Friday, September 14, 2007

MADONNA DEI PELLEGRINI

(CARAVAGGIO, 1604-1606)

I knew it was a Caravaggio! The darkness and the form of the figures and the use of the shadows to enhance the light are both clues to the master. Spotlights hidden behind the marble railings illuminate the entire area; push a button to light up Caravaggio’s masterpiece, specifically. Otherwise, the painting lies masked in the shadows. When illuminated, the light glows through the painting as if Caravaggio had used bioluminescent paint. The beam of light highlights the washcloth, the baby, and the mother’s sidelong glance. The Madonna and child might very well be earthly, but their expressions are heavenly. They bask in the light, glowing as if divine, while the figures kneeling in supplication are dirty with their rough clothing and dusty hands.

Caravaggio guides his viewers through the piece using the focus of light and the darkness of shadows. Immediately, my attention is drawn to the face of the Madonna. Her pupils are obscured by seemingly-closed eyelids, and her bent neck points in the direction of the child. He, in turn, looks down upon the two kneeling figures. Each of his outstretched legs point at one of the pilgrims below. Caravaggio has mastered direction; my gaze follows his brushstrokes naturally. The Madonna and the pillar she leans against both stand vertically. She leans slightly, as if to lend herself support and ensure the safety of the baby she carries in her arms, swaddled in a pure white blanket. She stands up, majestically, emphasizing her importance over the tattered visitors below.

Someone puts a coin in the offerte box, and lights up the painting. It is magical; the light actually travels up from the awed gaze of the pilgrims. Following its path with my eyes, I find that the light doesn’t end there; it rises up through the baby and mother, who are both bathed in golden sunshine. There is an effect even more drastic than the enhancement of the luminous paint; the glow of the paint forces the shadows to retreat even further into darkness. The dirt on the feet of the supplicants glimmers in the revealing beam. In the background, a previously invisible patch of torn bricks reveals itself by the glow of the light.

Everything about the Madonna is luminous, but her brightness and posture are the only direct clues to her divinity. Otherwise, she is barefoot and simple, in the plain robes of a commoner. Her halo is a wispy, nearly invisible circle above her head. Later, I learn that Caravaggio scandalized his audiences when he presented this common Madonna. They found her too plain, too earthly. They were unwilling to look beyond her external adornments and surroundings, or they would have discovered her radiance beneath. I wonder if any of Caravaggio’s critics ever took the time to examine the Madonna in the light.

The four figures are enclosed by a frame, which is deliberately and nearly symmetrically cracked near each of its upper corners. The frame’s strange intentional imperfections contribute to the murky effect of the shadows surrounding the Madonna and child. Everything is overcast; the darkness of the shadows, the dust on the palms of the supplicant pilgrims, the torn brick wall, and the broken frame all serve as a contrast to the two holy figures. Caravaggio knew that light and dark are far more effective in creating a masterpiece than any amount of gilding and ornate extravagance. He knew this and he applied this knowledge when he painted Madonna dei Pellegrini, for in this painting, he created a masterpiece.

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