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Emilia Serafini barely dared to breathe as she applied the gray, liquid gesso in light, careful strokes to the wooden board that would serve as the surface for her master’s painting of the Virgin and Child with Saints Peter and Paul. Her thoughts could not wander from her task because the gesso had to be flawless, laid down in even layers that would later be sanded to a smooth, white polish. Though she was a mere apprentice, Emilia understood that each step of creating a panel required great care, patience and exactitude, for these were creations that reflected the holy perfection of the Heavens and the glory of the city of Florence.
It was the summer of 1458. Overhead the Tuscan sun seeped into the red brick streets and bustling shops while bathing the surrounding hills and olive groves with amber light. Inside the bottega, the workshop, of Lorenzo Capponi on the Via dei Tavolini, Emilia sat on her stool at the rough, plank table while completing her task. Beads of sweat trickled down her neck from beneath the cloth cap she wore low on her head to hide hair that was too long, too glorious to cut.
She wanted to tear off the cap and oversized tunic she wore over her linen shirt, but she could not without giving herself away; fourteen year-old Emilia was disguised as a boy because painters’ apprenticeships were not for girls. She willed herself to ignore the heat and to concentrate instead on the task at hand. Her suffering was only temporary, but Capponi’s painting would endure for years to come.
Across the room at another table, Giacomo—a young painter whose dedication and seriousness she admired—applied the undercoat to a panel. He worked silently, following along the pattern which had been etched into the gesso with a sharp stylus by the master. Giacomo paid little attention to Emilia, though she went out of her way to be helpful to him. From time to time she glanced in his direction, eyed the sheen of his wavy, sand-colored hair, the graceful movements of his hands as he worked, though she was careful to conceal her notice. She supposed that even if she were to reveal herself as the young woman she truly was, Giacomo would keep on painting without skipping a beat.
Emilia looked forward to the day when more would be asked of her, when she would be allowed to paint as well, but for now she had to be content with her no less necessary task. After all, each painting was created with the combined efforts of many hands. In precise, organized steps, Lorenzo Capponi’s craftsmen worked together to create the magnificent works which adorned the great churches of their city.
At the end of Emilia’s table, gray haired Leonardo maintained his characteristic half-scowl as he sanded a large board. Next to Leonardo, a young boy named Luigi ground pigments with a mortar and pestle. The usual, quiet hum of the workshop was interrupted when Luigi started singing. If a man will not be quick. The span of life is short. A man must not put off his duty.