Though no artist was present to see it, the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary is depicted in art just barely less often than the Crucifixion and the Nativity. The pivotal moment of our history is also a beautiful moment, and every artist worth the name has tried his hand at depicting, “The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, and she conceived by the Holy Spirit.” One such effort, by Orazio Gentileschi, has sneakily become my very favorite by the odd tactic of placing itself before me on a book cover in my confessional. In fact, I think in my version it is flipped left-right for the sake of the cover’s composition, but I’ll share it with you the way I see it.
The Archangel Gabriel both kneels before and springs toward the young Virgin in her bedchamber, as she modestly gathers her blue cloak around her red dress and holds up a hand in a demure gesture that conveys not as much hesitance as acceptance. The messenger holds in one hand a rod sprouting lilies, a sign of the recipient’s fruitful virginity, and with the other indicates the source of the divine initiative. Making visible Gabriel’s promise of divine overshadowing, the Holy Spirit like a dove comes through the open window along with radiant beams that warm and light the Virgin’s face, and leave the angel’s in shadow.
I had been staring at this picture for years while listening to sins, before I noticed that there were at least five colors of white in it. The crisp linen white of the sheets is clearly different from the lacy white cuffs and collars on both angel and Virgin; the fresh white lilies, completely different yet again. The angel’s downy white wings stand in sharp contrast, seeming almost gray until your eyes discern the effect of shadow, and the similarity yet difference of the bright white dove’s soft purity.
And then there is all that drapery. Fabric falls in folds throughout, a painterly tour de force and a common mark of a genre of painting that, honestly, has never really done much for me. Well, until now, anyway, as I recognize all that crumpling and cascading as not only beautiful, but eloquent and explanatory.
Look at the wardrobe on that angel erupting into Mary’s quiet and contemplation. His cloak is luminous ochre rather than gold, but rich all the same. His tunic is a marvel: rosy, silky, and iridescent. All this is topped with ginger hair (of course?) and together makes him stand out as the visitor in this scene.
The blue cloak that envelopes the Virgin echoes the distant and divine blue that is the origin of the dove’s descent as God’s own grace falls upon her. Then that enormous scarlet curtain behind the bed is not simply some decorator’s trendy choice but rather the falling and manifold abundance of the Spirit Himself, red like the fire of Pentecost, finding and filling the Virgin with the Divine Word Who takes flesh from her, resonating in the red of her own tunic, half-hidden beneath the blue cloak.
For a pile of paint that has been still and solid for four hundred years (exactly – since 1623!) there is such swirl and motion as make mind and eyes spin. The richness of the scene concentrates the riches of art and creativity in which man, art’s creator, is revealed to be the image and likeness of his Creator God. The artist’s insight and expression find their source and their goal in the beauty that is God’s goodness in giving us His only begotten and co-eternal Son, come to save us. This scene has captivated me for years as the resting place for my eyes, while my ears do the work of the merciful Redeemer in receiving the repentance of souls in search of absolution and mercy.
And the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us. The Annunciation, March 25, almost always falls during Lent, and this year splits the weekend with the Sunday that begins the time of Christ’s Passion. As you look at the veils that hide the images of the Christ and His saints, let them remind you not only of His precious blood, shed for our sins, but also of the hiddenness of so much of the life and death of that same Redeemer.
And we have seen His glory. Hiddenness is not the same as invisibility, as God’s work is not only visible, but indeed manifest in creation, whether in the created creators of the art that makes the unseen, seen; in the wine become blood; or in falling folds of the very fabric of divine communion.
Monsignor Smith
