[This is a short quasi-paper I just finished for my introductory art history class at USC. I’m very much enamored with Baroque art; you’ll be hearing more about it and the philosophy of the times as I have spare time to write.]

On a recent visit to the Columbia Art Museum, I found in the second-floor gallery, in the main middle room (the Late Renaissance and Baroque collection) two beautiful pieces worth more than a passing glance. In fact, as with much art from the Baroque period, the longer the viewer lets his or her gaze linger on the work, the more there is to see, the more is discovered.

The first work I studied was by the Flemish Artus Wolffort, whose life spanned from 1581 to 1641. His Christ at the Home of the Pharisee, dated some time around 1625 to 1630, is a shining example of the fantastic detail of Counter-Reformation religious narrative paintings. The story behind this painting is the passage from the Gospel of Luke, seventh chapter and thirty-sixth through fiftieth verses, explaning how a woman came to where Jesus was dining with a religious leader and fell to the former’s feet and began wiping them with her tears and the fine perfume from an alabaster box or urn. In this nearly life-sized oil on canvas work, the urn of alabaster is in the far foreground, so large and ornate it seems one could almost touch it. The play of light is theatrical and stark, weighted most heavily on the woman in the foreground bottom, at Jesus’ feet; the Pharisee on the right-hand side and Christ on the left are equally luminescent, so all this accompanied by the sky through the archway in the background of the painting support and give symmetry to the work overall. In representational style, this work gives clues that it is to be interpreted somewhat symbolically, however realistic the details are: Jesus’ feet are the only ones bare, and dirtiest—symbols of humility and apparent vulnerability among the classes with which he mingled at this dinner. Facial expression plays a very large role in this piece: the Pharisee glares at a genteel Christ, and the dinner guests’ expressions are comminglings of surprise, disgust, and curiosity. Finally, the dark, unremarkable background of the work is set in stark contrast to the vibrant foreground, full of characters and feeling. Overall a lively, stunningly realistic work.

The second piece I looked at was Bernardo Strozzi’s St. Catherine of Alexandria, another large oil and canvas work from c. 1620. Instead of depicting a scene, this is a quasi-representational portrait of the patron saint of wheelrights and mechanics, seated in what looks to be a wooden chariot of some kind. The background is so dark and nondescript in contrast with the light playing over Catherine’s features that this work calls to mind the salient characteristics of Jacques-Louis David’s Death of Marat. The use of light in this piece is very powerful: at the top center of the painting is Catherine’s head, illumined from above and with her eyes looking toward the light; as the eye tracks the rest of the picture, it falls upon her right hand which is outstretched—and the light most forcefully plays from her hand, up her arm, and back to her bright face. Calling to mind the details of a Michaelangelo portrait, the folds of her robe are ornate and ultra-realistic. Whether or not one is Catholically inclined, this painting is riveting.

[This is a short quasi-paper I just finished for my introductory art history class at USC. I’m very much enamored with Baroque art; you’ll be hearing more about it and the philosophy of the times as I have spare time to write.]

On a recent visit to the Columbia Art Museum, I found in the second-floor gallery, in the main middle room (the Late Renaissance and Baroque collection) two beautiful pieces worth more than a passing glance. In fact, as with much art from the Baroque period, the longer the viewer lets his or her gaze linger on the work, the more there is to see, the more is discovered.

The first work I studied was by the Flemish Artus Wolffort, whose life spanned from 1581 to 1641. His Christ at the Home of the Pharisee, dated some time around 1625 to 1630, is a shining example of the fantastic detail of Counter-Reformation religious narrative paintings. The story behind this painting is the passage from the Gospel of Luke, seventh chapter and thirty-sixth through fiftieth verses, explaning how a woman came to where Jesus was dining with a religious leader and fell to the former’s feet and began wiping them with her tears and the fine perfume from an alabaster box or urn. In this nearly life-sized oil on canvas work, the urn of alabaster is in the far foreground, so large and ornate it seems one could almost touch it. The play of light is theatrical and stark, weighted most heavily on the woman in the foreground bottom, at Jesus’ feet; the Pharisee on the right-hand side and Christ on the left are equally luminescent, so all this accompanied by the sky through the archway in the background of the painting support and give symmetry to the work overall. In representational style, this work gives clues that it is to be interpreted somewhat symbolically, however realistic the details are: Jesus’ feet are the only ones bare, and dirtiest—symbols of humility and apparent vulnerability among the classes with which he mingled at this dinner. Facial expression plays a very large role in this piece: the Pharisee glares at a genteel Christ, and the dinner guests’ expressions are comminglings of surprise, disgust, and curiosity. Finally, the dark, unremarkable background of the work is set in stark contrast to the vibrant foreground, full of characters and feeling. Overall a lively, stunningly realistic work.

The second piece I looked at was Bernardo Strozzi’s St. Catherine of Alexandria, another large oil and canvas work from c. 1620. Instead of depicting a scene, this is a quasi-representational portrait of the patron saint of wheelrights and mechanics, seated in what looks to be a wooden chariot of some kind. The background is so dark and nondescript in contrast with the light playing over Catherine’s features that this work calls to mind the salient characteristics of Jacques-Louis David’s Death of Marat. The use of light in this piece is very powerful: at the top center of the painting is Catherine’s head, illumined from above and with her eyes looking toward the light; as the eye tracks the rest of the picture, it falls upon her right hand which is outstretched—and the light most forcefully plays from her hand, up her arm, and back to her bright face. Calling to mind the details of a Michaelangelo portrait, the folds of her robe are ornate and ultra-realistic. Whether or not one is Catholically inclined, this painting is riveting.