Once in a while I get the chance to sit quietly in an empty church and gaze at the beautiful stained glass windows and poignant stations-of-the-cross sculptures. Sometimes I just shake my head in awe, overcome by the majesty and depth of our historic, world-changing faith. It’s quite a transcendent and spiritual experience, and when it happens I think to myself, “God is definitely real, and this is His house.”
And other times, in the exact same situation, I gaze at the amazing artwork in the church, and think to myself, “Man, those halos on the statues are so … weird!”
At the parish I attend, the stations-of-the-cross sculptures have what looks like a gold satellite dish attached to the back of Jesus’ head. No matter which way the Lord is looking –- up, down, left, or right –- the big, thick dish is always positioned directly behind His head.
Now, of course, I get it: the halos in sacred art are supposed to indicate holiness radiating out from Jesus and all the saints. They represent the glow of the divine presence and the light of the Lord’s love. I’m sure the medieval artists who popularized halos thought it would be sacrilegious if they did not include them. But I’m also sure these same artists really struggled to include halos in a way that did not make their artwork look kind of goofy. Many times they did not succeed.
For example, after I started thinking about halos, I looked up a lot of medieval Church artwork online. There’s a painting by Giotto di Bondone, which is on display in the Scrovegni Chapel in my son-in-law’s hometown of Padua, Italy. (I’ve been there, when we traveled to Italy for the wedding. Wow, it was awesome!)
Giotto’s painting depicts the Last Supper, and we look down at the scene from a slightly elevated point-of-view. Jesus is on the left side, at the head of the table, and He has a large, golden halo. The apostles on the far side of the table, who are looking directly out from the painting, have nice halos behind their heads. But the other apostles, the ones seated at the near side of the table, are looking directly away from us. We can only see the backs of their heads. Their halos look as if dinner plates were glued onto their faces.
For example, after I started thinking about halos, I looked up a lot of medieval Church artwork online. There’s a painting by Giotto di Bondone, which is on display in the Scrovegni Chapel in my son-in-law’s hometown of Padua, Italy. (I’ve been there, when we traveled to Italy for the wedding. Wow, it was awesome!)
Giotto’s painting depicts the Last Supper, and we look down at the scene from a slightly elevated point-of-view. Jesus is on the left side, at the head of the table, and He has a large, golden halo. The apostles on the far side of the table, who are looking directly out from the painting, have nice halos behind their heads. But the other apostles, the ones seated at the near side of the table, are looking directly away from us. We can only see the backs of their heads. Their halos look as if dinner plates were glued onto their faces.
Additionally, the apostle John, who rested his head against Jesus’ chest, according to Scripture, has a tiny halo. This is because if it were the same size as the other guys’, it would hit Jesus right in the face. John’s halo looks like some weird first-century man bun.
I strongly suspect when Giotto was creating this work of art, he thought to himself, “Man, if I could just dump the halos, this painting would rock!” (On the other hand, maybe he didn’t say exactly that, since I am, admittedly, not too familiar with colloquial Padua expressions from the year 1305.)
Interestingly, many years later, when Leonardo Da Vinci painted “The Last Supper,” he put all 13 people on one side of the long, narrow table (which, if you ever worked in the restaurant business, you know never happens). Da Vinci could’ve put nice halos behind everyone’s head (except Judas; he never gets a halo). But Leo just said, “Nah, no halos this time.”
All these centuries later, Da Vinci’s masterpiece is THE most famous depiction of that momentous gospel event. The lack of halos does not detract at all from the sense of holiness.
I strongly suspect when Giotto was creating this work of art, he thought to himself, “Man, if I could just dump the halos, this painting would rock!” (On the other hand, maybe he didn’t say exactly that, since I am, admittedly, not too familiar with colloquial Padua expressions from the year 1305.)
Interestingly, many years later, when Leonardo Da Vinci painted “The Last Supper,” he put all 13 people on one side of the long, narrow table (which, if you ever worked in the restaurant business, you know never happens). Da Vinci could’ve put nice halos behind everyone’s head (except Judas; he never gets a halo). But Leo just said, “Nah, no halos this time.”
All these centuries later, Da Vinci’s masterpiece is THE most famous depiction of that momentous gospel event. The lack of halos does not detract at all from the sense of holiness.
So, Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” is proof that artists do not need to include awkward gold satellite dishes in their religious paintings and sculptures. The works of art are still sacred and reverent without halos.
However, I would gladly wear a gold satellite dish behind my head if it meant I’d have a high-speed internet connection no matter where I went. In my case, that might be my only chance to have a halo.
However, I would gladly wear a gold satellite dish behind my head if it meant I’d have a high-speed internet connection no matter where I went. In my case, that might be my only chance to have a halo.
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