![]() His prints, in the meantime, made him famous. When he took up printmaking, it was to make ends meet, and his elaborate title pages announced the authorship of “Giambattista Piranesi, Venetian Architect,” but he died with just one significant architectural project to his name. The actual Piranesi was born in the Veneto in 1720 and went to Rome at the age of nineteen with the dream of becoming an architect. And throughout the two centuries that followed, Giovanni Battista Piranesi the person and Piranesi the tormented trope have shared space in the world like a badly executed hologram: never invisible, never quite clear. And so on, until the unfinished stairs and the hopeless Piranesi both are lost in the upper gloom of the hall.ĭe Quincey never claimed to have seen the etching in question-he was riffing on hearsay from Coleridge-so our compassion is being called into play for an imaginary figure in an imaginary prison in an imaginary etching. But raise your eyes, and behold a second flight of stairs still higher, on which again Piranesi is perceived…. You perceived a staircase and upon this, groping his way upwards, was Piranesi himself…. “Creeping along the sides of the walls,” De Quincey wrote, He wasn’t worried about the real Piranesi, long dead by then he was considering the plight of an etched figure he understood to be Piranesi in one of the artist’s Carceri d’invenzione ( Imaginary Prisons). ![]() ![]() “Whatever is to become of poor Piranesi,” mused Thomas De Quincey in his 1821 Confessions of an English Opium-Eater.
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