Michelangelo, Pietà

We're in St. Peter's Basilica, standing in front of Michelangelo's Pietà. I feel very lucky, because on this rainy Monday morning, we're the only ones. And it actually looks quite small in relationship to the chapel that holds it, but also especially in relationship to St. Peter's, which is so vast. Of course, this sculpture was made for a cardinal, but then it was placed in the old St. Peter's, which was significantly smaller than this one. And so it would have had a different relationship to the architecture. What I'm finding interesting is, despite the fact that it's relatively small and probably about 20 feet away from us, it's still a really intimate image. There really is this extraordinary relationship that Michelangelo has constructed between the body of the dead Christ and his mother, the Virgin Mary, who holds him on her lap. Mary looks very young and beautiful, but her body is on her lap, sort of enlarged to carry the body of her dead son. The realism of that dead body, of its weight. One of the most beautiful passages, I think, of the sculpture is the way that she holds up his right arm and pulls up that flesh a little bit. And you really feel, first of all, that the marble is transformed by Michelangelo into flesh, but also the weight of that body. And through that weight, the loss of life that's so palpable for Mary. It's the complete lack of resistance that his body offers and the exertion that she has to extend in order to hold him. And that contrast makes for the viewer, I think, in a very physical experience, looking at the sculpture. His body looks so much like the body of a real young man, the rib cage and the abdominal muscles. And yet it's also idealized in the way in which there's this beautiful turn of his body across her lap. And for Mary, as well, there's this interesting contradiction in her sweetness and the beauty, but also the strength and the scale that's necessary for her to easily hold him. Look how deeply carved that marble is. The drapery. This real love of the turn of the stone, creating this very vivid sense of alternation, really, of light and shadow, of complexity, of surface against the broad, pure surfaces of Christ's legs, of his torso, of his arm. Mary tilts her head forward and looks down at him. His head is thrown back. So there's alternation between those two necks for me. And his neck is exposed to us, incredibly vulnerable. Christ's foot hangs in midair. Mary, her left hand is open and pointing delicately forward, as if she's still trying to comprehend his death. But I think there's also a way of presenting Christ's body to the viewer, saying, this is the path to salvation. This is God's sacrifice for mankind, my sacrifice of my son's, that makes possible your redemption. There is a kind of rhythm that points to that hand. The drape and the knee point up towards Christ's knees, which, in turn, create a kind of rhythmic bridge to her hand and to that sense of wondering. This is very clearly an image that's meant to be contemplated, and the pain and the suffering that Christ has endured. And Mary's endured. That Mary's enduring is meant to be contemplated as a pathway. They're polishing the floor. OK, let's move on.