An enigmatic little book studded with arresting imagery. Renaissance intrigue slips through the lacunae of years. This turned out to be another of the oblique ghost stories I seem to be gravitating toward towards this summer, with fresco as the vivid realm of the dead: “There is more life in the paintings than in all of these lovely and rapturous spectators who simply put on airs because they are afraid of the pictures’ soul which is their own. The pictures are like all great ghosts in Art who calmly and tirelessly wait for their living models to die.”