Skip to main content

Egon Schiele, 'Dead Mother', 1910

 


My eye is drawn to the hand. Those long, bony fingers are so characteristic of Schiele but here they are particularly skeletal and deathly – the veins seem to have been injected with poison. And they are a warning right in the foreground of the painting that keeps the viewer at bay as an outsider to this incredibly intimate relationship between mother and child, and sets the tone of death and mortality which hangs over the whole image. The mother cradles her child in a womb-like shroud, alluding to childbirth and the death of the mother explained in the title. She seems desperate to feel that bodily connection with her child, highlighted by the emphasis on her craned neck as she tries to connect to the baby. There is a clear link between the mother’s bent neck and the child’s bent neck, again emphasising their longing to be with each other. However, the darkness around the child is almost like ropes, with flecks of white in the painting making it look as though the darkness is wound around the baby, stopping it from escaping. The child also wants that connection with its mother, seen by the hand reaching up and trying to pierce the ropes of darkness, but the more you look at those flecks of white, the more the painting surface seems fluid and anxious and the image turns into one of loss rather than closeness. Their pattern creates a circle, like the circle of life which is clearly represented not only through the circle of the womb that the child seems to be trapped in, but also through the connection to birth and the death or near-death like state that the mother now finds herself in.

The composition of the painting means that the action is happening very close to the surface of the canvas. The figures dissolve into darkness, apart from the face and hands of the mother and child, and the amniotic sac-like depiction of the small, flesh coloured area surrounding the child. The strong linear strokes on the mother’s face suggest wrinkles, dark circles around her eyes and her gaunt, prominent bone structure but also emphasise surface, flattening her features and adding to the depiction of the mother as worn, tired and being consumed by the darkness of grief and mourning. All this leads me to start seeing the painting in a different light: as a representation of different stages in the same woman’s life – the ‘baby’ is now youth – warmly lit and softly coloured, eyelashes, pink lips, rounded and the ‘aged’ woman is clinging onto it helplessly and hopelessly. Is it even her hand, or the hand of death that creeps into the bottom left?


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cellini, 'Perseus with the Head of Medusa', 1545-1554

  My eye is immediately drawn to the head of Medusa. At first glance it looks gruesome, as though Cellini has captured the moment just after the head has been decapitated, and it oozes blood and bodily matter. However the viewer then notices the similarity between that and Medusa's hair. Maybe it is just her hair after all. Cellini has cleverly enticed the viewer in here, to take a closer look and therefore involved them in the sculpture as a whole. Once they do come closer, they begin to notice other things such as the similarity between Perseus' hair and Medusa's snakes. Hero and monster are not so separate. Even the features of their faces are very similar. Perhaps Cellini wants to suggest that evil can often wear the mask of good. Or he could even be implying that everyone has some evil within them, even the hero Perseus.  One of the good things about sculpture is that the viewer is able to walk around it, and fully immerse themselves in the piece. Cellini has used this...

Tondino di Guerrino, 'Crucifix', 1325-30

  The monumental crucifixes of Cimabue, Giotto and their followers, and their transition from Byzantine forms towards increased dynamism and naturalism, have been well studied. Equally, smaller works by French Gothic practitioners in ivory are now beginning to permeate scholarship, mainly through the detailed exploration by Sarah Guerin. The goldsmiths of Siena do not command as much attention. Yet, they hold the key to artistic synthesis in the early fourteenth century. This is proved by the small processional crucifix currently at the National Gallery's iteration of Siena: The Rise of Painting 1300-50, attributed to Tondino di Guerrino.  Tondino combines enamel with an intricate gold sculptural presentation of the crucified Christ in this small, portable work. Instantly, the eye is drawn to the central element - the thin, skeletal body hanging from two stretched, emaciated arms. Christ's torso is drawn inwards, his ribs exposed, mimicking a sharp intake of breath. The downwa...

Artemisia Gentileschi, 'Jael and Sisera', c.1620

  My eye firstly notices the hand wielding the hammer above the unsuspecting man's head. Gentileschi is depicting a new and particularly horrible kind of weapon here instead of the huge sword she gave Judith to slice Holofernes' head off in 1620. The tent peg seems all the more violent, especially as the viewer is looking at the split second before the deed has been committed. Moreover, the gaze of the women (Jael) is focused and calm, making the piece seem unnerving. This is not a moment of hesitation but a snapshot of action - the woman has made up her mind and will commit to this murder. The viewer can only imagine how Gentileschi would have depicted the bloody aftermath, in her usual violent and tenebristic way. The fact that the artist has signed her name in the tomb-like stone above the man is significant - she is signing his life away in this painting, sending him swiftly to the grave.  The body of the man (Sisera) is also interestingly depicted. He lies in a rather eff...