. The idea is to fill the sheet with as many circles as possible, seemingly to avoid wasting the metal. Once the lavoretto is done, the Florentine maestro will check the piece, which can in no way be precise as it is but the first of hundreds, and tell the student to redo the exercise using the spaces left between the circles. This is not just to teach the hand to control the movement of the tools, but to train the eye for accuracy. Each line cleanly chased in metal creates reflections to its left and right. The eye must learn to distinguish between a reflection and a depression for the work to be efficiently and effectively executed. This kind of attitude towards training starts in any Florentine shop or bottega worth its name.

This primary exercise can be found punched into the three-dimensional on Ghiberti's Doors of Paradise: numerous variations on the height, width, concavity, and convexity of simple lines are tucked unassumingly into the architectural framework of his famous doors. The exquisite precision of the work done by Ghiberti's and his assistants can be clearly understood by even the untrained eye. All that one needs do is view the original calmly in the Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, giving the eye time to discover the new terrain that hand-chased bronze has to offer, and then return to the copy on the doors of the Baptistery.

Unfortunately this comparison serves to underline the fact that contemporary chasers are not always allowed the time necessary to develop the level of expertise so evident in the work done in the past.

For those visiting Florence though, a sculptural treat is in store: the top floor of Orsanmichele has recently been opened to the public for the viewing of the original stone and bronze sculptures previously housed on Orsanmichele's richly decorated façades. Here one can take delight in not only being close enough to appreciate the fine chasing on bronze or the finishing details in marble. The elongated heads and upper torsos of just about all the figures testify to the incredible sensitivity towards visual perspective on the part of the sculptors of the time. This exhibit, along with those of the Bargello and the Museo dell'Opera del Duomo, are a must for the contemporary figurative sculptor.

Mary Ann Luchetti lives and works in Florence; her studio is in the heart of San Frediano, the artisan's quarter. In addition to doing her own work she teaches figurative sculpture and drawing.