Holy Week with Giotto – Palm Sunday

Giotto, Jesus Enters Jerusalem
Italian, c. 1304-1306
Padua, Scrovegni/Arena Chapel

"When Jesus and the disciples drew near Jerusalem
and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives,
Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them,
“Go into the village opposite you,
and immediately you will find an ass tethered,
and a colt with her.
Untie them and bring them here to me.
And if anyone should say anything to you, reply,
‘The master has need of them.’
Then he will send them at once.”
This happened so that what had been spoken through the prophet
might be fulfilled:
Say to daughter Zion,
“Behold, your king comes to you,
meek and riding on an ass,
and on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.”

The disciples went and did as Jesus had ordered them.
They brought the ass and the colt and laid their cloaks over them,
and he sat upon them.
The very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road,
while others cut branches from the trees
and strewed them on the road.
The crowds preceding him and those following
kept crying out and saying:
“Hosanna to the Son of David;
blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord;
hosanna in the highest.”
And when he entered Jerusalem
the whole city was shaken and asked, “Who is this?”
And the crowds replied,
“This is Jesus the prophet, from Nazareth in Galilee.” 

(Matthew 21:1-11)

Today marks the beginning of Holy Week, the week that encompasses the pinnacle of the Christian year. During Holy Week Christians commemorate the events of the last week of Christ’s earthly life, culminating in the commemoration of the event that makes Christians Christian, the Resurrection.

The events of Holy Week have been portrayed in art over and over again throughout the centuries. However, nowhere have they been more intensively and beautifully represented than in the small chapel in Padua, called alternatively, the Arena Chapel or the Scrovegni Chapel, by the great 14th-century genius, Giotto di Bondone.

Giotto stands at the crossroads between the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance. While monumental in its own right, his work broke new ground and points the direction that art would take to its culmination in the work of Raphael and Michelangelo. In spite of adhering to the medieval formula of a flat background, Giotto managed to create a sense of spatial reality, giving his figures weight and life. There is directness of observation and, above all, a projection of strong emotions, which raise these frescoes far beyond those of any others of his own time.

Giotto, Jesus Enters Jerusalem
Italian, c. 1304-1306
Padua, Scrovegni/Arena Chapel

The chapel, which was a private chapel, attached to the Scrovegni family palace in Padua, was built around 1300, on a site used in antiquity as a Roman arena (hence its alternate name of Arena Chapel). Enrico Scrovegni commissioned Giotto to do the decorative frescoes, depicting events from the life of Christ and the life of the Virgin. The cycle of paintings on the life of Christ is probably the most complete ever done, including both the Nativity and the Ascension. It is those representing the Passion and Resurrection that will concern me this week.


The Passion cycle begins, as it does in the Gospels, with the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. Jesus rides on a beautifully observed donkey, which is followed, just as in the Gospel narrative, by her foal, whose smaller head peeks out from among the disciples who follow behind.

Detail showing the head of the foal.

From the gates of the city (on the right) a crowd of men, women and children pours out. Some of those in the forefront wave palm fronds. One is shown removing his over tunic, while another, his tunic already off, is shown laying it under the donkey’s hooves. Boys are shown in trees, having climbed up for palm branches and a better look.

Detail of the crowd at the gates.

Detail of the boys in the trees.

Behind the serious Jesus, who is shown making a gesture of blessing to the crowd, follow ten disciples. Four of them have visible faces. The rest are evidenced by their halos. Since Jesus is reported in the Gospels to have sent two disciples ahead to make arrangements, ten would be the correct number.  The blocky-headed, bearded man in the pinkish garment at the front is easily identifiable as Saint Peter.   The beardless young man at his left shoulder is Saint John the Evangelist. The bearded, long-haired man at Peter's right may be Saint James the Greater, older brother of John.  Together, these three make up the familiar group of disciples who were especially close to Jesus and his chosen witnesses:  Peter, James and John.

Detail of the disciples.

The background for this and all the other frescoes of the two cycles is the glorious dark blue called ultramarine. It is created by grinding the gemstone, lapis lazuli, from Afghanistan, into pigment to be mixed with the medium (in this case egg yolks). Its use is interesting on two levels. It creates a sense of a more naturalistic background, more realistic than the previous use of gold for backgrounds. But it is also an indication of the wealth of the Scrovegni family, for, because of its distant origin and rarity, ultramarine was more expensive to use than gold.



©  M. Duffy, 2011.  Pictures refreshed 2024.

Scripture texts in this work are taken from the New American Bible, revised edition © 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Washington, D.C. and are used by permission of the copyright owner. All Rights Reserved. No part of the New American Bible may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

New One On Me

Jan Gossaert, St. John the Baptist
Flemish, 1521
Toledo, OH, Museum of Art

This afternoon I took advantage of the Metropolitan Museum's holiday opening hours to revisit and complete viewing of the exhibition "Man, Myth and Sensual Pleasures:  Jan Gossaert's Renaissance", which closed today.  I had made an earlier visit but, on that occasion, the onset of back pain had caused me to cut my visit short and leave with several rooms unvisited.  Since then I've tried several times to complete the viewing, but been prevented by this or that.  So, with one day left, I absolutely HAD to get there. 

Gossaert is not one of my favorite painters.  Indeed, I find most of his work rather ugly.  But he is important in the story of how the classical Renaissance aesthetic penetrated the northern European countries.  At the start of the fifteenth century Italy and the countries north of the Alps, were artistically different worlds.  By the mid-seventeenth century they were aesthetically unified.  Gossaert's work is part of the story of how they got that way.

One of  the rooms I had not viewed on my earlier visit centered on images of the Passion of Christ.  And among the works on display were the disparate pieces of what has formerly been known as the "Salamanca Triptych".  As the wall cards (and catalogue) explain, a picture of the "Deposition" had, at some point in the century after Gossaert's death, been attached to two wings, presumably from another triptych (Toledo Museum of Art, Ohio, 1521).  The wings show on their reverse sides a typical scene of the Annunciation in grisaille, with Mary on one wing and Gabriel on the other.  On the front sides are two saints, St. Peter and St. John the Baptist.  When I saw the St. John the Baptist, I broke into a smile.  Here, two days after my post about St. John the Baptist and the Lamb, was another such image, and a new one to me!  The image here couldn't be clearer.  The Lamb of God sits at John's feet and there is no mistaking John's gesture.  So, I share this new image with you.

If you would like to see more of Gossart's work, please check out the exhibition website http://www.metmuseum.org/special/se_event.asp?OccurrenceId={E166EBFA-C573-4E54-80E8-42B4CCF0E616}

Light in Darkness

Advent wreath with all four candles lit

This post isn't going to be about art (though there is plenty of that to talk about), instead it will be about an Advent experience I've been having lately.

In these past two weeks of Advent I've been doing a little ceremony in the evenings, if I'm home that night. I turn out most of the lights, light my Advent candleholder (it's not a wreath) and recite Evening Prayer out loud. Once the prayer concludes, I turn out the single remaining light and pray silently by the light of the candles for a few minutes. In this age of bright lighting, sometimes overbright lighting, it is so easy to miss the metaphor of the Advent candles. We've forgotten much about the power of darkness and the even greater power of light.


During that first week, it was pretty dark in the room, with the only light coming from a single candle. The second week, items in the room became clearer. Now, in the third week, it is easy to see objects. I expect that next week, with four candles, it will be quite possible to see very clearly. And isn't that a wonderful metaphor for "the dawn from on high" for which we pray?

John Frederick Kensett, Twilight on the Sound, Darien, Connecticut
American, 1872
New York, Metropolitan Museum of Art

We grow closer to the light during these weeks, as we approach the commemoration of His first coming. Then we will progress through Ordinary Time and Lent to the desolation of Good Friday, until we stand again in the dark at Easter Vigil to wait for the entrance of the paschal candle and to respond to the deacon's cry "Christ Our Light" with our own "Deo Gracias".

Taking Up the Cross

Francois Duquesnoy, St. Andrew
French, 1629-1633
Vatican City, St. Peter's Basilica

Then he said to all,

"If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself

and take up his cross daily and follow me.

For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,

but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.

What profit is there for one to gain the whole world

yet lose or forfeit himself?"

Luke 9:23-25

It's never easy to take up the cross, nor should it be. Sometimes it will lead you to laying down your own life for the sake of the Name.

St. Andrew by Francois Duquesnoy (at right).

Duquesnoy was one of three other sculptors employed by Bernini to create the colossal statues that stand in the niches built into the gigantic piers at the crossing (where nave and transepts intersect) of St. Peter's Basilica.

According to tradition, after preaching the Gospel in what is today Turkey and the Balkans, St. Andrew, brother of St. Peter, was crucified on an X-shaped cross during the reign of Nero.

As with the other three piers and their related statues, they are part of an amazing statement of the faith which Bernini developed in his designs for the furnishing of the crossing area. One of the greatest art history teachers I ever had, Irving Lavin, has written extensively on this design. Some of his work may be found at this link http://www.saintpetersbasilica.org/ . For the specific information on the crossing, its niches and statues, follow this path (for some reason the precise link can't be copied): click on "Library" from the links at the left side of the page, then on the image of the cover of "St. Peter's in the Vatican" (red cover with circular image of the basilica, second from the right in the second row), then "The Crossing Piers" hyperlink.

In the Divine Image He Created Them

Michelangelo, Creation of Adam
Italian, 1508-1512
Vatican City, Sistine Chapel

God created man in his image;
(Et creavit Deus hominem ad imaginem suam)

in the divine image He created him;
(ad imaginem Dei creavit illum)

male and female He created them.
(masculum et feminam creavit eos.)
Genesis 1:27 in the New American Bible and Latin Vulgate translations.








High above the heads of those who stand or sit in the Sistine Chapel (Rome, Vatican), be they tourists craning upward with open mouths, the cardinals in solemn conclave to elect a Pope or the Pope celebrating Mass, fly the great ceiling frescos of Michelangelo. Painted between 1508 and 1512, by commission of Pope Julius II, these paintings are one of the great monuments of Western art.

In those four years, Michelangelo took a bland, early Renaissance ceiling, painted dark blue with silver stars, and transformed it into a ceiling of majesty, with central scenic panels, divided by illusory architecture and telling the story of salvation from the Creation of Light to the Flood. In the areas between the vaults he also presented the prophets of the Old Testament, the sibyls of the ancient pagan world and the ancestors of Christ.

Probably the most familiar of all the images from the ceiling is the one that illustrates the passage of Genesis 1:27 from today’s readings (reproduced above right). Usually called the “Creation of Adam”, it actually shows something more complex. Yes, God is reaching out to the reclining (and not yet fully alive) Adam to animate him. But look further. As He animates Adam with His right hand, the left arm of God is wrapped around the shoulders of the already created Eve. She for her part grasps His arm and looks with evident interest at the about to be animated Adam.

Detail showing Eve in God's left arm

There is another account in Genesis, also familiar to us, of the creation of Eve from one of Adam’s ribs. Michelangelo also painted that story on the Sistine ceiling.  This is the more traditional artistic view of the Creation of Eve but it lacks much of the energy, the grace and the mystery of Michelangelo's first image.

Michelangelo, Creation of Eve

Italian, 1508-1512

Vatican City, Sistine Chapel

The Conversion of Saint Paul and the Two Michelangelos

 Michelangelo Buonarroti, The Conversion of Saint Paul
Italian, c. 1542-1545
Vatican City, Apostolic Palace, Pauline Chapel

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"On that journey as I drew near to Damascus,

about noon a great light from the sky suddenly shone around me.

I fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to me,

'Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?'

I replied, 'Who are you, sir?'

And he said to me, 'I am Jesus the Nazorean whom you are persecuting.'

My companions saw the light but did not hear the voice of the one who spoke to me.

I asked, 'What shall I do, sir?'

Acts 22: 6-10

 

 

 

 

 

With these words Saint Paul described the powerful experience that befell him on the road to Damascus, an experience that completely reshaped his life. From that point on, the persecutor of the Way in Jerusalem became the great apostle of the Way to the entire world, to Jew and Gentile alike. From this point on the man who had held the cloaks of those who had stoned Saint Stephen to death for proclaiming Jesus the Nazorean as Lord, was himself persecuted, imprisoned and martyred for the sake of that same Jesus. From that time on Saul of Tarsis became Paul, the preacher and teacher.

There are few more dramatic moments in the history of the early church than this event on the road between Jerusalem and Damascus. It is a drama that has received considerable attention from some of the world’s greatest artists. Among the greatest to have tackled it are two Michelangelos: Michelangelo Buonarotti (known as “Michelangelo”) and Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (known as “Caravaggio”).

Both men initially imagined the scene as one of high drama and activity. Indeed, Michelangelo imagined it, in his great late painting in the Vatican’s Pauline Chapel (painted 1542-1545), as an event involving large, active groups of figures in both heaven and earth. From heaven, Christ, surrounded by many other figures (angels, saints) plunges dramatically downward, a bolt of lightening springing from his hand, almost in the manner of the classical deity, Jupiter. The bolt hits the earthly group, which centers on the figure of Saul, lying on the ground, with his arm shielding his face, as a companion supports him. Other companions react by trying to shield themselves, or trying to flee, or simply by cowering, while one person tries to recapture Saul’s startled horse. Michelangelo’s Saul appears curiously older than he is usually depicted, being white bearded. He appears to bear a slight resemblance to Michelangelo himself. One wonders if there was some biographical content in his image. Or is it simply that he wanted to balance the older Saint Peter, whose martyrdom is depicted on the opposite wall of the Pauline Chapel?

Michelangelo Buonarroti, The Conversion of Saint Paul (detail)
Italian, c. 1542-1545
Vatican City, Pauline Chapel

In the composition, Michelangelo recapitulates some of his work in the Sistine Chapel, especially the “Last Judgment”, while harking back as well to such early Florentine works as the long-vanished “Battle of Cascina”.

 

Caravaggio painted two very different representations of the event on the road to Damascus relatively early in his career (both are dated as being circa 1600). The first version is usually called “The Conversion of Saul” and resides in the Odescalchi Balbi Collection in Rome. It is typical of many of Caravaggio’s compositions from around this time. (One thinks, for example, of the “Martyrdom of St. Matthew” in the Contarelli Chapel of San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome). There is a great rush of movement from the upper right where Christ and a supporting angel appear to plummet down, toward the lower left, where Saul lies, his hands covering his face. Caravaggio, of course, was the master of dramatic lighting effects, his great legacy to almost all later painters. And there is plenty of drama in the way in which the light from heaven illumines the face of the angel, the hands of Christ, the face of Saul’s startled companion and finally swells to a crescendo on Saul’s body and protective hands. This painting, commissioned by Cardinal Tiberio Cerasi for his chapel in the church of Santa Maria del Popolo in Rome, was never installed there. It was recently cleaned and exhibited in Milan during Advent 2008.

Michelangelo Merisi called Caravaggio, The Conversion of Saint Paul
Italian, c. 1600
Rome, Odescalchi Balbi Collection

 
The second version, which did get installed in the Cerasi Chapel, where it remains today, is often called “The Road to Damascus”. It is an extraordinary painting. Instead of a narrative full of frantic movement we are faced with the experience itself. With our vision blocked by the body of Saul's horse, we are, as it were, inside the silent center of the experience at the moment it happens. We are one of Saul’s companions. We see him in his weakness, his shock, his blindness. 

Michelangelo Merisi called Caravaggio, The Conversion of Saint Paul
Italian, c. 1600-1601
Rome, Santa Maria del Popolo, Cerisi Chapel

 We see him sprawled on his back, in a tangle of arms and legs: his own and those of his horse and other companion. We do not see the cause of his fall, we see, as his companions did, only the light. But, although we cannot even see much of his face, we see the intensity of his reaction. We know he is listening to a voice we cannot hear. And we are struck with wonder.

Michelangelo Merisi called Caravaggio, The Conversion of Saint Paul (detail)
Italian, c. 1600-1601
Rome, Santa Maria del Popolo, Cerisi Chapel

When you stand in the Cerasi Chapel, which is very, very tiny, the effect of this monumental picture and its equally monumental pendent, “The Crucifixion of St. Peter” is truly overwhelming. One of the aims of Counter-Reformation art and of Baroque art in general is to engage the spectator, to make the events of salvation history present to the viewer. It is hard to imagine a more truly involving work of art.



© M. Duffy, 2009, pictures updated 2024.