Everything Lives in Him

A painter of icons from the Island of Crete, El Greco (1541–1614) arrived in Venice at the age of twenty-seven and grew close to Tintoretto (c. 1518–1594), whose style he adopted. At the age of thirty-six, he settled in Spain, where he then rose like the dazzling sun of the Spanish Golden Age.

    The painting that adorns the cover of this issue of Magnificat shows what a special kind of genius El Greco was. In it we can see the exaltation the painter obtained by giving his subjects the undulating form of a fiery flame, while noticeably lengthening the natural proportions. In this exaltation, the secrets of El Greco’s art hold in three words: life, light, and color.

    Life. El Greco treated his drawing like the rough draft of a sketch. But he would repeat it several times by juxtaposing similar motifs that were almost invisibly staggered. This “animated ­drawing” ­creates a sensation of life and movement that is manifest in the work we are considering here.

    Light. In the evening of his life, El Greco said: “All my life I have burned, all my life. Not in the fire, but in the light. I threw myself into its blaze.” Light—and not shadows, as is proper in sculpture and architecture—was the fundamental reality that structured his works. There is no sunlight in El Greco’s work. Only the light born from light conveys to the viewer the invisible aspect of the visible subject. Didn’t he often say: “I never leave home before six o’clock in the evening, for fear that the sun’s luminosity might darken my interior light”? Here, the Savior of the world seems to have his own light within him. This light is strong, brilliant, to the point of ­whitening the flesh tones.

    Color. Cézanne said: “Color is the point where our brain and the universe meet.” In the works of El Greco, it is the point where divinity becomes iridescent in humanity; it is the testimony of the diffraction of grace upon the palette of creation. How, technically, does an artist make this visible? By applying successive layers of a weak concentration of pigment on a white base: this makes the color quite vibrant, alive, in movement. In this Salvator Mundi there is the additional effect of the daring juxtaposition of the madder-lacquer red of Christ’s tunic with the steel blue of his cloak.(1)

    This Salvator Mundi, then—incorrectly called “Christ Blessing”—was painted around the year 1600, at the height of El Greco’s ­mature period. El Greco was inspired to paint it particularly because it ­repeats the theme of the icon of Christ called Pantocrator, (2) which was popularized in the West in the 15th century to foster private devotion. In this half-length portrait, Christ is depicted life-sized, ­facing forward. His eyes meet those of the viewer, and he offers the opportunity for an almost personal meeting. Instead of the Gospel book, which appears on the icons beneath his right hand, he holds a crystal orb, which symbolizes not only the Earth but the whole universe that lives in him:

For in him all things were created, in heaven and on earth,
Visible and invisible,
Whether thrones or dominions or principalities or authorities—
All things were created through him and for him.
He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. (Col 1:16-17)

    With his right hand raised, Jesus Christ makes a gesture that is often interpreted as a blessing but in reality is the gesture of the Teacher, of the One who teaches all truth because he is the very Word of God. It is at the same time the gesture of a Supreme Judge. Finally, this gesture constitutes the living scepter of the One who will reign forever and ever. In the East, the thumb, index, and middle fingers are raised, representing the Three Persons of the Holy Trinity, whereas the ring finger and the little finger—lowered and joined—symbolize respectively the divine nature and the ­human nature that are united in Jesus. Finally, with the palm of the hand, these two fingers form a heart which reminds us the Christ Jesus is king of a Kingdom where Love reigns.

    Isn’t it true, as El Greco said, that “the language of art is of ­celestial origin and can be understood only by the elect”?

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1 This same blue and this same juxtaposition were later Picasso’s source of inspiration for his Blue Period.

2  Click here, to view the icon of the Pantocrator from Sinai Monastery. (or see below) Dating back to the 6th century, it is the oldest icon that has come down to us.

Pierre-Marie Dumont

Salvator Mundi (c. 1600), El Greco (1541–1614), National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh. © Dist. GP-RMN / Scottish National Gallery Photographic Department.