Caravaggio’s art is made from darkness and light. His pictures present spotlit moments of extreme and often agonized human experience. A man is decapitated in his bedchamber, blood spurting from a deep gash in his neck. A man is assassinated on the high altar of a church. A woman is shot in the stomach with a bow and arrow at point-blank range. Caravaggio’s images freeze time but also seem to hover on the brink of their own disappearance. Faces are brightly illuminated. Details emerge from darkness with such uncanny clarity that they might be hallucinations. Yet always the shadows encroach, the pools of blackness that threaten to obliterate all. Looking at his pictures is like looking at the world by flashes of lightening.
In 2017, at the Gallery Borghese in Rome, I had the opportunity to view a magnificent painting by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610): Madonna Dei Palafrenieri. Caravaggio’s masterpiece is captivating in its beauty and expressive detail. The painting’s lifelike faces of Christ, Mary, and Saint Anne as well as its vibrant colors held my attention for some moments before I noticed something else. Looking closer, I observed that Mary’s bare foot was squarely atop a serpent’s head and the young Christ’s foot was atop hers. This detail might go unnoticed by some visitors, but the theological implications behind this symbolism is not only rich and profound, it also transforms the beautiful image into something much more complex and nuanced. Andrew Graham-Dixon’s book does a particularly outstanding time describing this painting and its journey from Saint Peter’s Basilica (a short stay of about a week) to the Borghese family. Like so many other pieces of his art, truly born of sweat, tears, and blood, the pages tell the fascinating backstories of each work.
The Madonna of the Palafrenieri, sometimes known as the The Madonna of the Serpent, is an unsettling picture. Monumental in scale , almost ten feet tall and most than six across, it shows three figures in a tall room, absorbed in a confrontation with pure evil. The Virgin and the infant Christ together crush the head of a serpent beneath their feet. As the foul creature writhes in its death agonies, St. Anne frail and bent by age, looks on in solemn contemplation. By God’s grace, the devil is defeated.
At the same time that I was finishing this book, I was also listening to a Sacred Music course on the Great Courses platform, taught by Dr. Charles Edward McGuire, that touched on some of the same Roman families as mentioned in the in the book. This serves as a good reminder that there is no such thing as wasted knowledge. Even the smallest detail can add to greater understanding of the subject being studied, lending clearer context to the matter at hand. The interconnected nature of the great families of the past—such as the Borghese family--have a way of coming up again and again in the study of art and music. We owe a debt of gratitude indeed to the great patrons of the arts for commissioning and helping to safeguard the classic works of art of Caravaggio and so many others.
Reading this powerful book on Caravaggio, it feels as if I’m drawn again into those ancient Roman churches and museums to gaze at his awe-inspiring paintings. I can’t wait to see them again in a year’s time—Lord willing.
Resources for the Reader:
Church of San Luigi De Francesi
Rome and London (See 22nd minute.)
Sounds interesting! Thank you for sharing!
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