Day 226 - Murillo "Virgin and Child" and Caravaggio "The Denial of Saint Peter"

 December 19, 2020

Gallery 601 takes as its theme the influence of Rome on 17th century painters. Introductory signage discusses the number of painters who came to Rome, some  from other countries (these include Ribera, who once having arrived in Italy, never left, and Velazquez)  some from other places in Italy. Even painters who never made it to Rome were influenced by those who did. I knew that Bolognese painters were of some importance, but I was surprised to learn that Annibale Caracci (who was born in Bologna and then went to Rome) is cited with Caravaggio as  one of the two most important painters of 17th century Italy.

I've been thinking that, in visiting these galleries, instead of selecting just one painting as the "work of the day," I should choose two - one that I love and one that unexpectedly surprises or impresses me. It was easy to choose the one I love - a "Virgin and Child" by Murillo.  Painted in 1676, and roughly six feet tall and four feet wide, the canvas shows, against a dark ground, the seated Virgin cradling the child in her left arm. and gazing lovingly at him. While the rosy-cheeked baby Jesus, a curly-haired blonde. looks out at us, his arms reach up to pull at the bodice of his mother's dress, as if he is eager to start nursing.  It's a tender moment, redolent of everyday life. But what really signals that this is a sacred image, not a genre scene, is that the heads of both figures are surrounded by an aura of light that replaces the haloes that might have been featured in other depictions. I think of the Gospel of John, which I've recently been reading, and his references to Christ as bringing light to the world.

The Virgin's lower body beneath her dress is modeled with a kind of monumentality. But I'm struck by how very young the Virgin looks. If Murillo used a real-life model rather than painting an idealized image, I would guess that she was no older than 16.  

At first it's hard to choose the second painting. I don't particularly like but am interested in a Guercino painting of  the Vocation of Saint Aloysius, both because of the artist's skill in detailing the pleating of the saint's robe and the feathers of the angel's wings and because of the subject. The saint, aka Luigi Gonzaga, resigned the title of marquis to join the Jesuit order, an act symbolically represented in the painting by the discarded crown lying on the floor behind the saint-to-be.  In the foreground is a bouquet of white lilies, a symbol of his vow of chastity.  (I'd previously associated lilies exclusively with the Virgin, but evidently I was wrong.) 

I also note a Velazquez painting of the Supper at Emmaus.  Again, the figures are shown against a dark ground, and they appear to be painted with broad strokes.  I'm reminded of the strong influence of 17th century Spanish painters on Manet.  To me, this looks remarkably like a work Manet might have painted.

But in the end, I have no doubt that I want to focus on Caravaggio's "Denial of Saint Peter," because when I really look at it, I'm overwhelmed by its emotional power.  I shouldn't be surprised; I remember how strongly I responded to Caravaggio's "Calling of Saint Matthew" in San Luigi dei Francesi in Rome. In this painting,  which is about four feet long and three feet high, Peter, at the right of the composition, is confronted by a soldier, shown in profile; between them is a woman, presumably the maid who, according to the Gospels (I went and checked), identified Peter as a follower of Christ.  The three figures, shown only from the waist up, occupy almost all the canvas. The scene, set against a plain brown ground, is shrouded in darkness; light falls on the soldier's vest and on the maid's forehead and pointing finger, but only Peter is fully illuminated, heightening the drama of the situation.  He appears deeply troubled as he denies his relationship to Jesus:  he clutches his cloak defensively to his chest.  and he can barely look the soldier in the eye.  Interestingly, Caravaggio portrays the disciple  as a man considerably older than Jesus would have been: Peter is balding, his brow is furrowed, and if you look closely, you can make out an age spot on his hand.