Franciscan at Home

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The renowned italian painter Caravaggio (1571–1610) was active in Rome for most of his artistic career. He was widely known for his dramatic use of lighting, a technique that had a profound influence on the Baroque period of art history. He was a master of chiaroscuro, the use of strong contrasts between light and dark. He used this technique to create a sense of depth and realism that made his paintings deeply moving.

The dramatic intensity of Caravaggio’s work mirrored the intensity of his personal life. We know about much of Caravaggio’s life through the extensive police records that documented his disorderly conduct. He was notorious for his brawling and arguments with not only his peers but also those in authority. His volatile temper culminated in the murder of Ranuccio Tomassoni over a bet on a game of tennis. Caravaggio knew very well the effects and darkness of sin. He was a man who struggled between darkness and light in his personal life. We see that same tension vividly portrayed in his paintings.

One of Caravaggio’s most striking works, The Incredulity of Saint Thomas (1602), visually captures the Gospel of John’s account of Thomas’s doubt and growth in faith. According to the Gospel of John, Thomas was not present when Jesus first appeared to the other disciples after the Resurrection. Unwilling to believe their testimony, Thomas declared, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nail marks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe” (Jn 20:25). Caravaggio captures the transformative moment of Thomas encountering the risen Christ.

Art: The Holy Family with Mary Magdalen by El Greco.
Framed: 160 x 131 x 7.5 cm.
(Spanish, 1541–1614). The Cleveland Museum of Art.
https://www.clevelandart.org/art/1926.247
 

The work of Doménikos Theotokópoulos (1541–1614) stands out among the painters of the late Renaissance and Mannerist period. A native of the Greek island of Crete, he became established as an iconographer before moving to Venice to study the oil painting techniques of the late Renaissance. Adopting the name “El Greco” (the Greek) while in Italy, he mastered the naturalism and color quality of the Venetians before moving to Rome in 1570. He settled in Toledo, Spain, in 1577, where he found a spiritual climate, influenced by St. Teresa of Ávila and St. John of the Cross, infused with a sense of mysticism that complemented the Eastern tradition. In this environment, El Greco moved beyond the naturalism prized within the Renaissance, seeking rather to depict a supernatural reality that is inherent to iconography. While continuing to use much of the visual language from his Italian training, his liberty in style and his original depiction of the saints suggests an approach that is both traditional and inspired by the religious thought of his Byzantine roots and Spanish context. This can be seen in his painting titled “Holy Family with Mary Magdalene” (1590–1595). By portraying the distinct qualities of each figure in relation to the Incarnation, El Greco offers a mystical interpretation of the Holy Family that invites all hearts to unite with God through Christ.

Although the painting is identified as a Holy Family scene, it could just as easily be understood as a painting of the Madonna enthroned with surrounding saints. The traditional identification of Mary as the Seat of Wisdom recognizes her child as the central subject, and she as his throne. Rather than follow the guide of classical proportion, her body is elongated to convey an elegance that hints at the heavenly reality in the seemingly natural scene. While some art historians see El Greco’s liberty with anatomy as similar to his Italian Mannerist peers, the stylization seems more in the tradition of iconography, in which a transfigured anatomy and reverse perspective present the image as a window into heaven.[1]

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Any first impression of The Procession to Calvary by Pieter Bruegel the Elder is telling. I can still remember my initial encounter with it. The scene came across as a chaotic, dizzying whirlwind of activity. Beyond the larger mourning figures in the foreground, I felt a deeper disturbance in the picture, the source of which remained unknown. It seemed to reverberate through the crowd that thronged the landscape, like ripples pushing through the water after a stone has been thrown in.

The sheer number of figures was overwhelming. I wasn’t sure where to look. What were they all doing? There were people milling around in a field, men on horseback, farmers hauling their goods toward the town. I saw a traveler resting with his giant pack, while nearby a man was being arrested. A woman tried to intervene as others scattered with their belongings. I observed the crowd staring at the commotion, the figures turning a blind eye, and still others completely oblivious, going about their daily business. In the background, children play. None of these vignettes, however, seemed to be what this painting was about.

Then it struck me: at the epicenter of the painting was the diminutive personage of Christ, hidden in plain sight, fallen under the weight of the collective sin of mankind. I could hear the crack as he hit the ground. Just behind him, the gaping jaws of the earth opened to swallow all things. This is The Procession to Calvary, the Via Crucis!

A sort of dispersing flow led my gaze to the distant hilltop where the men would be crucified. Encircling the site was a crowd. Among the bystanders, the first Christians gathered as a community around the sacrifice of our Lord. By an ingenious trick of pictorial composition (the similarity in shape), my eye was compelled to jump to the wagon wheel. Following the shaft downward, I arrived at a mound littered with bones: Golgotha.

Here Pieter Bruegel the Elder transports us in a vision to the remote foot of the Cross. We see women weep and pray as St. John consoles our Lady. A thistle, a symbol of original sin, grows in this darkened corner of the world. As viewers, we are both at the periphery and the center of this event—both/and. The name given to this place comes from the Hebrew noun גלגלת (gulgoleth, “skull” or “head”). A skull is prominently displayed; Christ is the head. It is also related to the verb גלל (galal, “to roll”). This rolling action is a key to unlocking the structures and patterns at work in this composition and, by extension, in this event.

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Many moons ago, when I was a young social work student in North Dakota, I was required to take a course called “Indian Studies.” One of the books for the course was titled Black Elk Speaks.

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The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary is a beautiful dogma of the Church that conveys to the faithful the importance of the Blessed Mother. In 1950, the apostolic constitution Munificentissimus Deus (The Most Bountiful God) was promulgated by Pope Pius XII. It declared that Mary was assumed into heaven—body and soul—at the end of her earthly life. Many traditions gathered from ancient sources tell us of Mary’s life after the scriptural conclusion of the apostolic age. The whole Church, in both in history and in contemporary times, has perceived the bookends of Mary’s life to be remarkable—a woman born without sin would also be free of the earthly demands of conventional human death. Supported by the patriarchs, the prophets, her Magnificat, the Marian visionaries, bishops, clergy, the lay faithful, and especially her relationship to her Son, Pius XII was moved to establish this dogma to help us know the fullness of Mary ever better.

But how can an artist depict something as mysterious and glorious as an event like this? As in images depicting many other glorious parts of the narrative of salvation, an artist is called to stretch the imagination, to conceive of a design that amplifies our meditation instead of bringing it “down to earth.” Certainly, composing a simple, factual scene of a woman flying into the sky would be insufficient. The Assumption by Masolino is an image that does more than show a literal historical event. It is painted in the International Gothic style—a post-Medieval, pre-Renaissance mix of realism and imaginative idealism. In art, realism depicts what the neutral eye naturally sees, whereas idealism is a vision of what the mind would like to see based on invisible ideas, usually something better than what we find when looking at the world. Realism and idealism are found throughout the history of art in both secular and religious images. Artists who create sacred art often use forms that are “more than real” in order to convey the mysteries of our faith. Masolino is one of those artists.

“The option or love of preference for the poor . . . is an option, or a special form of primacy in the exercise of Christian charity, to which the whole tradition of the Church bears witness. It affects the life of each Christian inasmuch as he or she seeks to imitate the life of Christ, but it applies equally to our social responsibilities and hence to our manner of living, and to the logical decisions to be made concerning the ownership and use of goods” — St. John Paul II[1]

Notes