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Leonardo Frigo | Globe Maker
Italian-born and London-based, globemaker Leonardo Frigo trained in Venice as a restorer. The discovery of a 17th century manual for making maps of the world, however, led him in another, unexplored direction: creating sophisticated globes according to the ancient technique. The multiple steps involved are so intricate, as are the forgotten ingredients - rediscovered through alchemical experiments and trial and error - that a single job can take years. But it's worth it; Leonardo's creations are astonishing, and bring back to the present a past that once had little hope of revival.
How did you begin?
"As a child, I did not have the dream of making globes, but maybe that was because I did not even imagine that such a profession existed. The first step, during my university years in Venice, was to become interested in materials. I was studying restoration and ended up being passionate about plaster, gilding and all the technical aspects behind a work. One day a professor told us about Vincenzo Maria Coronelli, a priest, cartographer and geographer born in 1650. His globes are now exhibited in the Correr Museum, the British Museum, Paris, Munich, Abu Dhabi.
"I went to the Biblioteca Marciana and read his ‘Epitome Cosmografica’, which is a collection of his studies divided into three chapters, the last of which is a veritable manual on the construction of globes, complete with a recipe book for the constituent elements. I therefore had in my hand the secret to making globes some 400 years ago. The impulse to really get into this work, however, would come from another direction. At the time, my main activity was decorating musical instruments and I had just finished painting 33 violins, corresponding to the 33 cantos of the Divine Comedy's Inferno. I also wanted to do Purgatory and Paradise, but I wanted to find a different formula than decorating another 66 instruments... I thought of making a globe with Dante's geography."
How did you learn?
"All the instructions were contained in Coronelli's book, written in ancient Italian mixed with Venetian dialect but still readable. However, certain ingredients were nowhere to be found and I had to scramble to figure out how to recover forgotten techniques. For the first tests, I started with non-plaster spheres, deviating from orthodoxy, then I slowly moved closer and closer to the literal realisation.
"The paper was quite a headache. Since it had to be wet and applied to the sphere it had to be elastic enough, but those that met these requirements when painted turned out to be plastic, incompatible with the delicacy of watercolours. The turning point was to meet some really keen Fabriano boys who analysed the paper composition of the first edition of the ‘Epitome Cartografica’. The idea was that there were just few papers available at the time and that possibly Coronelli had printed his book on the same paper used for the globes. The composition and thickness of this paper was therefore imitated and it worked!
"For the other components, too, there was a long search for suppliers: the watercolours I use are made in Assisi especially for me, reproducing 17th century colours strictly with natural ingredients. And for the varnish I use, like Coronelli, a resin from the larches that grow in the hinterland of Veneto, near where I was born."
How do you plan, prepare and create your works?
"The first step is to design the map; it is the longest phase and it is not difficult for it to last three months or more. You have to do a lot of research and archive work, not to mention that it is very easy to make mistakes (a spelling mistake can be fatal) and you have to be very precise. The paper sketch is then transferred onto copper, with an etching, and from there it is overwritten onto the globe. The globe is divided into 12 segments, all of which are cut out to perfection with a scalpel, and one of the distinguishing features of a world map of excellence is that these segments never overlap, but are juxtaposed imperceptibly.
"As for the sphere, when they are small I make them out of plaster, empty inside. But when they are large they need a wooden framework... I have come to understand exactly what Coronelli's were like and to be able to reproduce them thanks to the X-ray scans that were made of his works. Up to five people work in my workshop some days at the same time, but when I started I was doing all the stages myself, so I know them inside out. Having a background as a restorer, I was well aware of the importance of personally tackling each technical step, because it is during the manual work that problems and possible solutions are identified, for example, if the plaster threatens to crack or if the color might fade. The last steps (up to this point everything was in black and white) are painting and varnishing."
Who or what most inspires your work?
"The cornerstone of what I do is all about rediscovering and restoring a forgotten technique, and my underlying inspirations are the work of Coronelli and the genius of Dante. To fuel creativity, I go back to Venice. What fascinates me, and resonates with my chords, is simply the past and the ways in which it lives again.
"It is no coincidence that I studied restoration! I often go to antique markets and fairs, and I remember that as a child I was obsessed with old keys and the idea of the old mysterious doors they might open."
What are the best and worst things about being a craftsperson today?
"Although I always work on several globes at the same time, a single globe takes months (if not years, in the case of the most ambitious projects) to complete. However, I don't think that the most tiring thing is the work itself, which I am very passionate about, but having to reconcile all the technical aspects with the other aspects of the work: relations with customers, accounting, bureaucracy.
"I think this is a problem that afflicts many craftsmen, who work on their own or in very small teams and find themselves overwhelmed by the tasks. On the other hand, the relationship with ‘the outside world’ is very important: it is fascinating to see people's curiosity and genuine amazement at the work I do."
One more thing... An Artist you’d collect if you could?
"I would say Yannis Tsarouchis, a Greek artist who died in 1990, whom I discovered by chance when I came across one of his exhibitions.
"I bought the catalogue and found myself thinking spontaneously ‘I would like these paintings...’. They are very figurative and possess a melancholy that enchants me."
Interview by Sara Piredonà
Images courtesy Leonardo Frigo
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