This is a piece loosely based on an image by Andrea del Castagno. You know his story from Vasari. He hypocritically courted the friendship of his fellow artist (and thus, rival), Domenico Veneziano, with the heinous intention of murdering him; an ambition he achieved one fine day by attacking Domenico from behind on a street corner, beating him to death with pieces of lead and then, undetected, flying back to their shared abode. When a crowd appeared at his door to tell him his friend was discovered dying in the street, Andrea rushed to the scene, and, cradling Domenico in his arms, listened to his victim's pathetic dying lament of "Alas, my brother!" Domenico died never suspecting his friend was his murderer. Per Vasari, no one would have ever known if Andrea had not confessed to the deed on his deathbed. A truly shocking tale of cold-blooded cruelty, is it not? The only thing even more shocking is that the alleged victim outlived his alleged murderer by a good four years. Ah well! I guess that just goes to show you can't believe everything you read, not in Vasari and perhaps not even here.
