Skip to main content

Carlo Crivelli, 'Thomas Aquinas', 1476

 


The amount of detail contained in the small panel of St Thomas Aquinas is hard for the eye to quantify. It is even more staggering when a viewer realises that this is but one section of the so-called Demidoff Altarpiece, produced by Crivelli in 1476 for the church of Ascoli Piceno. As a whole, the altarpiece includes complex tracery and gold work in the International Gothic style, the latter of which is repeated on the gold leaf backgrounds that saints sit upon, through both tooling and gilding methods. The figure of Thomas Aquinas, ageing and dressed in a Dominican habit, is positioned on the right-hand side of the altarpiece's upper tier. He looks to the left, betraying his position on the edge of the panel, as he gazes towards the figure of St Stephen. Although he does not open his mouth, his eyeline suggests dialogue. Directional gazes, coupled with illusionistic detail, are constantly employed by Crivelli to bridge the gap between reality and the divine. 

Aquinas' inquisitive gaze betrays his intellect, as does the book he holds. His fingers which press against the pages of unreadable pseudo-scripture with sensitivity, tactility and convincing realism, are thin, bony and grasping. The skin pulls at the thumb as it stretches to take the weight of the book, whilst the index finger prizes the pages apart. The book itself seems worn and well used, almost recalling the aged skin of the scholar himself. There is also immediacy and presence, as Aquinas takes a viewer through the book in his hands in real time. This is furthered by the realistic pressure of the fingers on the pages. The parchment is gathered in between the second and third finger, as we witness the making of a new crease by Aquinas' hand, and by extension the hand of the artist, Crivelli. Realism stretches beyond the weighty book in the saint's left hand, however, for in his right he grasps a model of the church in which the altarpiece is housed. The door is open, inviting the devout to enter and as if to confirm this, Crivelli has placed figures peering out from the interior darkness. Not only does this serve to highlight the immense level of detail in Crivelli's panel, yet it intrigues the viewer as to what lies beyond. Open doors had been used as a motif in devotional works since the thirteenth century, to reference the realm beyond and the possibilities of reaching heaven. The open door could also here have a more immediate religious purpose, not only reflecting the movements of those who would have entered the church to view this altarpiece, but welcoming the devout into the house of the lord through the open doorway. Crivelli depicts the church aged and worn, with moss growing from its bricks and discolouration on its exterior facade. There is a certain element of the passing of time in the way Crivelli has depicted the church, slowly becoming colonised by natural forces.

Even in one panel of the Demidoff Altarpiece, illusion and reality are the driving forces, channelled through a spiritual lens to encourage devotion from the viewer. As the exhibition at the Ikon Gallery in Birmingham in 2022 proved, Crivelli shattered the levels of sacred and secular, both through imagery but also through a use of materials. The Demidoff Altarpiece is particularly well known for its depiction of St Peter, who's keys are three-dimensional, modelled in gesso so that they protrude off the flat panel and push into a viewer's space. A similar technique, yet on a smaller scale, was used for Aquinas' halo, matching the other saints on the panel. Crivelli's combination of material manipulation with trompe l'oeil successfully deceives the viewer's eye. Yet, every panel, as the depiction of Aquinas proves, maintains its religious velocity both to a fifteenth century viewer in Ascoli Piceno, and a twenty-first audience in the decontextualised museal display today. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mark Rothko, 'Light Red over Black', 1957

  My eye is not drawn to the painting itself but the title of the painting, 'Light Red Over Black'. We would automatically think that the black is on top of a red background, but Rothko has flipped this around, subverting the title just like he subverting the meaning of what it was to be an artist and what Art actually was. During this time, art was going through rapid changes, with abstract expressionism coming into full force (Rothko, Pollock). But Rothko showed that all this change was for the good, even if for him, it was short lived.  The colour red in this painting is searing and the black struggles to fully cover this velvety border, especially at the bottom of the canvas. Unlike the black squares which have a hazy quality to their edges, the red is clear and impregnable. It is hard to figure out what this represents - the Tate has suggested a window perhaps, but if it is a window then what are we looking out into? Perhaps it is night, or perhaps the viewer is catching ...
Post a Comment
Read more

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 wo...
Post a Comment
Read more

M.K. Ciurlionis, 'Funeral Symphony VII', 1903

  There are many who have been left out of the art historical canon and Lithuanian artist and composer Mikalojus Ciurlionis is one of them. Producing over 200 musical works and 300 paintings, his career was extensive, prolific and multifaceted. Yet, he was a 'genius cursed by fate' according to artist and critic Alexandre Benois, dying from exhaustion in 1911. Praised within his lifetime, Ciurlionis is virtually invisible today, especially to a Western viewer. Describing one artwork by Ciurlionis is not enough to appreciate his diversity and synthesis of artforms - pastels, as this work shows, vignettes, oils, designs for stained glass, even abandoning the easel for cardboard. More importantly, he was indebted to the Lithuanian landscape. Ichiro Kato refers to him as 'Lithuanian in nature and national feeling...a genius from the Baltic lands', reflected in works including  Serenity depicting idyllic, peaceful settings of mountains and lakes, devoid of humanity. Like man...
Post a Comment
Read more