Art and Jesus--His Ministry

The Good Shepherd, Medieval mosaic

Christus Imperator

For centuries in the past, and even today, in the world of Christian art, the greatest influence derives from the Catholic church. Thus from ancient times to the present, such art reflects Catholic dogma and tradition. Virtually all early images of Christ's baptism show him being sprinkled. In marking the beginning of Jesus' ministry, modern day depictions such as this by Harry Anderson are much more scripturally accurate.

 



The Good Shepherd 1650-60
Philippe de Champaigne



Good Shepherd, Del Parson

The earliest images of Christ reflect two themes, Christ the King (right) and Christ the Good Shepherd (top). The first is harsh, cold, and burdened with old testament symbolism. The latter, even in such formal mosaic displays, manages to tend toward the warm and loving. Philippe de Champaigne's Good Shepherd (left), dating from around 1655, is roughly one thousand years removed from the Good Shepherd mosaic while (top) while Del Parson's Good Shepherd (above, right) is yet another 300 years beyond that, illustrating not just an evolution of style but of concept as well. The Parson work, dating from the 1950s seems much more loving and intimate. The same feeling is evoked in Greg Olson's Forever and Ever (below) in which a child replaces the symbolic lamb.

 Forever and Ever, Greg Olsen



Calling of the Fishermen, Harry Anderson

Quite apart from images of Jesus laden with symbolism, most of the images depicting His ministry are quite literal, some bordering on "Sunday School Illustrations." Here we can compare Anderson's modern day Calling of the Fishermen (above) to Tintoretto's Christ on the Sea of Galilee  (below)from the early 1600s. Though they depict different events, the differences as well as the similarities are striking.

Christ on the Sea of Galilee, 1580, Tintoretto

 

Return of the Prodigal Son, 1669,
Rembrandt

Likewise, Christ's ministry was so powerful that even his parables have come to be seen by artists as worthy subjects as in Rembrandt's Return of the Prodigal Son. In fact, there are few, if any, incidents from Christ's ministry that have NOT been painted by artists such as Magnasco's Christ and the Samaritan Woman and Veronese's Feast at the House of Levi, which was originally intended by the artist to depict a last supper but was so opulent and laden with secular content as to raise the ire of the church, forcing the artist to re-title the work.

 

Knocking at the Door,
Warner Sallman

Even when Christ was speaking figuratively, artist such as Warner Sallman have taken him literally as with his beloved painting, Knocking at the Door (left). The Italian artist, Perugino, in decorating a side wall of the Sistine Chapel, also chose to take the figurative language of Christ literally in his Keys to the Kingdom (directly below), an important Catholic theological cornerstone as seen in this depiction of Christ passing the "keys to the kingdom" to St. Peter. Simon Dewey chose to depict Christ's lesson in service and humility (further below) as he washed the feet of the apostles, an actual event both figurative and literal.

 

 

Keys to the Kingdom, 1481-82, Perugino

In Humility, Simon Dewey

Transfiguration, 1800s, Carl Bloch

Transfiguration, 1518-20, Raphael

However,  with such a rich treasure of dramatic events as represented by the life of Jesus Christ, most artists have chosen the dramatic over the mundane, such as the Transfiguration (above, left), here by Carl Bloch. He, in turn, seems to have been inspired by no less an artist than Raphael (above, right), who so heavily populated his depiction that it's often mistaken for an ascension. The American artist, Harry Anderson, chose the dramatic triumphal entry into Jerusalem, marking the beginning of what is undoubtedly the most dramatic series of events in Christ's ministry--his final hours.

Jesus' Triumphal Entry, Harry Anderson

 

Carlos Enriquez

The Rapture of the Mulattoes, 1938, Carlos Enriquez

Carlos Enriquez, 1920s

Occasionally I come upon an artist whose work I don't really care for, and whose personage likewise doesn't appeal to me. However, it may well be that this artist is important enough in the art of his or her country and culture to warrant further study and exposure. The early 20th century Cuban painter, Carlos Enriquez is one such artist. Strangely, the Carlos Enriquez is probably best known, not for his paintings, but for the fact that he was the first husband and father of the children of the American painter Alice Neel. It was a short marriage, only about five years. Enriquez deserted her moving from New York back to Havana. When they met he'd been a wealthy playboy type. Back in Cuba during the 1930s...not so much. The Great Depression and personal depression (read alcoholism) dissipated the family fortune. He spent the rest of his life dabbling in poverty, living in a small, rural bungalow. He died in 1957 at the age of 57. He and Neel were both born in 1900, perhaps one of the few things, besides the smell of turpentine, which they shared.

 

Alice Neel and Carlos Enriquez,
Havana, 1925. It must have been
a purely physical attraction.

Virgen del Cobre  1932, Carlos Enriquez

It's tempting, but somewhat unfair, to compare Neel and Enriquez as artists. Their background, their personalities, education, culture, painting styles, and lifestyles were all so different. The only marriage I can think of that in any way compares was that of Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz (which didn't work out too well either). It's easy to say that Alice Neel was the far better artist of the two, which no doubt contributed to the failure of their marriage. Yet Enriquez's paintings could well be taken as the definitive standard of Cuban art--hot, wild, combative, tropical, emotional, and sensual. His Virgen del Cobre (above, right) from 1932, stands alongside his The Rapture of the Mulattoes (top), painted in 1938 as among his best works. Though deemed by the artist to be Surrealism, in fact, they are much closer to mainstream Abstract Expressionism of the 1950s than anything Enriquez's Surrealist idols, Federico Garcia Lorca, Salvador Dali, or Francis Picabia might have conceived.

Eva and Carlos, 1951, Carlos Enriquez

Naked Velado, 1957, Carlos Enriquez.

Though sometimes barely apparently, much of Enriquez's content centered upon horses and female nudes. Other subject matter, landscapes (bottom), peasants, portraits, and murals are so sparse as to fall under the realm of "dabbling." Even though he spent a few months studying at the Pennsylvania Academy of Art (where he met Neel) and a few years living the good life in Europe (ostensibly studying Surrealism) Enriquez could easily be termed a self-taught artist. I don't think it would be too harsh to say that Enriquez was a "Surrealist-wannabe" who found his paintings, on their own almost, gravitating to the much less technically demanding style of Expressionism, causing him to inadvertently fall into a mainstream style that was only superficially Cuban. In short, he should have stayed in New York another twenty years.

Creole Landscape, Carlos Enriquez--one of his few.

 

Lydia Field Emmet

Grandmother's Garden, 1890s, Lydia Field Emmet.

Lydia Field Emmet Self-portrait, 1912 

As a portrait painter and writer, when I get to "interviewing" artists on line, it's awfully easy for me to stumble upon an intriguing portrait and, then basically "crumble" all over it, getting hung up on some aspect of the portrait to the point I almost forget what I was looking for in the first place. Never before in the history of art has it been so convenient to study virtually any aspect of art, any era of art, any type of art, or even any type of artist. I've been "blogging" since before anyone invented the term, starting shortly before I retired in 1998, and intermittently since. Ironically, even with the technological improvements of speed and software, it hasn't gotten any easier. Even as I've become a more experienced writer, switching from research in books to online resources, any elements of convenience and increased content have translated to greater depth and visual appeal rather than ease. If anything, it now takes almost twice as long to write an item like this as when I began years ago.

Spring and Autumn, 1892, Lydia Field Emmet as rendered by Tiffany Glass.

Two Brothers, 1909, Lydia Field Emmet.
Did parents really dress boys so they
looked like girls a hundred years ago?

Back then, I could only talk about art, making reference to various paintings, describing them, and hoping readers were already familiar enough with the artists and their work to follow along. Eventually I acquired an editor to improve my grammar and an assistant with an early form of high-speed Internet access to provide image URLs to correlate with what I wrote. Now, I do all that myself. For example, Lydia Field Emmet was a portrait painter from the latter part of the 19th and early 20th century, born in 1866, she died in 1922. Recently, one of her portraits tripped me up. Look at the portrait at right, an older brother and his younger sister, right? Now look at the title. Of course, little girls back then definitely did not wear short pants so...

Portrait of the Artist's Niece,
Lydia Field Emmet

Little girls looked like the portrait below of Lydia Field Emmet's niece--sweet, frilly, bow-bedecked, charming and unchastened. Lydia Field Emmet was at her best in painting children's portraits, though she preferred painting adults. In the years before portrait artist began routinely using photos, who can blame her? Children, despite they way they look in the finished portraits, were seldom ideally cooperative models. However, Lydia had trained with the best America had to offer, William Merritt Chase, Henry Siddons Mowbray, Kenyon Cox and Tony Robert-Fleury. The influence of England's Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood can be seen in her stained glass double portraits rendered by Tiffany (above), while the Impressionist influence of William Merritt Chase can be seen in her Grandmother's Garden (top).

First Lady, Lou Hoover, 1932,
Lydia Field Emmet

Yet Lydia Emmet's most famous portrait subject was not a child but the wife of a former president, Lou Hoover. Lydia's portrait of this First Lady hangs today in the White House, the first female portrait artist to be so honored. However, despite hanging on the hallowed walls of the most hallowed building in Washington, it is Lydian Field Emmet's portraits of children which are the most endearing, notwithstanding the parental penchant of that era for what appears to modern eyes as the rather sissified dress of their preadolescent sons. Then again, perhaps it is this dated attire that makes them so endearing. Young boys of that era didn't wear suits and ties as they might be coerced into today, but at the same time, I find it highly unlikely they would have chosen the "cute" little sailor suits the artist depicts without the threat of physical force. However, despite the turn-of-the century "costumes" you cannot subdue the boyish affinity for "fun" as seen in Emmet's depiction of our young "fishermen" in the painting below.

Goldfish, a portrait of Roland and Peter Hazard, 1921, Lydia Field Emmet.

 

Louis M. Eilshemius

Village Near the Delaware Water Gap, 1896, Louis M. Eilshemius 

Louis M. Eilshemius Self-portrait, 1916.
He was absent the day they taught
self-portraits at the Academie Julian.

Would you believe that the same artist who painted the reasonably adept Village Near the Delaware Water Gap (above) in 1896, also painted wanton silliness of Figures in a Landscape (below) just ten years later in 1906? Aren't artists, like fine wine, supposed to improve with age? Louis M. Eilshemius is one of the strangest painters I've ever encountered. It's not uncommon for artists themselves to be much more interesting than their art. That's very often the case, in fact. That's certainly so with Eilshemius. As a painter, Village Near the Delaware Water Gap displays a reasonable grasp of color, it's compositionally is well-constructed, and it's reasonably attractive. No turn-of-the-century housewife would have minded having it hang over her sofa in the parlor. Having said that, the painting is also rather bland and uninteresting. Except as wall decoration, it has little to offer. Unfortunately, about ninety percent of all paintings created today (especially landscapes) share the same trait.

 

Figures in a Landscape, 1906, Louis M. Eilshemius. The figures are frivolous, lewd, ineptly drawn, and poorly rendered, The landscape is even worse. 

Samoa, 1906, Louis M. Eilshemius.
Figures were not his forte.

Louis M. Eilshemius had every reason in the world to have become an outstanding painter. He came from a wealthy Newark, New Jersey, family, born in 1864. He was the grandson of the Swiss painter, Louis Léopold Robert. He studied at all the right schools, starting with Cornell University, then New York's Art Students League. From there it was off to Paris to hone his skills at the Academie Julian under William-Adolphe Bouguereau. Traces of the Barbizon School and of Camille Corot, George Inness and Albert Pinkham Ryder appear in his early work. Despite all this, and after his own best efforts, his work gained little notice or respect from critics. But then, few critics were in the market for couch paintings.

Sirens, Del Mar, California, 1908, Louis M Eilshemius

Between 1906 and 1910, Eilshemius changed. While his Somoa (above left) would appear to indicate he still had a knack for landscapes, there seems to have developed a conscious attitude to the effect that, if no one appreciated what he did then he'd paint only for himself. Figures in a Landscape may have been his first work to reflect this change. Certainly by 1908, when he painted Sirens, Del Mar, California (above), the restrained eroticism had taken up permanent residence in his landscapes. Strangely, had it only been a change in style, Eilshemius might well have benefited professionally from this catharsis. The problem was that that he was literally "no good" at painting figures. If an artist can't do something well, he or she had better learn to handle such content or avoid doing so. Eilshemius obviously did neither.

The Rejected Suitor, 1915, Louis Eilshemius.
Even fully dressed, his figures seem awkward.

The Prodigy, 1917, Louis M. Eilshemius.
He certainly wasn't one.

Still worse, Eilshemius did not take rejection well. His painting The Rejected Suitor (above) is sadly indicative of his frame of mind. He wrote numerous, voluminous, angry letters to newspapers ruminating endlessly about the sad state of the arts. He self-published flyers (below) proclaiming himself: "Educator, Ex-actor, Amateur All-around Doctor (I love that one), Mesmerist-Prophet and Mystic, Reader of Hands and Faces, Linguist of 5 languages," as well as a world-class athlete and marksman, 'Spirit-Painter Supreme', and musician whose improvisations rivaled the compositions of Chopin. Of course, all this outrageous self-promotion accomplished nothing except to underline the fact that Eilshemius was either, at best, a world-class liar, or worse, crazy as hell (perhaps both). Moreover, he was often known to visit art galleries and loudly disparage virtually everything in sight. Needless to say, such galleries were not inclined to display his work, even if he'd been turning out priceless masterpieces.



His business card. Notice, he didn't list "modest."

Times change; art changes; tastes change. Neither Eilshemius nor his paintings changed appreciably, but as the avant-garde began looking about for models to immolate, crazy or not, artists such as Marcel Duchamp, Henri Matisse, Alfred Stieglitz, and Joseph Stella came to admire Eilshemius' work. Duchamp took him and his cardboard paintings to Paris to display, and then managed to arrange Eilshemius' first one-man show back in New York in 1920. The show was a bust. The critics hated the art, and ridiculed the artist. Eilshemius finally gave up painting in 1921 and spent the rest of his life and his fortune on self-promotion. He died penniless and broken in 1941.



Early Morning, 1910, oil on cardboard, Louis M. Eilshemius.

Since then, Eilshemius' work has become collectible. His work is showing up in museums and gallery exhibitions. Of course, now that he's dead, the art world no longer has to dread dealing with the crazy little man who couldn't paint nudes.








 

Art and Jesus--His Childhood

Ognissanti Madonna, 1310,
Giotto

Madonna Enthroned, 1426
Masaccio

Following His birth and circumcision, the Bible tells us little about Christ's childhood. But that hasn't stopped artists from "fleshing out" the period of time when Jesus was growing up. For the earliest images we again find the medieval artist, Giotto, and his student, Masaccio depicting Christ's mother seated on a throne holding the baby Jesus in her lap. Both pieces, though separated by more than a hundred years, are iconographic altarpieces, rather than narrative depictions of Jesus' childhood.  They are more valuable as stylistic milestones than in providing any insight into how artists viewed Jesus, the boy. Giotto's Madonna is Medieval, Masaccio's is indicative of the Early Italian Renaissance.

 

Madonna and Child with Saints (detail, lower half), 1472, Piero della Francesco

Madonna and Child, 1452, Fra Filippo Lippi

As time progressed, later artists such as Piero della Francesco (above) loosened up this format somewhat to depict, the mother of Christ, still enthroned, but entertaining guest saints (and the donor, lower right). This informality eventually became somewhat chaotic as painted by Fra Filippo Lippi in his Madonna and Child (left) tondo from 1452. An earlier version from 1440 (below, right) is more subdued. Michelangelo visualized a rather rambunctious Jesus being handed off to Joseph in his Doni Tondo (below left).

 

Madonna and Child, 1440
Fra Filippo Lippi

The Doni Tondo, Michelangelo

Madonna of the Chair,
1518, Raphael

Madonna di Loreto, 1508-09, Raphael

No artist was more responsible for chronicling Jesus' "toddler years" than the great Renaissance master, Raphael di Sanzio. His "baby pictures" of Christ and his mother number upwards to 40 and range from the syrupy sweet Madonna of the Chair (above, left), to the poignant. His Madonna di Loreto (above, right) from 1508-09 in depicting a playful Jesus, is even what we might call "cute." Raphael appears to have preferred Jesus at about a year old.

St Luke Drawing a Portrait of the Virgin, 1440, Rogier van der Weyden

A Light to the Gentiles, 1999, Greg Olsen

The northern Renaissance artist, Rogier van der Weyden, with his painting St. Luke Drawing a Portrait of the Virgin (above) from 1440, goes so far as to depict the highly unlikely scene of Mary making a visit to her pediatric physician, the New Testament writer, Luke…who takes the opportunity to draw their picture (in place of x-rays, perhaps). Greg Olsen's A Light to the Gentiles (left), dating from 1999, depicting Simon the Elder with the holy family in the Temple, is a modern illustration straight from the scriptures.

 

The Holy Family with the Little Bird, 1650, Bartolome Murillo

The Child Jesus,
Bartolome Murillo

The Spanish artist, Bartolomeo Murillo, on the other hand, suggests Jesus may have played with a pet puppy as a child and a bird. Murillo took some liberties with first-century wearing apparel. He's also one of the few artists to depict the child Jesus in a more spiritual light. Taking his work as a whole, Murillo may have chronicled in paint the most complete depiction of the life of Jesus as any other single artist.

Joseph, 1620, Gerrit van Honthorst

Christ in the House of His parents, 1849 John Everett Millais,

Other artist have taken it upon themselves to explore Christ's day-to-day growing up, helping his step-father in the carpenter shop. As early at 1620,  Gerrit van Honthorst, in his painting titled Joseph (above, right), pays tribute to the one figure in Christs life so often slighted by artists. John Everett Millais presents a something of a "Sunday School" narrative illustration Christ's growing up.

The Finding of the Savior in the Temple, 1860, William Holman Hunt

Eventually they all arrive at the one incident from Jesus' childhood well documented in the Gospels, Jesus' Passover visit to Jerusalem and his lingering in the temple. William Holman Hunt's The Finding of the Savior in the Temple (above) is so minutely realistic, the overall message seems lost in the multiplicity of details. Yet one detail seems false. Despite Jesus being seen as a king in the 19th century England, it's unlikely the boy Jesus would have worn purple, a color reserved for royalty during his time.



The Boy Christ in the Temple, 1881, Heinrich Hofmann

Jesus Found in the Temple, 1886-94,
James Tissot

The most familiar version of Jesus' lingering in the temple is by Heinrich Hofmann, The Boy Christ in the Temple (above) from 1881. It's the image I knew in growing up. James Tissot in his painting, Jesus Found in the Temple (right), from 1886-94, chose to show us the aftermath once Jesus, Mary, and Joseph are reunited. Joseph seems somewhat perplexed. The title might well be, "What's a parent to do?"