Skip to main content

Guercino, 'Elijah Fed by Ravens', 1620

 


With Baroque drama, expressive light and shade, alongside a contorted figure crammed into the picture frame, Guercino successfully captures the desperation of Elijah, stretching out his dark purple cloth to catch the food which falls from ravens above him. Based on the lesser known Old Testament narrative, the artist concentrates on the study of an ageing figure to convey his hunger and failing strength, against the fading blue lighting and cool stream below. 

The monumental canvas gifts the viewer with a life-size representation of Elijah, whist enabling Guercino to show off the power of foreshortening - with his right knee jutting out towards a viewer, Elijah seems almost to fall out of the canvas towards us, toppling forward and bearing down on us to enhance that monumentality. This also suggests Guercino's debt to Caravaggio when constructing his Baroque canvases, and the torn red sleeve to reveal Elijah's white undershirt was yet another favoured motif of the Cavaraggisti more widely. The work was created for Cardinal Jacopo Serra, who was an enthusiastic patron of Guercino, before it passed into the hands of the Barberini family. Despite the choice of a lesser known biblical narrative, the accurate study of a desperate figure, coupled with the monumentality of the work itself, inspired piety and devotion. 

Guercino's painterly realism becomes evident in his contortion of the human figure. The pose is unusual and unnatural, and the protruding right knee is almost greying in colour, as a reflection of the stone and scroll on the opposite side of the painting. Elijah's pinkish toes are weathered and veiny, having to adapt to the permanent outdoor conditions he now faces, red from the cold of the stream in the background and the harsh rocks which the figure throws himself upon. This redness is picked out again by the colour of Elijah's tunic, showing how Guercino uses splashes of similar colours to guide a viewer's eye across the canvas, so every detail is appreciated. Despite the figure's obvious old age, with his open mouth and wide, begging, upwards gaze, alongside the narrative of being fed by ravens, an extension of both nature and God, there is a certain maternal element to the story - Elijah must be fed to survive, and Guercino presents him wrapped up in a purple cloth, almost like a swaddled baby. Guercino's painting becomes a retelling which is built upon the lifecycle itself, bridging the gap between birth and old age through the figure of Elijah who, in the guise of a helpless child, returns to the very start of life before a viewer's eyes, fed by nature and forced to fend for himself in the wild. 


Comments

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 ...

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...

Hans Holbein, 'Portrait of A Lady with Squirrel', 1526-8

  An unidentified figure looks away from the viewer, but this is not a portrait of disengagement. The surrounding symbols intrigue us, potentially indicating mood, atmosphere, status and significance. As a work with no inscription, no verbal device, the painting remains as tight-lipped as the woman depicted. Instead, art historians have turned to the study of signs to decipher meaning.  The inclusion of animals in portraiture was far from unusual at this point in history - this painting has often been compared to Leonardo's Lady with an Ermine and Holbein himself includes animals in his own works, such as the depiction of Henry VIII's chief falconer proudly displaying his occupation to the viewer. In this case, it was first proposed that the squirrel balanced on the arm of the sitter was perhaps a household pet. More recently, its surreptitious chewing of a nut has been linked to the coat of arms of the Lovell family. Thus the squirrel becomes imbued with additional heraldic c...