Genesis 1.1-5: Chiaroscuro

God spoke: "Light!" And light appeared. (Genesis 1:3a, The Message). Light. And dark. Each needs the other in order to be defined, particularly in art. If a painting is all light, with no contrasting dark, it feels too simple, too surface. Dark alone is the same way. It is the pairing of the two - light and dark - in various ways that brings variety, and harmony to any work of art. Throughout the history of art, light and dark have been explored and exploited in various ways. 

A strong contrast of light and dark in the visual art is called chiarascuro (/kyärəˈsk(y)o͝orō/), which literally means light-dark (chiaro meaning “clear” or “bright" and oscuro meaning “obscure”' or “dark”). Seventeenth-century Italian painter Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (usually just referred to as "Caravaggio"), was the painter who first made this strong contrast of light and dark into a trademark of his style. Artists who came immediately after him and followed his style were referred to as Caravaggists. 

Though created centuries after Caravaggio's work, the photograph of a cabbage leaf (below), embodies the ideas of chiaroscuro. The photo's background is a velvety rich darkness, and the topmost parts of the cabbage leaf are the lightest points. Between the background and the highlights is a full range of values. The gradation of light to dark is what creates a sense of three-dimensional form in the folds of the leaf. The sharp meeting of light and dark creates a hard edge that separates the dark background from the lighter leaf. It is the contrast that shows the form.

Edward Weston. Cabbage Leaf. 1931. NY: Museum of Modern Art. 

God spoke: "Light!" And there was light. By that light God saw the individual shapes and forms of what was being created. By that light we all see. God spoke, and there was light, where there only had been darkness. Jesus, the light of the world.

The word photography literally means "writing with light." In this season of Epiphany, why not try writing with light as a photographic exercise. See Art&Faith Matters on Facebook for tips.
 

Jeremiah 8.18 - 9.1: Wounds

Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician? God's people are inBlogger: Art & Faith Matters - Overview stats need of healing, but none seems to be found. (Jeremiah 8:18-9:1) Having just these verses of scripture - no context other than the word "slain" - I wondered about the extent of the wounds. Could they be cured with a balm? Did  the physician need to be in general practice or a surgeon? How else does scripture talk about wounds? Isaiah's suffering servant is wounded for our transgressions. The man beaten by robbers has his wounds bound up and cared for by the good Samaritan.

Probably the most recognizable are the wounds of Christ and within that broad story, the images of Thomas regarding the wound in Jesus' side is among the most common. Caravaggio's version above is typical. In Caravaggio's depiction, Thomas does actually put his finger into the wound in Jesus' side. The wound itself became the object of regard and an avenue to closeness with Jesus as early Christians claimed Thomas' privilege for themselves. They sought to touch the wounds of Jesus. The sought to be on the same intimate terms with Jesus as were the disciples.

As the wound grew in popularity as an object of devotion, it was inserted into a mandorla (an almond-shaped frame) and depicted on jewelry and tombs and fonts as well as in medieval manuscripts. Christ's wounds were celebrated, reminding the faithful that Christ had indeed been embodied on this year. But no earthly, medicinal balm could cure those wounds. In fact, the wounds were the balm that could cure the ills of the world.

But the ills of the world remain.

Mark Rothko's paintings are among those most open to interpretation (just ask my high school students!). There seems to be no subject matter implied or specified by the painting. No trees or houses. No portraits. No words or symbols. It's just color. Blocks of color. And yet.

Rothko, though not associated with a particular school or movement, painted in the time following two world wars when a  number of artists moved away from identifiable subject matter. Rather than replicating reality, those artists used their work to ask bigger questions about humanity, about what it means to be human, about how we find meaning in this world.

I'm sure it is helped along by the color reference of reds, but the painting here seems to me to speak of open wounds and depths and unknowns. It would be easy to stand in front of the painting and visually fall into it  (it is about 8.5 feet by 10 feet). There seems to be no escape, the only option to move deeper and deeper. This was, essentially, what Caravaggio's Thomas and the followers of the Cult of the Side Wound wanted to do: move into closer contact with the wound of Christ. Perhaps it is only through moving closer that we can come to understand and heal the wounds of humanity.

Of course, that is what Jesus did in becoming human. Move closer to the wounds of the world, bringing healing with him. Is there a balm in Gilead? Who or what is that balm? Or will a balm just not do the work...and do we need a surgeon?

(Top) Caravaggio. The Incredulity of St. Thomas. 1603. Sanssouci Picture Gallery. Potsdam, Germany. (Middle) The Side Wound of Christ. Book of Hours. France, perhaps Verdun and Paris, ca. 1375. MS M.90 fol. 130r. NY: Morgan Library and Museum. (Bottom) Mark Rothko. Four Darks in Red. 1958. NY: Whitney Museum of American Art.

What does Abraham Lincoln have to do with this? See Art&Faith Matters on Facebook.
For thoughts on Mammon in Luke 16:1-13, click here.

John 20.19-31: Thomas...Without the Adjective

Leonadro da Vinci. The Last Supper. Wall painting/experimental techniques. 1498. Milan: Cenacolo Vinciano. http://www.turismo.milano.it/wps/portal/?WCM_GLOBAL_CONTEXT=/en/situr/home/artecultura/musei/loc259

It is arguably the most recognized artistic interpretation of the Last Supper, and it remains the subject of theory and conjecture. Are there hidden meanings in the composition? Most recently Ross King has suggested that Leonardo included self-portraits among the disciples, making himself both James the Less and Thomas. The identification of figures is based on a drawing in The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci. The disciples are (from left): Bartholomew, James the Less, Andrew, Judas, Peter, John, Christ, Thomas, James the Greater, Philip, Matthew, Thaddeus, Simon.

That makes Thomas the face closest to Jesus (though James' hand is closer to Jesus). Does it look like a face that should only be known as a doubter? Which exact moment is depicted is no more certain than the potential meanings of the painting, but whatever moment it is, there is much energy around the table. Disciples jump to their feet and gesture. They look at one another and at Jesus.

Thomas is, like the other disciples, astounded. He looks at Jesus with his right index finger pointing directly up. Perhaps he is objecting. Perhaps he is preparing to make a point or present a protest. One "restorer" along the way turned that raised finger into a loaf of bread(!). Whatever the statement, he is making it quite vigorously, and it is more effective to raise a finger than to wave a loaf of bread in the direction of our Lord and Savior.

Visually there is a link between that raised finger and the finger placed in the wound in Jesus' side in Caravaggio's The Incredutlity of St. Thomas (below). The paintings were created almost 100 years apart, with the Caravaggio a century later. If there is copying going on, it is Caravaggio copying Leonardo.

In Ross King's book, Leonardo and the Last Supper, he suggests that of all the disciples, Thomas might be the disciple who would appeal most to Leonardo the inventor, the experimenter, the scientist, the engineer. Leonardo was not content with other people's answers. He wanted to know things for himself. Though we mostly remember Thomas from the Easter 2B passage in John's gospel (20:19-31), he was a member of the band of disciples who were with Jesus throughout his ministry and as such he will be shown with them. Perhaps looking at those would help give us a fuller picture of the man so many people are content to identify by a single broad adjective.

(Above, detail. Leonardo. The Last Supper. Bottom, detail. Caravaggio. The Incredulity of St. Thomas. 1601-1602. Oil on canvas. Schloss Sanssouci, Potsdam, Germany. http://www.spsg.de/schloesser-gaerten/objekt/schloss-sanssouci/


A copy of Leonardo's painting, created in 1545 and showing details that are no longer readily apparent on the original, can be seen at: http://www.tongerlo.org/da_vinci/davinci_home.htm 

See what happens to Thomas when Andy Warhol gets hold of Leonardo's painting. Click on the Art&Faith Matters Facebook link.
For additional thoughts about Thomas (John 20:19-31), click here or here.
For thoughts on Acts 4:32-35, click here.