El Greco, Vindicated
The great Bob Dylan song, The Vision of Johanna, begins hauntingly…
'‘Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?
We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it”
It is a complex song in which the writer’s relationship with two women, Louise and Joanna, interplay throughout the meandering poetry. But it is the opening line of the fourth stanza that has stuck with me for years…
“Inside the museums, infinity goes up on trial…”
And so, one could say that all of Toledo, Spain is on trial, as virtually the entire city is a museum. Down one of the city’s many narrow streets you come to a small, nondescript church. Inside, on the wall of the vestibule of the Church of Santo Tomé, you arrive in front of this amazing painting…
Done in 1586, it describes the legend of the fourteenth century death and ascension to heaven of a local nobleman from the nearby town of Orgaz. On a chilly Saturday morning in February, I stood alone in front of it. It is stunningly beautiful. It is a mesmerizing masterwork. I did not want to leave it, but I eventually I had to move on.
It is a just short walk to the Sacristy of the Toledo Cathedral. I had been here a number of times; but as before, I was bowled over by this El Greco masterpiece…
In the second book of my Iberian Trilogy, The War Continues, these paintings are the subject of Montserrat Costa’s first art reviews in 1943…
Bedazzled in Toledo
Montserrat Costa
Last week, enveloped by the January cold, and piercingly blue skies, I arrived in the ancient, incredible little city of Toledo. It is a dazzling brilliant jewel, and it is the historical center of Spain in so many ways. There are dozens of interesting things here, but I came to write about the glorious El Greco painting, The Burial of Count Orgaz, which, by any measure, is one of history’s greatest paintings. It is not in a grand gallery, but on the vestibule wall, in a small, out-of-the-way church, on one of the city’s numerous narrow, meandering side streets.
I came to the Church of St. Tomé in mid-morning. I sat alone in front of its famous painting for several hours, observing it, analyzing it, and taking notes about it. Leaving the church, I was satisfied that I had what I needed to ‘paint’ the words for this article. Then, before my return to Madrid, I was taken to the cathedral. I toured this grand, and in places excessively ornate building, including the little chapel where portraits of all the city’s with one hundred fourteen past bishops line the walls. Throughout the huge church their galeros, broad-brimmed red hats, hang from the ceiling, marking from above the place of their tombs. Floating heavenward, they remind us of the tenuous border between earthly power and eternal sleep.
Moving on to the sacristy, I was stunned by what I saw there. On seeing it, I decided to put off my article about the marvelous burial painting in the tiny church of St. Tomé for another day. Here, there was something even more magnificent.
El Greco was born in Crete in 1541. He grew up surrounded by the mysterious, elongated figures of Byzantine Iconographic paintings. At age twenty-six he moved to Venice, the capital of the Venetian empire. In Venice, and several years later in Rome, he absorbed the vibrant colors of Italians like Tintoretto and Michelangelo.
In 1577, he moved to Toledo, when Spain was still the most powerful country in the world. It was here, in this remarkable, ancient little town, that he changed the history and trajectory of painting forever.
Toledo, perched on a spur above the River Tagus, was founded by, and important to, the Romans. It was the capital of Visigoth Spain. In the Middle Ages, three cultures thrived there: Christian, Jewish, and Islamic. Later, it was the capital for the Court of The Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V. It has always been the center of the Catholic Church in Spain. Each of its one hundred-fifteen Bishops, from St. Eugenius in the first century, to Bishop Pla y Deniel today, has been considered the Spanish Primate, the leader of the Catholic Church in Spain.
For all its history, stunning location, and amazing buildings, the city is known for one thing, one person, more than anything or anyone else: El Greco. Toledo is the city of El Greco.
El Greco not only captivates the casual visitor, but he has also compelled modern masters, most notably, Picasso. “The Greek” was a contemporary of Cervantes, and, as Cervantes wrote the first modern novel, El Greco was the first modern artist. He is a giant.
In Toledo, all around its churches and convents, the artist’s genius is on display. I came to write about what many consider to be his greatest painting, The Burial of Count Orgaz. It is no doubt an astonishing painting. But, for me, not quite as truly exceptional as the work that dominates the Sacristy of the Cathedral: El Expolio, the disrobing of Jesus.
From the moment one enters the sacristy, which holds the cathedral’s precious objects, this painting overwhelms one’s senses and emotions. It is nearly ten feet tall, and ablaze in His red tunic, the figure of Christ dominates the room. He seems ready to spring from the painting to be among us…and, perhaps, that is one of El Greco’s points.
There are two origins of this work. The temporal origin comes from The Bishop of Toledo, who commissioned the painting to celebrate the Toledo’s receipt of a piece of Christ’s true tunic from St. Louis. The spiritual, and more important origin is Matthew’s Gospel: ‘When they had crucified him, they divided up his clothes by casting lots’.
The greatness of the painting, which captures the moment just before His disrobing, is the masterful combination of the composition, color, and emotion. El Greco’s complex composition combines the swirling of pale white banners, Roman Soldiers with their lances, and ordinary citizens in the background; a worker is constructing the Crucifixion Cross, and Mary with two other women are in the foreground; above them is Christ’s executioner and another man who holds Him captive with a rope. And in the center of it all, dominating the painting, is Christ. The array of colors is dazzling: the red of the tunic, the green robe of his captor, the metallic silver breastplate of the soldier-executioner, and the pale yellow and lapis lazuli colored garments of the women watching in worry and despair.
Beyond the brilliance of the composition and the colors, is the emotional impact of the painting. Christ draws you into the scene, into the sadness of, and into His immortal destiny. The viewer is transfixed….
Two weeks ago, as I stood in front of the great painting, considering Dylan’s poetry, I thought:
In the sacristy of Toledo’s Cathedral, infinity is on trial, and El Greco is vindicated…for eternity.
Discover more about the great history, art, and culture of Spain in my books: Holy Ghost and The War Continues. You can find them on Amazon.