Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion: Studies by Francis Bacon

Who do we usually see at the foot of Jesus' cross? The Beloved Disciple. Mary, Jesus' mother. Other women who had followed and supported Jesus. Sometimes the Roman centurion who confessed this Jesus as the son of God. These figures are sometimes stoic, sometimes emotional. Sometimes the look at Jesus, other times they weep. Sometimes their hands look like they are folded in prayer, sometimes they look like they are clenched in fists. Do they ever look like this? Or do the figures in more realistic works look like they feel like this? 

Francis Bacon. Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion. 1944. London: Tate Gallery. 

Irish-born painter Francis Bacon created Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion in 1944. The work was first exhibited in April 1945. World War II engulfed the globe, but the world was just beginning to see the horrors of Nazi concentration camps through footage released. Experiences of horror and revulsion are readily present in the world. 

The artist said the figures were inspired not by images of Jesus' crucifixion, but rather by the Furies, goddesses of vengeance in Greek mythology who dispensed judgment to those who committed crimes. The format of the triptych (with its three panels) and the use of the word crucifixion nevertheless call to mind the tradition of paintings of Jesus' death. 

Consider other images of the crucifixion (here, here, and here are three). Who is at the foot of the cross in your image of the crucifixion? How are they responding to what they see?

On Facebook this week, see Francis Bacon's Three Studies for a Crucifixion.

Crucifixion: Full or Empty

For additional Holy Week references see the Liturgical Calendar tab above or search by individual text.

Two different versions of the crucifixion. One filled with symbols and statements, people and references. One with only two unspecified figures in addition to Christ in the middle. As we approach Good Friday, we remember the individual episodes of the day, the characters - major and minor - that appear and disappear through the story. But we remember that this story, which touches all of humanity, is also the story of one individual's suffering. Which aspect of the story - which version of the crucifixion - speaks most to you this year?

Philip Evergood. The New Lazarus. 1927-1954. NY: Whitney Museum of Art. 

Evergood's large-scale work (58 1/4 × 93 3/8 × 2 5/8in) ties the story of Lazarus' resurrection to the story of Jesus' crucifixion. In the background, figures of ignorance cover their eyes and mouth and ears. The crucified Christ is off-center, placed left of center on the canvas. At the left a black figure hangs by hands tied to a tree near the bloody Lamb of God. At the right, soldiers stand while their fallen colleague is stretched out on the ground at the front of the canvas. Evergood wrote, "Christ, with all his generosity, his goodness, his love for people is crucified,  drained of his blood, and left for the vultures to devour."

Augustus Vincent Tack. Mystical Crucifixion. Not dated. Washington, DC: Phillips Collection.

Tack's version of the crucifixion, by contrast, has only two figures, flanking the centered image of Christ on the cross. The composition is symmetrically balanced, with a sun/moon and a single figure seated on an outcropping of rocks on each side of the composition. The figure on the left (as we look at the painting) has his back turned to the viewer. Naked, with hands tied behind his back, he looks up at the figure of Christ. The figure on the right is clothed in what looks somewhat like the garb of a Roman soldier. Holding a sphere (the earth?) in the right hand and a sword in the left, the figure is not looking at Christ. The landscape is desolate. With no other supporting symbols or interpretation, we are left to find our own meaning in this version of the crucifixion, perhaps separate from the actual events of Good Friday.

Which of the two speaks more to you in this season?

Luke 23.33-43: King and Kin

Remember me when you come into your kingdom. That's the request made by one of the thieves being crucified with Jesus. Jesus' response is a promise that the one thief will be with him in paradise. Not at some unknown time in the future, but that very day. (Luke 23:43) It is a promise that clearly shows who Jesus is. Even in this moment, Jesus offers the gift of relationship to the thief. With me, Jesus says.

But you'd never know that from most of the images of the crucifixion. In most images, three crosses, each with a human figure, are separated completely from each other. Sky, clouds, or other background elements are clearly visible between either the outstretched arms of the cross or the bent arms of the thieves. This separation clearly reflects the relationship between a king and the residents of the kingdom. Royalty does not mix with common people. Remember Lerner and Loewe's King Arthur sitting around wondering, "What do the simple folk do?" Pietro Lorenzetti (below left) captures the distance between Jesus and the thieves. His perspective seems to indicate that the two crosses are behind Jesus'.

But the text tells us that Jesus is reaching out to those around him. In that, Jesus is acting more like kin than king. He will not be separated from people who reach out to him. The icon fragment (below center) gives a hint of that.

(Left) Pietro Lorenzetti. The Crucifixion. 1430s. NY: Metropolitan Museum of Art. (Center) Crucifixion with Two Thieves. 8th century. St. Catherine Monastery, Sinai, Egypt. (Right) Hans von Tubingen. Crucifixion. c. 1430s. Vienna: Osterreiche Galerie Belvedere. (currently unable to connect link)

The thief at Jesus' right in the icon fragment (above center) is placed literally under Jesus' hand. The blood from the wound in Jesus' hand seems to be pouring onto the thief's head. It might even be that in this moment, the thief is being "washed in the blood of the Lamb," becoming part of the family.

The Hans Tubingen painting (above right) places Christ's hand above the thief on his right, but there is distance between hand and head, and there is no blood tying the thief to Jesus. However, the head of the thief on Jesus' right leans his head toward Jesus insuring that his head is (at least in the picture space) under Jesus' hand.

In this painting, though, we see what is happening with the other thief, and what is happening is a complete rejection of Jesus. Though Jesus' hand is placed so that it could be in a visual relationship with the head of the thief on the left, the artist has curved that thief's torso over the top of the tau-shaped cross. He appears to be leaning back as if to move himself as far away from Jesus as possible. Rejecting Jesus as both king and kin.

For additional thoughts on the reign of Christ, click here, here, here, or here.

Acts 5.27-32: As Bird is My Witness

The disciples stand before the high council (Acts 5:27-32). Council members remind the disciples that they were instructed not to each in Jesus' name. "But we have to!" they claim. They then rehearse Jesus' life story: his death, his resurrection, his position at the right hand of God. We have to, they say, because we were witnesses to all those things. We were witnesses...and so was the Holy Spirit (Acts 5:32).

The Holy Spirit was a witness to the Crucifixion and the resurrection? That's a detail that may not be universally - at least universally artistically - acknowledged. A small, unscientific survey reveals that there are times and ways when a dove - arguably the most common symbol for the Holy Spirit - is shown in images of Christ on the cross. But the occurrence is far from the majority of times.

(Left) Master of the Prayerbooks of c. 1500. Royal 16F II, Fol. 89. London: British Library.  (Right) Masaccio. The Holy Trinity. 1425. Fresco. Santa Maria Novella, Florence, Italy. 

In the manuscript illumination (above left) the dove is flying in carrying an ampoule. An ampoule is a glass vial that can contain a substance - perhaps a liquid, maybe some kind of solid. The Holy Ampoule is a glass vial that held the anointing oil used at the coronation of French kings. In some medieval French images the Holy Spirit appears in scenes of baptism, bringing in an ampoule filled with oil to anoint the one being baptized. In this illumination, the dove is at the top center of the composition, hovering over the walled city of Paris (do you see Notre Dame?) and a scene of Christ on a cross. Though identified as the Crucifixion, this also has the feel of travelers stopping at a roadside shrine that includes a crucifix. Shrine or crucifixion, this is one example where a symbol of the Holy Spirit is present.

The Masaccio work (above right) is a theological diagram rather than a narrative illustration, so it does include all three persons of the Trinity, including a dove representing the Holy Spirit. The fresco, though, may not be an illustration of the apostles' claim before the High Council. And the other episodes - including the resurrection - seem to have even fewer evidences of the Holy Spirit.

Were Peter and the apostles still so taken up with Pentecost and the arrival of the Holy Spirit
(only three chapters before this text) that they needed to make sure the Holy Spirit was highlighted? Why haven't artists picked up on that detail and included pictorial evidence of the Holy Spirit in their images of the crucifixion and the resurrection? Why might this be an important point to remember about the crucifixion and the resurrection?

See how doves and disciples come together in a different work on this week's Art&Faith Matters on Facebook. 
We are as likely (possibly more likely) to see a pelican in crucifixion paintings than to see doves. For an example, see this 2018 post on Art&Faith Matters' Facebook page.

For thoughts on John 20:19-31 - Thomas' post-Easter story, click here, here, or here.

Mark 10.35-45: Prepared for Whom?

It is for those for whom it has been prepared. That's what Jesus tells James and John when they ask to sit beside him in glory. To sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared. But it begs the question: For whom has it been prepared? 

In art, Jesus in glory seems to be most-often surrounded by a host of angels or by symbols of the four gospels (and remember their relationship to Ezekiel's creatures and the creatures in Revelation). Annibale Caracci's "Christ in Glory" (below left) has Peter on Jesus' right and John on Jesus' left. At least one of the brothers made it in that version. A search for "Jesus in Glory" or "Christ in Glory" often shows the Transfiguration - where Elijah and Moses flank Jesus. No disciple emerges as a favorite in those depictions.

Another thought process says that if Jesus is seated at the right hand of God, then God would be sitting on Jesus' left. The best candidate for whom would be on Jesus' right is his mother Mary, often depicted as the queen of Heaven. The rightful place for a queen is at the king's right hand. In the thirteenth-century mosaic shown here, Jesus is enthroned, with Mary standing at Jesus' right hand and St. Mark is at his left hand. The mosaic is located on the main portal of St. Mark's Basilica in Venice. Again, James and John miss out. 

(Left) Annibale Carracci. Christ in Glory. 1597-1598. Florence, Italy: Palazzo Pitti. (Right) Main portal mosaic. c. 1250. Basilica di San Marco, Venice, Italy. 

There is, of course, a time in scripture where two people are given places on either side of Jesus. And though James and John promised that they could drink the cup and be baptized with the baptism, they probably didn't have this in mind. Jesus is crucified between two thieves. At least on the day of crucifixion they were the ones on Jesus' left and right. Is that something like the last being first?

For thoughts on Job 38, click here. 
For additional thoughts on the disciples' request for greatness, see this week's Facebook post. 

John 21.1-19: A Long Way from the Beach

Easter 3C's gospel reading (John 21:1-19) is filled with moments that would provide good artistic compositions: Jesus building a charcoal fire, the disciples in the boat, eating breakfast on the beach. While the conversation between Jesus and Peter is not especially visual, it provides a record against which we can measure depictions of the act foretold when it is fulfilled. Jesus said these things, the text tells us, to indicate the kind of death with which Peter would glorify God.

Peter's death is almost immediately recognizable in art. Like Jesus, he is crucified. His cross, however, is upside down, so his feet are toward the sky and his head is toward the ground. How much of this is foretold in Jesus' words? As with many things, it depends on who you talk to.

Pseudo Hegesippus' De excidio Urbis Hiersolymitenae (On the ruin of the City Jerusalem) iii.2 and the apocryphal Acts of Peter (XXXVII) are among the early written tradition that Peter was crucified upside down. This becomes the standard depiction of Peter's death. Church historian Eusebius declares that upside down crucifixion was not uncommon (8.8.2).

The detail most often identified as indicative of upside-down crucifixion is the girdle or belt to which Jesus alludes. Justin Martyr (Dialogue contra Typho 91) and Irenaeus (Adversus Haeruses II.24.4) characterize the cross of crucifixion as having four points toward the extremities and a point in the middle, a sedile (a small block of wood or projecting peg that acted as a seat or support for the body attached to the cross). The girdle mentioned by Christ was the "mechanism" used to secure a body upside down on a cross. As the body could not rest on the sedile, there had to be another way to support the body's weight. The girdle Jesus mentions was tied around the hips of the one being crucified in order to bind the body to the cross. The hands and feet were often, apparently, tied to the cross.

Some of the preceding elements are present in the painting by Guercino below. Peter's feet and hands are being tied to the beams of the cross, though he has not yet been raised/inverted. We know this is Peter by the keys than hang from his right hand. His blue tunic is being pulled from him, and he gazes upward, seemingly in resignation but seeking reassurance from on high.

Giovan Francesco Barbieri (known as Guercino). The Martyrdom of St. Peter. 1618-1619. 

Modena, Italy: Galleria Estense. http://www.galleriaestense.org/opera/il-martirio-di-san-pietro/

The composition of this painting, unlike many others - including the subject of this week's Art&Faith Matters' Facebook page - centers around a hole. Faces and figures circle an intensely blue sky. This composition circles around nothing, starting with the disciple's body - the lightest part of the composition - and leading the eye of the viewer around in a counterclockwise movement (the diagonal of the blue cloak leads to the arm of the person pulling the cloak which leads to the bare-chested person, whose finger points upward to the angel in the sky. A more direct route would be to follow the sight line of the resigned apostle. He looks directly up - straight at the angel in the sky.

Nothing is upside down here, though the many diagonal lines that outnumber the verticals and horizontals. Guercino's choice not to show Peter in his typical upside down fashion takes away the oddness and reminds us that right side up or upside down, Peter's reward for his faith is death.

It's a long way from the beach and the joy of seeing Jesus again.

Cimabue's version of Peter's crucifixion raises some geographical questions. Click on the Art&Faith Matters Facebook link to read more about it. 

Mark 10.2-16: Husbands, Wives, Children

The gospel reading for Proper 22B/Ordinary 27B/Pentecost 19 (Mark 10:2-16) includes exchanges on the topics of marriage/divorce and children. The child-illustrated episode here is not exactly that of Proper 20B/O25B/P17, but the blog post written for that Sunday discussed various arrangements of Jesus and children, so it seemed a bit redundant to approach the text from that point of view.

Having the exchanges about marriage and divorce and children in proximity to one another brings to mind questions about what it might have been like to grow up in the house of Mary and Joseph, a subject on which scripture is remarkably silent. Except for the episode at the temple when Jesus was twelve years old, canonical scripture gives no mention of Jesus' childhood, adolescence or young adulthood. But it is in the house of Mary and Joseph that Jesus would have most fully seen a marriage and the worth and role of children, both topics addressed in this week's readings.

Because the text is silent, artists have had free reign to imagine life in that household. Considered through the paintings, life might have been tedious, with every act of the young, growing Jesus taking on a foreshadowing of his life on earth. Consider John Everett Millais' Christ in the House of His Parents, also called The Carpenter's Shop. Here the boy Jesus has drawn blood via a wound caused by a nail in Joseph's carpenter shop. The blood pools in his palm and drips on his foot as his mother comforts him. His cousin John (the baptizer) brings a bowl of water to wash away the blood while a white dove sits on the rung of a ladder leaning against the back wall. These clearly foreshadow Jesus' baptism and crucifixion. Millais based the scene on a local carpenter's shop, going so far as to get sheep's heads from a local butcher to use as the basis for the flock seen through the open door.

Millais. Christ in the House of His Parents. 1849-50. Oil on canvas. London: Tate Britain. 

http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/millais-christ-in-the-house-of-his-parents-the-carpenters-shop-n03584

The painting was not universally acclaimed. Charles Dickens wrote that the boy Christ was "a hideous, wry-necked, blubbering, red-headed boy, in a bed gown" (Household Words, 15 June 1850). In this interpretation, Mary and Jesus form a unit with Joseph and assorted other people orbiting around them.

American artist Frank V. Dumond shows an older Jesus with an older Mary and Joseph. The three gather around the supper table. Jesus and Mary glow in their white garments while Joseph sits in shadows wearing dark clothing. Joseph is given only a thin ring halo, while the other two members of the family have solid disks announcing their holiness. As in Millais' picture, there is a wooden table in the room, no doubt made by the carpenter-in-residence (though the brace along the parental side of the table makes one wonder about the structural soundness of the furniture and the abilities of the carpenter). Jesus stands on one side of the table while his parents prepare to receive the meal. In this composition, Mary and Joseph are more of a unit, seated side by side, though Joseph tends to disappear and Mary's affinity with Jesus is shown in their white garments.

Frank V. Dumond. Jesus with His Parents at the Supper Table.

The lilies, common in scenes of the Annunciation as symbols of Mary's purity, are still here growing in a foreground pot. A single window pierces the wall of the house and allows light to shine on Jesus' clothing. Parents and child gather together to share a meal in a prefiguration of Communion with Christ presiding at the table rather than his father.

Marriage and divorce...the worth and role of children...the dynamics of family life...Jesus spoke about all of them. He experienced them firsthand in the house of Mary and Joseph.

This week's Art&Faith Matters Facebook post looks at the reading from Hebrew scripture (Job 1:1, 2:1-10). What do you imagine the scene between God and "the adversary" looked like? Click on the Facebook link

For thoughts on Job 1:1, 2:1-10, click here.

Mark 15: Darkness Came Over the Whole Land

Mark's account of the crucifixion records that darkness covered the land from noon until 3:00 p.m. on the day Jesus was crucified (Mark 15:33). The Tenebrae service echoes that darkness through the extinguishing of candles through the service. Rembrandt van Rijn has, through his habit of reworking printing plates, given us a visual image for that darkening.

Most people know Rembrandt as a painter, but he was equally known in his own time as a printmaker, working more than 300 prints during his lifetime. He was inspired by those who came before him, including Albrecht Durer, and owned a collection of other artists' prints. He did not often use the same subjects in his prints that he used for paintings, perhaps acknowledging that some subjects were more suitable for linear, drawing-like prints than for his painterly brushwork.

Prints, unlike paintings, produce multiple works of art. From a single plate a dozen, or a hundred, prints might be pulled. Value is retained by producing a limited number of prints (with each print numbered) and then scoring the plate (taking a tool and creating a big scratch across it) so that no other prints can be pulled from that plate. This insures a limited number of prints are available.

Rembrandt did not often do that.

Rather, he would go back in and rework a plate, adding, scraping away, repolishing, redrawing, offering a distinctly different vision of the same essential subject. He did this with a print called "The Three Crosses" from 1653.

Shown here are states iii and iv. State iii has dramatic lighting with all three figures on crosses clearly visible. Shadows lurk at the corners of the image while dozens of figures mill about. Two figures are shown walking toward the right corner of the composition, away from the scene. At the center is Christ on the cross, the placard above his head.

When the plate began to wear down, the artist polished off much of the composition. He kept the three figures on the cross but made significant changes. The light in state iv is even more dramatic than state iii. The thief on Christ's left (on the right of the composition as we look at it) is almost completely obscured in shadow, while we can still see highlights on the thief on Christ's right.




Additionally, the figure on horseback, the centurion who acknowledges that Jesus truly was God's son, is emphasized by the dark shadow behind him that offers contrast to the light figure of soldier and horse.

Both offer dramatic interpretations of the darkness over the land, but the two states together seem to capture the scene in a way that neither does alone. Often paintings seem to imagine the crucifixion as happening in isolation. Rembrandt's two versions look almost like stills from a film, showing us crowds that ebbed and flowed, showing us changing textures of light, implying the murmur of voices and the smell of people and animals. Rembrandt's changes bring to us the suffocating sense of a life almost extinguished. Rembrandt reminds us this is no staged tableau.

Both prints in the collection of the British Museum, London: http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/highlights/highlight_objects/pd/r/rembrandt,_the_three_crosses.aspx

Food&Faith Matters looks at the traditional Good Friday food, hot cross buns. Click on the link below.