My Kid Could Paint That

Duccio, Rucellai Madonna, 1285

Painted in 1285, Duccio di Buoninsegna’s famous work represents a significant departure from the Byzantine style that had previously dominated art. The most noticeable difference between Duccio’s work and those previous is the perspective. While the works of previous painters—and contemporaries such as Cimabue—presented the Madonna and Child looking directly at the viewer, the Rucellai Madonna presents them at an angle.

Duccio does not perfect the art of depth, but he makes an attempt, in itself unusual for its time. Duccio makes an attempt to shade the deep blue robe to represent shadow; the angels at the edge of the painting display his abilities here. Mary's robe’s naturally complex curves are beautifully done and much more intricate than the rigid form of days past demanded. Despite this, Duccio’s art in many ways represents a transition from one artistic style to the next. While he creates a much more life-like Madonna and child, the creepy boneless fingers and strange manhood of the baby remain. Madonna’s face fails to convey much meaning, greater expression appears in the reverent faces of the angels looking on from the sides.

These angels create upward movement in the painting by seeming to pull the throne up rather than hold it down, as does the pointed top and airy space above the throne. The throne itself bears bright hues and floral shapes lying behind a series of bars that support the structure. This differs greatly from other thrones of the day, such as those of Giotto or Cimabue, who painted much more solid structures. The small star visible on Mary’s shoulder comes from an alternate name for her, “Stella Maris,” or “Star of the Sea.” This name came about because Mary’s Hebrew name, Miriam, sounds similar to the Hebrew term for star of the sea.

Duccio’s work represents a major step in the progression of western art; additionally, it has value as a work in and of itself. The mother and child look forward, just as does Duccio.

Giotto, The Magdalene Receiving Clothes from the Hermit Zozimo, First Quarter of the 14th Century

According to St. Saphronius, our friend Zozimo - known as Zosimus to his fellow monks - wasn't always a hermit. In fact, he was an accomplished monk living in Palestine. After spending his entire life in the monastery, "he began to be tormented with the thought that he was perfect in everything and needed no instruction from anyone, saying to himself mentally, 'Is there a monk on earth who can be of use to me and show me a kind of asceticism that I have not accomplished? Is there a man to be found in the desert who has surpassed me?'"

An angelic apparition appeared to him shortly after these thoughts began and prompted him to travel to the River Jordan to join a monastery at its bank. There, he learned they did things a bit differently. For Lent, starting on Forgiveness Sunday, each monk bundled up a few provisions and ventured out into the desert to "[struggle] with himself before the Judge of the struggle." Zozimo's first journey into the Negev desert was quite eventful.

"And as he sang thus without turning his eyes from the heavens, he suddenly saw to the right of the hillock on which he stood the semblance of a human body. At first he was confused thinking he beheld a vision of the devil, and even started with fear. But, having guarded himself with he sign of the Cross and banished all fear, he turned his gaze in that direction and in truth saw some form gliding southwards. It was naked, the skin dark as if burned up by the heat of the sun; the hair on its head was white as a fleece, and not long, falling just below its neck. Zosimas was so overjoyed at beholding a human form that he ran after it in pursuit, but the form fled from him. He followed. At length, when he was near enough to be heard, he shouted:

"Why do you run from an old man and a sinner? Slave of the True God, wait for me, whoever you are, in God's name I tell you, for the love of God for Whose sake you are living in the desert."

"Forgive me for God's sake, but I cannot turn towards you and show you my face, Abba Zosimas. For I am a woman and naked as you see with the uncovered shame of my body. But if you would like to fulfil one wish of a sinful woman, throw me your cloak so that I can cover my body and can turn to you and ask for your blessing."

Here terror seized Zosimas, for he heard that she called him by name. But he realized that she could not have done so without knowing anything of him if she had not had the power of spiritual insight.

He at once did as he was asked. He took off his old, tattered cloak and threw it to her, turning away as he did so. hSe picked it up and was able to cover at least a part of her body. The she turned to Zosimas and said:

"Why did you wish, Abba Zosimas, to see a sinful woman? What do you wish to hear or learn from me, you who have not shrunk from such great struggles?"

Zosimas threw himself on the ground and asked for her blessing. She likewise bowed down before him. And thus they lay on the ground prostrate asking for each other's blessing. And one word alone could be heard from both: "Bless me!" "

The story diverges here. According to the New Testament, Mary Magdalene became a disciple of Jesus and was absolved of her sins. However, St. Saphronius tells a different story. He claims that Mary Magdalene - or Mary of Alexandria; sometimes speculated to be a completely different person - had a religious experience on the day of the Feast of the Cross at a church in Jerusalem prompting her to take off towards the River Jordan to live her life in the desert. The Mary Zozimo meets has been wandering the desert for 47 years. Giotto definitely gives her a face lift, or two.

- Excerpts from The Great Canon, the Work of Saint Andrew of Crete

Simone Martini, Annunciation, 1333

And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favor with God. And behold thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Jesus. Luke 1:31

Donatello, Feast of Herod, 1427

Limbourg Brothers, Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry: June, 1411-1416

The vividness of the Limbourg Brothers calendar attracts the viewer immediately. Especially for simple minded art lovers like me, the colors in which the Limbourg Brothers used for June was extremely pleasing. The symmetry that exists in Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry: June inexplicably makes this calendar painting vibrate with a warm feeling. The color of the women’s dresses in the foreground, the light and dark blue, match exactly with the sky in the back and the rooftops of the castle in the background.

Because June is the harvesting season, the farmers are busy reaping their goods for the season. However, the details also show a distinct division between social classes. Barriers block the peasants from the castle, from the fences to the line of trees.

The facial expression that the brothers portray on their characters also attracted me. From afar, they seemed placid and emotionless. However, zoom in and we see that the farmers, not surprisingly, are rather disgruntled as they toil in the field.

The Limbourg Brothers create an array of work in the form of calendars, however the method in which they create it - the depth, radiant colors, expressions, and social commentary - make their works my favorite pieces of the pre-Renaissance era.

Simone Martini, St. Martin and the Division of the Cloak, 1317

Giotto, The Baptism of Christ, circa 1305

I cannot pretend that The Baptism of Christ captivated me with its composition. That's not to say that I don't appreciate the theatrical staging of the piece, the driving focus on Jesus created by the rift in the rocks and the forceful downward thrust of God's arm, nor that I don't understand the rich blues, blacks, and reds that have endured seven-hundred years after they were first put to plaster. One could even persuade me, with little coaxing, to admit that the interplay of color in the heavens makes the piece's sky my favorite of all those in Giotto's work. Seriously, I'd like to have that painted on my ceiling. But these elements are not what made me choose to cover this work.

So what compelled me to choose the work for this weeks post? I just like the story behind the painting. The Baptism of Christ by John the Baptist marks one of the most important points in the life of Jesus of Nazareth. In this moment, the Son of God puts himself on the same level as the people he had come to save. He humbles himself to John and accepts the baptism by water so that he may go on and baptize others.

That's why it strikes me as so odd that we insist on being prideful. Sure, a high score on the ACT or the highest essay grade in the class is great, but Jesus is supposed to be God's son. That's a pretty big deal. The man who the very heavens are said to have opened up for insisted that he be baptized by a poor man from the woods. He also dined with prostitutes and liars and thieves, and washed the feet of his disciples. The story compels me because it conflicts with so many parts of day to day life. It begs us to better ourselves. To take ourselves less seriously. The Messiah did it, now why can't we?

Giotto, Entry Into Jerusalem, 1304