Caravaggio
Why do we become especially focussed on some artists or, to be more precise, on some works of art? There is often no obvious logic: for me the disparate and idiosyncratic range goes from Bach’s Goldberg variations and Beethoven’s last string quartets on to Alice in Wonderland and Wind in the Willows. and finally ending with people like Edward Hopper and Hokusai. There are several more I could list, of course, from Mozart and Shostakovich through to Rembrandt, Rubens and Renoir, Philip Pullman and so it goes on.
However, one among these is Caravaggio. I was forcibly reminded of the impact of his work when we visited St John’s Co-cathedral in Malta recently, and saw that extraordinary painting, The Beheading of St John the Baptist. It is one among several quite astonishing Caravaggio paintings, many of which are violent, and several extraordinarily compelling, but to see this work of art up close is to be reminded what an exceptional painting it is.
Why exceptional? Perhaps I should start with the artist. Caravaggio, whose name was Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, was born in Milan, and moved to Rome when he was in his twenties. He rapidly achieved considerable renown as an artist, but this was balanced against his reputation as a violent and short-tempered man. Frequently involved in vicious fights, he was often in trouble with the authorities. Then, in 1606, after killing a man in a brawl, he faced a death sentence for murder, and he fled to Naples. There he sought to rebuild his reputation, and work from that period was to result in him being recognised as one of the most prominent Italian painters of his generation. However, his temper was never under control. After spending time in Malta and Sicily, he returned to Naples, where he was involved in yet another terrible fight. He survived, escaped, but soon after died in 1610, on his way from Naples to Rome, at that time in hope getting forgiveness for past sins. The cause of his death remains controversial: it was claimed he died of a fever, but some have suggested he was murdered or even died of lead poisoning.
Looking at the ‘Beheading’ canvas in terms of its demonstration of technical skills by a painter, art historians have commented on two features of this painting: the realistic observation of the human state, both physical and emotional, and the dramatic use of lighting, a form of chiaroscuro often referred to tenebrism. Bringing these characteristics together, the result was that he would paint his subjects highlighted against a dark setting by shafts of light. However, elements of his paintings were very dark in another sense, with scenes often focussed on violent struggles, torture, and death, highlighted against shadowy backgrounds.
His working approach was distinctive. He frequently used live models, generally dispensed with drawings, but instead painted historical or allegorical scenes directly on to the canvas. His innovative approach was key to inspiring what was to become known as the Baroque style, using contrast, movement, vivid detail, deep colours, and even elements of surprise to achieve a sense of awe. The style evolved and dominated for a time, but eventually and inevitable fashions changed, and Caravaggio fell out of favour. It was in the 20th century that renewed interest in his work suddenly catapulted him to fame, to the point one art historian remarked: “What begins in the work of Caravaggio is, quite simply, modern painting” (André Berne-Joffroy in Gilles Lambert’s book Caravaggio, Taschen, 2000).
As his work developed, he produced some quite literally amazing paintings. Among earlier and well-known examples are The Fortune Teller, showing a boy having his palm read by a Romani girl, who is stealthily removing his ring as she strokes his hand; and The Cardsharps, in which a naïve but well-off youth falls victim to card cheats (both 1594). Despite the quality of these masterworks, it is probably his paintings on religious themes that so clearly demonstrated his ability to combine realism with spirituality. Just as an example, one among the many outstanding images he produced was the Penitent Magdalene (1597), painting Mary at the moment when she has turned from her life as a courtesan and sits weeping on the floor, her jewels scattered around her. Another, offering an explicit and demanding example of his often violent, realistic and yet compelling style is Judith Beheading Holofernes (1598).
Among so many others at this stage in his life, it’s The Incredulity of Saint Thomas that is considered by many to be one of his most famous paintings, completed around 1601–1602. It shows the episode known as ‘Doubting Thomas’. The image achieves its intent by using a demonstrative gesture, as the doubting apostle puts his finger into Christ’s side wound, the latter guiding his hand. Thomas the unbeliever is depicted like a peasant, dressed in a robe torn at the shoulder and with dirt under his fingernails. The picture is presented in such a way that any observer is directly involved in the event, but also feels its intensity.
Teju Cole, in an essay in the New York Times in 23 September 2020 offers a superb introduction to Caravaggio’s work in his essay ‘In Dark Times, I Sought Out the Turmoil of Caravaggio’s Paintings’. He tells us how the works the artist completed near the end of his life changed his understanding of both beauty and suffering. At one point he writes about visiting Naples, and wandering in the crowded “Spanish Quarter,” where Caravaggio lived and where he found the combination of high culture and low life that so appealed to him. “The streets of the quarter were narrow, the buildings tall; many walls were decorated with graffiti. It was easy to imagine it as a place where life had been boisterous and cheerful for a long time, a place of concealment and informality — just the thing for a man on the run.”
He went on to the Museo di Capodimonte, to see Caravaggio’s The Flagellation of Christ. “Christ stands at the column, life-size, and around him are three assailants, two of whom pull at him and the third of whom crouches, preparing a whip. As so often with Caravaggio, there is the story that is depicted, but beyond it, and often overwhelming it, is an intensification of mood accomplished through his use of unnatural shadow, simplified background and a limited colour palette. It is an image of brutal injustice, an image that makes us want to demand an answer to the obvious question, why should anyone be tortured.”
To return to The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist, it is described as a very large oil painting by Caravaggio, measuring 3.7 m by 5.2 m, and is located in the Oratory of St John’s Co-Cathedral, in Valetta, Malta. It is generally considered one of the greatest works of art. According to Andrea Pomella in ‘Caravaggio: An Artist through Images’ (2005), it is not just widely considered to be Caravaggio’s masterpiece, but as well it is “one of the most important works in Western painting”. Jonathan Jones described it as one of the ten greatest works of art of all time: “Death and human cruelty are laid bare by this masterpiece, as its scale and shadow daunt and possess the mind.” (Jones, on ‘The 10 Greatest works of art ever’, The Guardian, 21 March 2014).
Saint John was the patron saint of the Knights of Malta and of the cathedral. Caravaggio received a commission to paint this canvas for the church’s new oratory. Completed in 1608, it turned out to be his largest work, and the only one he signed, perhaps prophetically in his own blood, blood depicted as flowing onto the pavement from the saint’s neck. Gruesome, terrifying even, but despite this The Grand Master of Malta was delighted, and it is recorded that he presented Caravaggio with a gold chain, two slaves, and various other rewards; the picture’s frame bears his coat of arms.
In his essay, Teju Cole offers a compelling account of his visit to Malta. As he entered to room to see The Beheading of St. John the Baptist, he comments “The effect is of having walked in on something horrible, something you wish to unsee. The seven people depicted in the painting feel like real people in a real space, dwarfed by the dark background. The lighting, the monumental scale … the height at which the picture is hung and the distribution of dark and light all add to the impression that what you are seeing is an actual event: the two prisoners watching the execution; the servant girl with the gold plate; the old woman; the man directing the killing; the executioner reaching for the knife with which to finish the job; and St. John himself, prostrate on the floor, his neck spurting blood.”
A website devoted to his work describes the painting in detail: “The structure recalls the monumental murals that Caravaggio must have studied in Rome. The building is Caravaggio’s most detailed architectural setting, and the only one that records an existing structure, the entrance and adjacent window in the main facade of the Grand Master’s Palace (now the Armory) in La Valletta. The composition is classically simple, a large shallow space with a cluster of figures on the left balanced by a wall and a window on the right. The dramatic impact of the composition almost obliterates its effectiveness as an abstract construction. It is a silent painting, intimate despite its great scale. The focus is first on the pointing index finger of the business-like warden, who forms the single vertical axis in the figure group, directing the operation. Only secondarily can Saint John’s body be found. It is over-life size, and the only horizontal figure. From the centre of the warden’s finger, the action fans out – to the executioner’s left hand, holding Saint John’s partially severed head in place like a butcher in an abattoir while he reaches with his right for his dagger to finish the process off neatly; to the platter, held low by Salome in anticipation of receiving the head; to the old woman. She is horrified, the only character responding sympathetically to the execution. Incredibly, she covers her ears rather than her eyes; are the sounds – those of the actual decapitation – worse than the sight? Finally, we must allow – or force – ourselves to look past the deadly line of the glittering blade at the pathos of Saint John’s painfully bound body. A moment before he was a seeing, hearing, feeling, thinking human being like the others; now he is reduced to a mere fleshly carcass.”
Researching the painting, I discovered the existence of The Caravaggio Research Centre, ‘a project by the Factum Foundation, established in 2010 to provide academic and enthusiast access to three high-fidelity facsimiles of paintings by the renowned Baroque artist Caravaggio’. The Foundation’s primary goal is to create high-resolution, accurate digital documentation of cultural heritage sites and artworks around the world. This documentation is intended to serve as a record for posterity and to enable the production of indistinguishable facsimiles, especially in cases where the original has been damaged, destroyed, lost, looted or where it is inaccessible to the wider public. It does wonderful work. However, facts are one thing, but does the Foundation or any of the many other commentaries explain the impact of the painting, or the extraordinary and ultimately tragic life of Caravaggio on the viewer?
The painting was completed in 1608. Yet, by late August, he slipped from fame to being arrested and imprisoned, almost certainly likely the result of yet another brawl, this time with an aristocratic knight, during which the door of a house was battered down and the knight seriously wounded. The result was simple: Caravaggio was imprisoned by the Knights in Valetta. However, he managed to escape. By December, he had been expelled from the Order “as a foul and rotten member”, a formal phrase used to banish people in all such cases.
He was in trouble. Contemporary reports depict a man whose behaviour was becoming increasingly bizarre, which included sleeping fully armed and in his clothes; ripping up a painting at a slight word of criticism; and mocking local painters. After only nine months in Sicily, Caravaggio returned to Naples in the late summer of 1609. The news from Rome encouraged Caravaggio, and in the summer of 1610, he took a boat north to receive a pardon. While facts are uncertain, it seems he died of fever on his way from Naples to Rome.
Over the years, The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist had become badly damaged. though it did receive some restoration in the 1950s prior to going on exhibition in Rome in 1955-6, a key step in rebuilding Caravaggio’s reputation. From March 1997 to March 1999, the painting underwent restoration in the Opificio delle Pietre Dure and Restoration Laboratories of Florence. The state of the painting to be seen today represents a stunning recovery. Following this work, in the summer of 2023 the windows in the oratory of the decollato were permanently shuttered and blocked off natural light in 2023. Good or bad, it was a decision causing a public outcry amongst art historians, scholars and Maltese citizens.
The painting is really well presented at St Johns, done in such a way you cannot avoid its power, its horror, and its spiritual significance. To visit the Cathedral and be able to see it restored to the state Caravaggio had intended is a memorable opportunity. Can it be moved for exhibition in other countries? I suspect that is unlikely.
I’m not competent to comment on whether or not it should be considered one of ‘the ten greatest works of art ever’. What I can say is that it is an image that I can’t and don’t want to shake off. It is often said that great art should unsettle us: for all his limits, mistakes and stupidities as a man, to my mind the artist Caravaggio achieved that end, absolutely.
