The Brooklyn Rail

Every summer, when I return to my parents’ home in Sicily, I make it a point to spend at least one day in Cefalù, a small village on the northern coast of the island. Originally a Greek settlement, Cefalù was later under Roman, Byzantine, Arab, and Norman rule, each leaving its peculiar cultural mark on it. Over the twentieth century, then, the village transformed from a quiet fishing community into a must-see destination, famous for its charming streets and stunning seafront.

Cefalù’s most iconic landmark is its cathedral, founded in 1131 by Roger II, the first Norman King of Sicily. According to tradition, after surviving a shipwreck and landing on Cefalù’s shores, Roger vowed to build a cathedral, which he intended as his mausoleum. Although he was never buried there, the building remains a symbol of his reign. Combining Norman, Byzantine, and Islamic styles, the cathedral is a masterpiece of medieval architecture, renowned for its stunning mosaics, particularly the Christ Pantocrator in the apse.

A few steps from the cathedral, in an alley where thousands of tourists stroll every day, lies a hidden gem, the Mandralisca Museum. Despite its modest size, the museum holds an impressive collection of art, archaeology, and rare books. It showcases the collection of Baron Enrico Pirajno di Mandralisca, a scholar and passionate collector, who was also one of the first members of Italian parliament after national unification in 1861.

The museum’s standout piece is the Portrait of an Unknown Sailor, a masterpiece by Antonello da Messina that Baron Mandralisca discovered in Lipari, a little island not far from Cefalù, where it was used as a cabinet door in a drugstore. Little is known about the work’s previous history. Painted in the 1460s or 1470s, this enigmatic portrait captures the mysterious and ironic expression of its subject, whose identity remains unknown.

For many years, the subject was believed to be an anonymous sailor. After all, similar faces can still be seen among Sicilian fishermen, who observe tourists with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. It was Roberto Longhi, a prominent Italian art historian, who first proposed a different interpretation in 1953.¹ Considering the subject’s refined clothing and the significance of a commission to Antonello, Longhi believed that the man was more likely a nobleman or a wealthy merchant. Regardless of the subject’s identity, the portrait’s lifelike quality and psychological depth have cemented its status as one of Antonello’s finest works.

To fully appreciate the Portrait of an Unknown Sailor, however, it is essential to underline the influence of Flemish art on Antonello’s style. During his travels across the Mediterranean Sea, the painter encountered the works of Flemish masters like Petrus Christus, and he adopted their oil painting techniques. This allowed him to achieve unprecedented effects in texture, details, and brightness. His control of light and shadow not only enhanced the expressive tension of his subjects, but also created a peculiar sense of suspense, as though the figures were awaiting a reaction from their viewers. Antonello’s meticulous attention to individual features revolutionized portrait painting in Italy.

Cefalù and the Portrait of an Unknown Sailor perfectly exemplify the living value of Italian Renaissance art, as well as the complexity of its cultural heritage. A first key aspect to consider is the close relationship between art and territory. In Italy, several masterpieces are housed not in major national museums but are instead scattered throughout small towns, churches, and local institutions, deeply integrated within their original context, where they still play an active role in the life of their communities, whether in religious rituals or in inspiring new regional artistic productions. Another significant aspect is the temporal layering that is still evident in towns like Cefalù. Medieval buildings stand alongside Renaissance and modern masterpieces, often repurposed over the centuries and still in use.

Finally, especially given the current political climate in our country, the concept of Italianness should be approached with nuance. Italian culture, like its artistic tradition, is not a monolith but a mosaic of regional identities, international influences, and historical intersections. The Portrait of an Unknown Sailor is a masterpiece of the Italian Renaissance, yet it is deeply rooted in a specific regional context, having become a symbol of Sicilian cultural identity. At the same time, it reflects how Italian painting was already deeply influenced by the international art scene during the fifteenth century. The same is true for the Cefalù cathedral, where Byzantine mosaics were used in the context of Norman architectural style, in turn deeply influenced by the architecture and decorative elements of Islamic art.

At the end of my visits to Cefalù, just before evening, I usually go for a swim. As I look back at the town from the sea, hearing voices from the shore speaking Sicilian, Italian, and other languages, I think I can understand what Roger II, Antonello, and Baron Mandralisca might have been thinking, each in their own time—after all, this town, just like Italy, has been for centuries above all a harbor, shaped by diverse influences and histories, continuing to thrive as a meeting point of different worlds.