January 12, 2012
The Incredulity of St. Thomas | Caravaggio, 1601-1602Currently kept at the Sansoucci in Potsdam, Germany  Caravaggio is my current favorite because of the very fleshiness and physicality of his paintings. So very human. Incredulity. How do you capture that? Caravaggio must have known what doubt was like, or how could he have captured that look of shifting shock on Thomas’ face? It is almost as if he managed to pause the moment where the blood drains from his face. The moment his cynicism is broken, but the moment before he feels shame — the sudden understanding his doubt was so very misguided.  He hasn’t realized the implications yet. In this moment, it is only physical contact between he and Christ. The wrinkles in his forehead — his brow was once furrowed, and now they have shot up. Five minutes earlier he was so sure of himself, so cynical, that even if Christ himself appeared before him, that was not enough. He needed to stick his hands under the flap of the wound in Jesus’ side. Thomas needed flesh and blood and this risen Christ is fully flesh and blood. No halo, no ethereal glow, no look of royal triumph. He is carefully, humbly using his pierced hands to guide Thomas’ hands to his wounded side, into the very wound. The rip in the shoulder of Thomas’ tunic. The other two men with their furrowed brows, craning to see. Thomas’ other hand, clutching his own side. He who thought his pessimism and scorn were so justified — suddenly looks like a child. I see myself in him.

The Incredulity of St. Thomas | Caravaggio, 1601-1602
Currently kept at the Sansoucci in Potsdam, Germany 

Caravaggio is my current favorite because of the very fleshiness and physicality of his paintings. So very human.

Incredulity. How do you capture that? Caravaggio must have known what doubt was like, or how could he have captured that look of shifting shock on Thomas’ face? It is almost as if he managed to pause the moment where the blood drains from his face. The moment his cynicism is broken, but the moment before he feels shame — the sudden understanding his doubt was so very misguided. 

He hasn’t realized the implications yet. In this moment, it is only physical contact between he and Christ.

The wrinkles in his forehead — his brow was once furrowed, and now they have shot up. Five minutes earlier he was so sure of himself, so cynical, that even if Christ himself appeared before him, that was not enough. He needed to stick his hands under the flap of the wound in Jesus’ side.

Thomas needed flesh and blood and this risen Christ is fully flesh and blood. No halo, no ethereal glow, no look of royal triumph. He is carefully, humbly using his pierced hands to guide Thomas’ hands to his wounded side, into the very wound.

The rip in the shoulder of Thomas’ tunic. The other two men with their furrowed brows, craning to see. Thomas’ other hand, clutching his own side. He who thought his pessimism and scorn were so justified — suddenly looks like a child. I see myself in him.

11:38am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZtHUzwEfMRG0
(Notes: 59)
  
Filed under: caravaggio christ 1600s religious 
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