The Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance culminating in the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology. On this Good Friday, we examine the somber subject of Agnus Dei, the Lamb of God. "Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" - John 1:29 (NIV) Painted during the heights of the Spanish Catholic Reformation, Francisco de Zurbarán's Agnus Dei is shocking in its simplicity of a lone Christian icon. The religious art of the Baroque period is frequently characterized by the dramatic works of Bernini, Caravaggio, Rembrandt and Rubens. Zurbarán, however, abandons drama for subtle poignancy. Set against a black backdrop and laying upon a gray table, a live merino lamb is tied and bound in a sacrificial position; its legs are thrust into the foreground and its eyes avert our gaze. There is no other iconography only the heartbreaking sense that the melancholy lamb is resigned to its sad fate. While technically there is no iconography to suggest the allegory of Christ as the 'Lamb of God', the image was widespread throughout Christian imagery, especially in (predominantly) Catholic Spain. In addition, the position of the lamb itself recalls that of Stefano Maderno's haunting Martyrdom of Saint Cecelia sculpted 30 years prior. The direct correlation between the two figural positions serves to reinforce the sacrificial nature of the lamb's existence. The subject was well received by the people of Seville, Spain. Once Diego Velazquez left for the royal courts, Zurbarán became the City's official painter by 1629. Between 1631-40 he painted five versions of Agnus Dei for private patrons, with slight iconographic variants. Yet, it is the unadorned version that is considered the finest of the five.[i] Its poignancy highlighted through Zurbarán's ability to "concentrate the viewer's attention on a lamb that seems to meekly accept its fatal destiny." [ii] There is nothing to detract the viewer from the lamb's sacrifice. No halo, no lilies. Only life--a life that will be given to pardon the sins of the world. Agnus Dei is often treated as a still-life, a genre of painting frequently associated with food or perishables acting as a memento mori. The lamb is indeed edible and its life coming to an end. Unlike most still-lifes, however, the process of death and/or decay is not shown for this is the food of life. The symbolism is two-fold. The unblemished sacrifice refers to the lamb of Passover, whose blood saved the Jews in Egypt and Christ, the Lamb of God, whose blood redeemed the sins all mankind. Zurbarán utilizes his artistic skill in rendering the texture of the lamb's wool with a technical subtlety that further underscores this is a lamb without blemish. This indeed is the Agnus Dei who is acting as the pardon for our sins. It is also his body we are consuming in an act of transubstantiation during the holy rite of Communion, a moment first celebrated at the Last Supper as described in the Book of Matthew: "While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, 'Take and eat; this is my body.' Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, 'Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.'" [iii] Zurbarán forces the viewer to confront the paradoxical nature of Christ Biblically and as seen art historically. He is both the Good Shepherd and the lamb, divine and humble, the triumphant and the slain. As a relatively new religion, early Christian imagery favored more Johannine depictions of the Agnus Dei. Their god could not be shown as meek and humble, but rather as a glorious deity who conquered death. By the 13th century, Franciscan theology created a shift in Christian imagery. Gone was the triumphant Lamb of Revelation, now replaced by a meek animal, humbly offering itself to humanity. This is the Lamb of God we encounter in Zurbarán's poignant masterpiece. Agnus Dei enables us to "recognize in this wooly lamb, bound and patiently waiting on a slab for the butcher's knife, the Saviour on the altar, the Son of Man suffering in atonement for our sins."[iv] And it is this recognition of Christ's complete and sorrowful surrender to death so that we shall live that makes Zurbarán's Agnus Dei one of the most moving of all images in Christianity. "He [Jesus] knelt down and began to pray, saying, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Yours be done.” -Luke 22: 41-42 i The canvas has wax seals bearing Ferdinand VII's coat of arms. The painting originally belonged to the family of Marquis del Socorro. The state acquired it for the Prado in 1986.
ii Museo del Prado iii Matthew 26:26-28 (NIV) iv Neil MacGregor, Seeing Salvation, p.73.
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The Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance culminating in the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology. Today marks the beginning of Holy week with Palm Sunday. In honor of this period of reflection nearing its conclusion, this week will simply be dedicated to the recurring themes of Holy week found within Christian imagery: the Last Supper, the Passion, Pietàs and of course the Crucifixion. Each theme will be accompanied with biblical scripture and some images with brief artistic commentary to provide further context for greater appreciation and/or deeper reflection. The Last Supper "When it was evening, he took his place with the twelve; and while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” And they became greatly distressed and began to say to him one after another, “Surely not I, Lord?” He answered, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.” Judas, who betrayed him, said, “Surely not I, Rabbi?” He replied, “You have said so.” While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take it, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” -MATTHEW 26: 20-29 Garden of Gethsemane "Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.” Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground." -LUKE 22:41-44 "Although Christ had to suffer this alone, without the Father, His love seems evident by the strong light shining down through the darkness of the night. Almost unable to bear the burden of mankind’s salvation, he takes rest and comfort in a greatly needed supporter. Although Christ bares expressions of sheer exhaustion and pain, he appears loving, selfless and accomplished. His comforter is empathetic and patient. Engulfed in the arms of the visitor, Christ slowly gains the strength to face his betrayer and the final excruciating act of his ultimate sacrifice." - Artist Carl Bloch Ecce Homo "Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. The soldiers twisted together a crown of thorns and put it on his head. They clothed him in a purple robe and went up to him again and again, saying, “Hail, king of the Jews!” And they slapped him in the face. Once more Pilate came out and said to the Jews gathered there, “Look, I am bringing him out to you to let you know that I find no basis for a charge against him.” When Jesus came out wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe, Pilate said to them, “Here is the man!” -John 19:1-6 " Whether or not we regard Jesus as a deity, he was at the very least a political leader of an oppressed people. The sculpture alludes to the recent historical past and its sad record of religious and racial intolerance." -Sculptor Mark Wallinger Crucifixion "Later, knowing that everything had now been finished, and so that Scripture would be fulfilled, Jesus said, 'I am thirsty.' A jar of wine vinegar was there, so they soaked a sponge in it, put the sponge on a stalk of the hyssop plant, and lifted it to Jesus’ lips. When he had received the drink, Jesus said, 'It is finished.' With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit." - John 19:28-30 "Most people would expect the Good Thief, who is nearly always shown on Christ's right, to be in the light; yet Rembrandt illumines the Bad Thief, crucified on his left. This is not as perverse as it seems. We understand that what saves us is not to be in the light, but to be able to see it, to recognize the presence of God. The Bad Thief cannot see the light, that surrounds him, for he is blindfolded -- a physical indication of his spiritual blindness. As he dies he writhes in anguish." -Neil MacGregor, Seeing Salvation. "One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” -Luke 23: 39-43 "At noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”)." -Mark 15:33-34 " [Chagall] transformed the traditional subject of the Christian iconography of the Christus patiens into the lyrical testimony of the condition of the Jews, presenting Jesus as a martyr and the symbol of his peoples' suffering. Chagall replaced Jesus' traditional loincloth with a tallit, a prayer shawl, the crown of thorns with a headcloth, and the mourning angels that customarily surround him with three biblical patriarchs and a matriarch, clad in traditional Jewish garments." -Divine Beauty Exhibition Guide "No one has ever really understood who this Jesus really was. One of our most loving rabbis who always helped the needy, the persecuted[...] For me, he is the archetype of the greatest Jewish martyr of all time." -Artist Marc Chagall "Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.'" -Luke 23:34 Vesperbild & Pietà "The image of pain evokes the sufferings of all mothers in a cry that pierces through time: the image is vibrant, the image is surprising. Christian devotion... in an eternal scene of compassion." - L'osservatore Romano "As she holds Jesus' lifeless body on her lap, the Virgin's face emanates sweetness, serenity and a majestic acceptance of this immense sorrow, combined with her faith in the Redeemer. It seems almost as if Jesus is about to reawaken from a tranquil sleep and that after so much suffering and thorns, the rose of resurrection is about to bloom. As we contemplate the Pietà which conveys peace and tranquility, we can feel that the great sufferings of this life and its pain can be mitigated." -- Saint Peter's Basilica. Deposition & Entombment "Taking Jesus’ body, the two of them wrapped it, with the spices, in strips of linen. This was in accordance with Jewish burial customs. At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid. Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there."-John 19:40-42 "The gleaming white shroud is being used to bear Christ, to lower him lovingly and reverently down from the Cross into the sepulcher. It is not a sepulcher that stands below, but at the altar -- and for the Church the altar is Christ's sepulcher. Here the body sacrificed for others will be distributed as the eucharistic host -- just as the basin of blood Rubens painted beneath the Cross will reappear as the eucharistic wine." --Neil MacGregor, Seeing Salvation. The Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance culminating in the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology. This week is not an original post from The Artist's Job, but rather from famous former curator and director of the British Museum & London's National Gallery, Neil MacGregor. His 2000 publication, Seeing Salvation, was the inspiration for this blog's research and original writings in visual Theology. "Epilgoue" from Neil MacGregor's Seeing SalvationIn a world without God, is there still a future for the image of Christ? No longer dreading Judgment, we do not picture him as a Ruler and Judge. Crucifixes may be ubiquitous, but since the First World War the imagery of suffering has become steadily richer with photographs of real people and real events. Since many of those who suffer most today are not Christians, it is hard now to view the Crucifixion as an emblem of universal suffering. The crosses outside Auschwitz were seen to have been put up to call Jewish suffering into question - or worse - and were decried for that reason. And perhaps the scale of suffering has become too great, and a creed of atonement too remote, for a suffering God to speak to many of redemption, or to move us to acts of charity. Americans looked with horror and remorse at the news photograph of a Vietnamese child burned with napalm. As earlier centuries might have reacted to an altarpiece of the Crucifixion, they knew that this suffering was in a general sense their fault and that their actions could help to alleviate the wider injustice and suffering that it represented. And it was this image, and not one of Christ on the Cross, that provided an impetus for bringing war to an end. Yet you could argue that, in a way, this speaks to the continuing power of the tradition we have been examining: the Franciscan response of pity, followed by contrition and then action was actively present, but the trigger was not a suffering god, but a suffering child. As Francis had argued over seven centuries earlier, it is the love all of us can feel for a child that recalls us most powerfully and most simply to our highest duties of love for all humanity. And nothing will ignite that love more rapidly than an affecting image. If Mark Wallinger still invokes the Ecce Homo, many Western artists today, believers and unbelievers, try to represent the divine and spiritual in different ways. Some, as Mark Rothko did, return to the aniconic traditions of observant Jews and iconoclasts, depicting the transcendental as radiance or luminous fields of colour. Others seek universality by combining Western and foreign traditions. Stephen Cox, an English sculptor responsible for the altar and reredos of St. Paul's Haringay, has been inspired by images of divinity in traditional Indian stone carving. The American video artist Bill Viola turns to the writings of Western and Eastern mystics and Jungian psychoanalysis. His installation at Durham Cathedral, The Messenger, associates a Christ-like male nude with the Sanskrit concept of prana, the breath which animates, the life force - and this itself goes back to pagan Greek and heretic early Christian notions. But if we no longer heed the messages of the great Christian images of the past, and admire them mainly for aesthetic qualities, there is one traditional image of Christ that, I believe, remains universally valid. It moves people from any cultural background, whether or not they recognize it as an image of the incarnate God. It is the Christ Child. Like all babies, the infant Christ is the focus of our aspirations and our apprehensions. We know what he will have to endure, and we want to protect him from it. If there is one emotion that can come close to uniting all humanity, it is surely awe in the face of a new-born child - tender, over-whelming, humbling, strengthening. No artist ever painted it more powerfully than Rembrandt in the picture now in the museum of Stockholm. The Child's parents have just handed him to Simeon, the priest in the Temple. And although he appears to be blind, he sees the essential. He intuits divinity and he knows all will now be well...Rembrandt, as so often, concentrates on the heart of the matter; he shows the scene in cinematic close-up. Simeon is transfigured; in his arms he holds Christ. But he and Anna, the aged prophetess (a figure added by a later artist), appear like any grateful grandparents near the end of their days, and Christ is every baby: a newborn child whom all are moved to protect and love, and on whom all hopes are fixed, until the last generation. Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace...For mine eyes have seen salvation. NEIL MACGREGOR Neil MacGregor is a British art historian and former museum director who was born in Glasgow in 1946. He studied at the universities of Oxford, Paris, Edinburgh and London (Courtauld Institute). MacGregor was called to the Scottish bar before becoming a lecturer in the History of Art and Architecture at the University of Reading. He was the editor of the Burlington Magazine from 1981 to 1987, then Director of the National Gallery, London, from 1987 to 2002, and finally Director of the British Museum from 2002 to 2015. He has presented three television series on painting with the BBC: Seeing Salvation, Painting the World and Making Masterpieces.
The Lenten Season is officially upon us, embodied by a spirit of reflection and repentance leading to the Celebration of Easter on April 16th. As there is an undeniable influence of Christian theology on the history of art, every Sunday of Lent we will explore art with distinctly Christian themes in a methodology known as visual theology. Some posts will contain brief biographical, iconographic and/or formal analysis as well. The Gospel: written by man through divine inspiration as the living Word of God. For centuries, the Church has been focused on the divine origins of the holy Bible, even creating an entire artistic genre to represent the process. Most artistic representations of these inspirations were formulaic, until one artist provided a spark of life that shook the very foundations of the artistic tradition. Baroque painter, Caravaggio, challenged the centuries old formula of depicting the divine inspiration of the Gospels, while returning to the theological importance behind capturing the Word of God. His provocative interpretation, however, was met with harsh criticisms within the Church. Although adhering closely to traditional Biblical exegesis, Caravaggio's first Inspiration of Saint Matthew, Saint Matthew and the Angel, was rejected for failing to conjure an image that properly embodied the ideals of the Counter-Reformation. The Inspiration of Saint Matthew was painted for the Contarelli Chapel in the Roman church of San Luigi dei Francesi. Named after its patron, Cardinalate Matteo Contarelli, the chapel had a tumultuous history filled with a deceased patron, involvement of the papacy, lawsuits and several artists leaving incomplete works in the forty years prior to Caravaggio’s involvement. As a relative unknown artist who had yet to prove himself publicly, Caravaggio was approached by Virgilio Crescenzi, the heir of the deceased Cardinalate Contarelli, to paint two lateral narrative scenes on Saint Matthew for the chapel. A contract was signed on July 23, 1599 for a price of 400 scudi and Caravaggio promised to deliver two monumental paintings. Nearly a year later, Caravaggio finished the two paintings, The Calling of St. Matthew and The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew; his artistic genius became infamous. Caravaggio’s reputation was set and he developed into the most sought after artist in Rome. The Contarelli Chapel was the spark that ignited the light of Caravaggio’s career. His paintings were so well received that two years later, when Flemish artist Jacques Cobaert’s unfinished sculpture of St. Matthew for the chapel’s altar was finally installed and abruptly removed less than a month later, he was the first choice to create the new replacement. So on February 7, 1602, Caravaggio signed a contract for 150 scudi to paint an altarpiece of a seated Saint Matthew receiving divine inspiration from an angel. The painting was to be completed by May 23 of the same year, in time for Pentecost. Less than three months later Caravaggio produced his first Inspiration of Saint Matthew. Titled: Saint Matthew and the Angel, Caravaggio created a masterpiece of divine humanization that continues to be one of the most controversial paintings of his prolific career. Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel embodies his mastery of creating tangible relationships with the divine. Matthew sits on the left cross-legged at a desk as an angel stands before him to the right guiding his hands as they write the Hebrew that appears upon the page. Eyebrows raised and forehead wrinkled, the Evangelist stares in amazement as the ancient text appears before him. When the painting was rejected it was immediately acquired by Marchese Giustiniani for his private collection. Sadly, it eventually ended up in Berlin and was destroyed during of the allied bombings of 1945. There are no commentaries that describe the colors of Caravaggio’s masterpiece. All that remain are black and white photographs and their color enhanced counterparts. Regardless, his characteristic exaggerated form of chiaroscuro, commonly referred to as tenebrism, creates striking contrasts of light and shadow cast upon Matthew and (slightly so) upon the angel. This intense handling of shading and lighting enhances the sculptural qualities of both figures, reinforcing their three-dimensional forms. One can almost grab Matthew’s foot as it appears to project forward from within the canvas towards the viewer. Figural appearance is essential to understanding Caravaggio’s provocative and unique artistic style, and never more so than within Saint Matthew and the Angel. While the androgynous angel is soft and ethereal as any heavenly being should be, Caravaggio’s depiction of Matthew is quite unconventional. The saint resembles a 17th century Italian peasant with his bare feet and gnarled beard. What is captured so beautifully within Saint Matthew is a key reason why the Church rejected the painting. Caravaggio created a saint that is both tangible and identifiable; he humanized the sacred. Although Caravaggio was criticized for such a blasphemous image of Saint Matthew, his depiction of the Evangelist adheres closely to biblical tradition. Biblical descriptions of the apostles portray men who lived on the fringes of society. After their calling and turn to discipleship, Christ urged them to give up all possessions and live off the generosity of others as they spread the Good News. Matthew and the other apostles were not men of means, or classical scholars as centuries old tradition has chosen to depict them. Rather, they were humble first century Jews seeking the treasures of God’s Kingdom, not the Earth’s. As a result, Matthew is an early Christian whose life transcends space and time allowing him to relate to Caravaggio’s 17th century audience as much as first Century Jews and Gentiles. Therefore, in his first depiction of the Evangelist in Saint Matthew and the Angel, Caravaggio creates a saint that “emphasizes the historical roots of the church, its universality and its tradition.” Matthew’s relatability and humility is further emphasized in his childlike wonder at the divine inspiration that surrounds him. Caravaggio clearly depicts Matthew in a state of awe and wonder as “divine revelation ends his earthly ignorance.” His form emerges from the shadows into the light as he too, emerges from the shadows of ignorance. Humility and divine inspiration go hand in hand as Matthew expresses a childlike earnestness to receive God’s Word. He becomes the living embodiment of Christ’s words: “Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” Caravaggio reveals that the greatness of Matthew lies not in his wealth, rank or scholarly pursuits, but rather in his willingness to humble himself before God and achieve divine wisdom through his acceptance of earthly ignorance. Therefore, the angel is not an indication of Matthew’s illiteracy, but his readiness to be a vessel for God. In addition, this stresses the divine origin of the Hebrew text and Matthew’s gospel. Saint Matthew and the Angel is more than just a painting depicting the inspiration of Matthew’s Gospel; it is an allegory for a relationship with the divine, with God. Caravaggio “makes the supernatural actual and establishes a direct rapport between the scene and the spectator to identify with the mystery being portrayed.” Yet, the Catholic Church did not view Caravaggio’s revolutionary depiction in such esteemed light. They criticized his painting, as have many throughout the centuries for not only going against decorum, but for being inherently blasphemous. The first Inspiration of Saint Matthew met immediate criticism. Matthew’s “gross and vulgar appearance [was] matched only by his illiteracy.” The dawn of the 17th century was the height of the Counter-reformation for the Catholic Church. If they were going to be chastised by Protestants for their religious imagery, especially of the saints, then all religious paintings were required give to the proper reverence and glory necessary to justify representations of the divine. Saint Matthew and the Angel did not meet those requirements. While Caravaggio emphasized the humble means of the Evangelist, an interpretation consistent with the Bible, Matthew was traditionally treated as a scholarly man of letters. Therefore, his apparent illiteracy read like an insult as Matthew appeared to “struggle with the ‘difficult’ task of writing.” In addition, Caravaggio’s humanist depiction of the saint was not viewed as touching or even relatable, but terribly ‘uncouth.’ Most off-putting of all was not Matthew’s bulbous head, or rough exterior, but his bare feet. That Caravaggio “brought a peasant’s soiled foot into the vicinity of the priest’s hands as he elevated the Host during mass” was revolting. Several critics believe, however, that Caravaggio was not depicting a dirty bare-foot ‘country bumpkin,’ but Socrates as he had been portrayed within Raphael’s School of Athens. The philosopher was known for walking barefoot and claiming the acknowledgment of ignorance as the source of his wisdom. Nonetheless, whatever Caravaggio’s inspiration, it was unacceptable to grace the altar of the Contarelli Chapel. Moreover, the disheveled appearance of Matthew made the physical contact between the divine being and the Evangelist vulgar. An angel would never have made such contact with this individual. Despite the disparaging differences in theological perspectives that lead to the ultimate rejection of Caravaggio’s painting, one complaint was purely aesthetic. Caravaggio’s Calling of St. Matthew and Martyrdom of Saint Matthew were completed two years prior to the first Inspiration. Therefore, the Church intended for their Matthews to be consistent in their physical depictions. While Matthew’s face is consistent between the two lateral paintings, the Matthew of the Inspiration appeared to be an entirely different individual. Caravaggio’s patrons sought consistency. While the Church failed to see the biblically inspired humility of Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel, there was a key theological component that ensured the painting’s refusal. The original commission called for divine inspiration. Although the Bible is the living word of God, it was ultimately written by man. Caravaggio’s first Inspiration appears to removes all autonomy from Matthew as the angel is directly controlling the written word. This can be interpreted allegorically as the divine pouring into and working through Matthew, but contemporary beliefs were that the angel was dictating Matthew's writings. Therefore, in an effort to emphasize St. Matthew’s humility and relationship with God, Caravaggio made the heavenly relationship too tangible. Thus, focusing on the painting’s aesthetic shortcomings in light of the current challenges the Catholic Church was facing during the Counter-Reformation, Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel could not hang in the altar of the Contarelli Chapel. Since Caravaggio’s first Inspiration of Saint Matthew “pleased no one,” he was forced to make a decision. There was a special clause to the contract he signed stating, “If for any reason the Church’s abbott rejected the painting, the artist agreed to pay for a replacement.” Rather than pay for another artist to have their work hang inside Contarelli’s altar beside his artwork, Caravaggio opted to paint a replacement. After changing his painting to meet the desires of the Church and reflect a greater adherence to traditional renderings of the subject, Caravaggio’s second version of the Inspiration of Saint Matthew was accepted by the Church and subsequently hung in the altar. It was finished prior to the May 23rd deadline and still hangs in the Contarelli Chapel today. Upon completing his second Inspiration of Saint Matthew, Caravaggio became the most sought after painter in Italy. His lifestyle caught up with him several years later when he was involved in a duel outside of Rome in 1606 that resulted in the death of another man. He was condemned as a murderer and a bando capitale was decreed. A bounty was placed upon his head and anyone within the Papal States had the right to kill him. Only his head was needed to claim the bounty. Caravaggio roamed from Malta, Sicily and Naples for the next four years, eventually dying in the small town of Porto Ercole while racing to track down a boat that held three of his paintings. According to the terms set by Scipione Borghese, the paintings were to serve as the price of his bounty and allow for his return to Rome. Despite living a brief life plagued by controversy and consumed with the profane, Caravaggio was an artistic genius responsible for painting some of the Western world’s most theologically profound works of art. Although what the Church wanted for the Contarelli Chapel varied greatly from what Caravaggio depicted, his first Inspiration, Saint Matthew and the Angel, portrayed a saint that is the Christian ideal of humility and a symbol of divine grace. Just as Christ was rejected for not embodying the image of a Jewish king, Caravaggio’s Saint Matthew and the Angel was rejected for failing to portray Matthew as the ideal of sainthood. Yet, Caravaggio understood what the Church did not. “And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Caravaggio’s first Matthew is not a king, a noble or a scholar; he is a simple man who has received divine inspiration for he has chosen to humbly walk beside his God. Chorpenning, Joseph F. "Another Look at Caravaggio and Religion." Artibus et Historiae 8, no.
16 (1987): 149-158. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1483305. Graham-Dixon,Andrew. Caravaggio: A Life Sacred and Profane. New York: Penguin, 2010. Hess, Jacob. "The Chronology of the Contarelli Chapel." The Burlington Magazine 93, no. 579 (1951): 186-201. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/870607. Lavin, Irving. "Divine Inspiration in Caravaggio's Two St. Matthews." The Art Bulletin 56 (1974): 59-81. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3049196. Lavin, Irving. "A Further Note on the Ancestry of Caravaggio's First Saint Matthew." The Art Bulletin 62 (1980): 118-119. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3049964. Spike, John T. Caravaggio. New York: Abbeville Press, 2001. Thomas, Troy. "Expressive Aspects of Caravaggio's First Inspiration of Saint Matthew." The Art Bulletin 67, no. 4 (1985): 636-652. Accessed April 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3050848. Vodret, Rossella. Caravaggio: The Complete Works. Milan: Silvana Editoriale Spa, 2010. |
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