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Tag: Pope Francis

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Caravaggio and the Papal Conclave

The Pope’s favorite: The Calling of Saint Matthew, c. 1599-1600, Caravaggio, courtesy Contarelli Chapel, Church of San Luigi dei Francesi

I watched eagerly as Cardinal electors arrive for the Papal Conclave in Rome, which starts today. Although I’m not Catholic, the Papal Conclave is a fascinating glimpse into history. The College of Cardinals have been doing this (with periodic irruptions) since 1059 AD. Only four have been held in my adult lifetime.

Much hay has been made recently about the late Pope Francis’ love of Caravaggio, in particular The Calling of St Matthew. Michelangelo, painter of the Sistine Chapel, is the artist most associated with the Vatican, but so also are Raphael, Caravaggio, Bernini, and Leonardo da Vinci.

The difference between those others and Caravaggio isn’t his chiaroscuro, as radical as it is. It’s the humanity of his figures. Although his figures are dressed in late 16th century finery, there’s an everyman quality to them that we recognize immediately.

Conversion on the Way to Damascus, 1601, Caravaggio, courtesy Cerasi Chapel, Santa Maria del Popolo

Francis’ love of Caravaggio is ironic, considering the difficulties the artist had with his sometimes patron, Cardinal Scipione Caffarelli-Borghese. Borghese was the nephew of Pope Paul V. When Paul V was elected Pope, Borghese was made a Cardinal, the papal secretary and the effective head of the Vatican government. Of course, he amassed great power and wealth. With that came the capacity to steal vast collections of art.

Included were several Caravaggios. Among them, Borghese appropriated Caravaggio’s Madonna and Child with St. Anne, commissioned in 1605 for a chapel in the Basilica of Saint Peter’s. It was rejected by the College of Cardinals, allegedly because of its earthly realism and unconventional iconography. However, archives show that Borghese rigged the deal from the start so that the altarpiece would end up in his own collection.

Virgin and Child with Saint Anne (Madonna with the Serpent), 1606, Caravaggio, courtesy Galleria Borghese

Caravaggio was temperamental to start with, but his treatment by Borghese couldn’t have helped. In 1606, he fled to Malta after murdering a gangster in a street brawl. I recently saw two of his paintings there: The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist (which is enormous and dark) and Saint Jerome Writing (which is intimate and accessible). These are in St John’s Co-Cathedral in Valletta, which was one of many exuberantly-Baroque churches, basilicas and cathedrals we toured. At the end of my visit, I felt if I spent much more time in all that gilt and paint, I’d be an atheist.

This is of course, unfair. I’m a New England evangelical, which means my church style is austere.

Saint Jerome Writing, 1607, Caravaggio, courtesy St. John’s Co-Cathedral, Valleta

Having said that…

I’ve heard people say that the gold in St. Peter’s should be melted down and the money given to the poor. That’s absurd on the face of it, since every bit of gilt there is in the form of artistic masterpiece, worth many times the nominal value of the metal.

The truth is that without the church, there would be no western art. All artistic expression from the Middle Ages until the Enlightenment hangs from the power and energy of the church. The church created modern western art as we know it, including that which followed the church age.

The Reformation unleashed a wave of iconoclasm across Northern Europe and England in the 16th century. The result was the destruction of more paintings than were ever saved. The church not only commissioned great art, it has preserved it. That was sometimes in the face of danger, as in the case of the Ghent Altarpiece.

Let the games begin

Meanwhile, the Papal Conclave begins its stately procession to elect the 267th recognized pope. Let the intrigue, speculation, false starts, and rumor begin!

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Art and morality

The Late Bus, oil on archival canvasboard, 6X8, $435.00 framed, includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Should an artist’s behavior change how we see his work? I have a hard time tolerating the work of Pablo Picasso, because I sense his misogyny shining through his work. Paul Gauguin, it has been argued, was merely following Polynesian culture in his sexual relationships with teenaged Tahitian girls. I think that’s a terribly abusive, colonialist mindset.

The question of art and morality came to mind this week with the passing of Pope Francis.

Fr. Marko Rupnik has evaded justice for six years for documented sexual abuse of nuns. The appointment of his canonical judges, ironically, coincided with the death of Francis, who some critics accused of protecting Rupnik. (Francis later lifted the statute of limitations so Rupnik could be tried, so it’s complicated.) Hopefully, the trial won’t be forgotten in the current crisis in the Holy See.

Last light at Cobequid Bay, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

What does this have to do with art?

Besides being a priest, Marko Rupnik is an artist whose mosaics and other art grace many Catholic churches, chapels, and shrines around the world. They’re not my cup of tea; to me they look derivative and expensive. But someone must have liked them or they wouldn’t be everywhere. Given that the Vatican has already determined that Rupnik did, in fact, abuse these sisters, what are those sanctuaries going to do with those monstrously large mosaics?

That’s a timeless question, and it relates to that which we also have to answer any time we look at art by a disturbed or disturbing individual. It’s a question that sits at the intersection of art, ethics, and personal values.

No Northern Lights Tonight, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

The aesthetic autonomy argument

Some argue that once a work is created, it stands alone. The artist’s personal behavior, no matter how flawed, shouldn’t affect how we interpret or value the work. This view emphasizes the art itself—its technique, message, emotional impact—over the biography behind it.

That’s easier to do when more time has elapsed. Very few of us, for example, know anything about the personal life of, say, Benvenuto Cellini, but we can recite chapter and verse about Taylor Swift.

Context

We could argue that Caravaggio’s propensity for violence (after all, he killed a man in a brawl) is a lens through which we understand the gritty realism of his work. He was also systematically ripped off by his putative patrons, the Borgheses. Edgar Degas’ antisemitism, while reprehensible, was sadly in line with popular sentiment in late 19th century France. There are situations where context doesn’t excuse behavior, but it does make it more understandable.

Windsurfers at La Pocatière, 6X8, oil on archival canvasboard, $348 includes shipping and handling in continental US.

Our own ethics as viewers

We make ethical choices every time we buy something, and art is no exception.

That is magnified in the case of Rupnik, whose art is in places of worship worldwide. I’m not Catholic but I like what Bishop Jean-Marc Micas of Tarbes and Lourdes, France, said about it:

“My role is to ensure that the Sanctuary welcomes everyone, and especially those who suffer, among them, victims of abuse and sexual assault, children and adults.

“In Lourdes the tried and wounded people who need consolation and reparation must hold first place.”

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