That’s a pretty odd sounding name. But let’s not hold it against the owner. Though, there is indeed something orgiastic in the happenings above the funeral, and I mean that in the strict formal sense, without any cynical attempts at blasphemy. The artistic confusion taking place in the celestial scene (the painting is located in the Church of Santo Tomé, Toledo) appears like the exact opposite of the appropriately grave conduct below: disorderly, joyfully inspiring, fantastical and fanciful to the point of being bizarre. There is great sense to such distribution of imaginative chaos and order; after all, the artist may have well witnessed analogous processions, and could have had the privilege of depicting from memory, whereas the only guide for the metaphysical scene above the physical one might have been only his fantasy. And as long as he stayed within the catholic doctrinal framework, pure invention was probably encouraged.
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The first thing I noticed about this painting was St. Joseph’s hand supporting the baby’s foot: Raphael’s invention in a different variation. The second was the strange looking clouds, the gape above the Virgin’s head serving as a halo. While these features differ significantly in their specificity, they may both index El Greco’s ability to convert, reinvent and subordinate ideas, for his own particular needs. The clouds, a background element, suddenly assume the utmost role of signifying sainthood, while Raphael’s gesture becomes reincarnated to involve a different actor, a man, standing behind Mary. I think that this is an essential quality of the artist, as it reveals broad intellectual capacity — something that I found convenient to write off as secondary to El Greco’s dominant emotionalism. It seems that after all the head and the heart are together in this ploy, without any preferences.
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I am already used to the imposing sense of helplessness reemerging whenever I try to think up accolades for the masterpieces discussed on this website.The visual and technical grandeur of this painting (hanging in Toledo Cathedral, a magnificent Gothic monument — click here to see more explained photographs of Toledo Cathedral), described in numerous essays and books on El Greco (britannica full article), overwhelms, while the texts deal the final blow of futility. Blah…blah…blah. Let’s pretend I haven’t written anything yet and start afresh. The shocking red of the protagonist’s garment immediately forces the mood; color dominates the image unconditionally, with facial expressions following far behind, supplementing the psychological tension, and composition serving only a rudimentary purpose, as to not to interfere with the red solo. The latter’s explosive power is disproportionate to that of composition, marking palette as outright exotic and grotesque.
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This painting (Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden) combines secular and earthly clerical elements with the divine in an ostensible theatrical interplay. The lid of the coffin of Pope Julius II forms the stage, while the tableau curtains are drawn apart to reveal the divine action. This hierarchical pastiche communicates the heavens to the devout in a known way: from the bottom of the painting — the church, along with its highest representative, — through the center, where the saints hover, — and to the top, where Mary with baby Christ on her hands treads the clouds. The myriad of seraphs in the background testifies to the transparency of the scene to both worlds, and its consequent significance to our existence here, as well as there. Perhaps the artist intended for every little alabaster face to find a counterpart in someone on the side of the beholder.
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This painting (hanging in the Budapest Museum of Fine Arts) manifests a powerful classicist gist. The odd coloring of the babies, the musical instrument in the hands of one of them and the more obvious ancient architectural elements in the back, they all contribute to the thematic epochal dating. The flat hue of the children’s skin seems to have been imported from another era, and coincidentally echoes the more tinted ruins in the background. The lyre occupying the lower seated infant serves as a direct reference to deities preceding Christianity. But it would be incorrect to compare these babes with cupids or otherwise merry pagan seraphs from mythological Renaissance paintings: they demonstrate seriousness and gravity uncharacteristic of their classical counterparts. The somewhat angular, nearly grotesque composition acts as a neutralizing component, and carries the Christian message through; an exaggeration is needed to oppose, and prevail over the strong classicist motif.
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