Antonio Canova was an Italian Neoclassical sculptor famous for his marble sculptures. Often regarded as the greatest of the Neoclassical artists. Born in 1757, in the Venetian Republic city of Possagno to Pietro Canova, a stonecutter, and Maria Angela Zardo Fantolini.
In 1761, his father died. A year later, his mother remarried. In 1762, he was put into the care of his paternal grandfather Pasino Canova, a stonemason, owner of a quarry, and a sculptor who specialized in altars with statues and low reliefs late Baroque style. He led Antonio into the art of sculpting, and this story narrates probably the way things took shape.
Antonio was a puny lad and not strong enough to work, he did not care to play with the other boys of the town, but he liked to go with his grandfather to the stone yard. While the old man, his grandfather Pasino Canova was busy cutting and trimming the great blocks of stone, the lad would play among the chips. Sometimes he would make a little statue of soft clay. Sometimes he would take a hammer and chisel and cut a statue from a piece of rock. He showed so much skill that his grandfather was delighted. "The boy will be a sculptor someday," he said. Then when they went home in the evening, the grandmother would say, "what have you been doing today? My little sculptor." And she would take him up on her lap and sing to him or tell him stories that filled his mind with pictures of beautiful things. And the next day, when he went back to the stone yard, he would try to make some of those pictures in stone or clay. They lived in the same town, a rich man called the Count, sometimes the Count would have a grand dinner, and his rich friends from other towns would visit him. Then Antonio's grandfather would go up to the Count's house to help with the work in the kitchen.
So he was a fine cook as well as a good stonecutter. One day, Antonio went with his grandfather to the Count's great house, some people from the city were coming, and there was to be a grand feast. The boy could not cook, and he was not old enough to wait on the table, but he could wash their hands and kettles. And as he was intelligent and quick, he could help in many other ways. All went well until it was time to spread the table for dinner. Then there was a crash in the dining room, and a man rushed into the kitchen with some pieces of marble in his hands. He was pale and trembling with fright. "What should I do? What should I do? He cried. I've broken the statue that was to stand at the centre of the table. I cannot make the table look pretty without the statue. What will the Count say?" And now, all the other servants were in trouble. Was the dinner to be a failure? After all, if everything depended on having the table nicely arranged, the Count would be furious. "Oh, what shall we do?" They all asked. Then little Antonio Canova left his pans and kettles and went up to the man who would cause the trouble, "if you had another statue, could you arrange the table?" He asked. "Certainly, said the man, that is if the statue is of the right length and height."
"Will you let me try and make one as Dantonio? Perhaps I can make something that will do." The man laughed nonsense. He cried, "Oh, are you that you talk of making statues on an hour's notice?" "I'm Antonio Canova," said the lad. "Let the boy try what he can do," said the servants who knew him, and so since nothing else could be done, the man allowed him to try. There was a large square lump of yellow butter on the kitchen table, 200 pounds, the lump weighed, and it had just come in fresh and clean from the dairy on the mountain with a kitchen knife in his hand. Antonio began to cut and carve this butter. In a few minutes, he had moulded it into the shape of a crouching lion, and all the servants crowded around to see it.
How beautiful, they cried. It is a great deal prettier than the statue that was broken. When it was finished, the man carried it to its place. The table will be more handsome by half than I ever hope to make it, he said. When the Count and his friends came into dinner, they saw the Yellow Lion or a beautiful work of art. They cried none, but a very great artist could ever carve such a figure. And how odd that he should choose to make it of butter. And then they asked the Count to tell them the name of the artist. Honestly, my friends, he said this is as much of a surprise to me as to you, and then he called to his head servant and asked him where he had found so wonderful a statue.
It was carved only an hour ago by a little boy in the kitchen, said the seven. This made the Count's friends wonder still more, and the Count made the servant call the boy into the room. "My lad, he said, you have done a piece of work of which the greatest artists would be proud. What is your name, and who is your teacher?" "My name is Antonio Canova," said the boy. "And I've had no teacher but my grandfather, the stonecutter." By this time, all the guests have crowded around Antonio, they were famous artists among them, and they knew that the lad was a genius. They could not say enough in praise of his work. And when at last they sat down at the table, nothing would please them but that Antonio should have a seat with them. And the dinner was made a feast in his honour. The very next day, the Count sent for Antonio to come and live with him. The best artists in the land were employed to teach him the art he had shown so much skill. But now, instead of carving butter, he chiselled marble. In a few years, Antonio Canova became known as one of the greatest sculptors in the world.
