—Giovanni Pico
~*~
As Thanksgiving sweeps in, so do the joys of midterms and papers. Rochelle, the intrepid history major, has been slammed with four, including a ten-page one she will unfortunately have to write over our fairly short break. Last year she had to do the same thing with a twenty-page paper, though, so in the wake of that painful Thanksgiving, she's trying to to remain optimistic about her free time.
Star, who hails from far off Washington, and Yun, who is stranded from her Beijing home until summer, have agreed to house with us over the break. I'm rather excited to have my little freshman trio (that includes me) captive from classes for almost a full week. Yun has offered to teach us how to make steamed dumplings, and we're all going to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Oh, how I love the holiday season! Succulent turkey, rich pecan and apple pies, homemade stuffing rich with onions; the scent of freshly baked bread wafting through the house, contrasting with the crisp, cold air that sends us to huddle under soft blankets and cuddle with kittens; and, most of all, family members all clustered together thinking about how to make the next month special. I'm seldom more content than when I'm planning for Christmas, focusing on beauty and love and tradition.
I can go on about Christmas for eternity, though, and it's only loosely related to my intended topic. It does concern Christianity—but Christianity as seen through the eyes of the Renaissance, interpreted through the symbolism of the David.
Why am I talking about this? Well, let me clarify. My history professor—an enthusiastic ex-marine who takes great satisfaction in bringing up any sort of controversy—decided to assign us, instead of a third paper, a letter to a dead man. Yes, you read that right. A letter to a dead man—specifically, a dead Renaissance artist—critiquing an artistic work with an eye to its cultural significance. This was inspired by Petrarch, but that's another story; at any rate, I settled on the David, because I've actually had the privilege of seeing it in person.
And because Renaissance humanism starts to sound really inspiring when it's contrasted with several classes-worth of arguing about Predestination.
As it turns out, the letter was terribly interesting to write. So interesting, in fact, that I couldn't resist posting a segment of it. Keep in mind that I had to make this sound like I'm talking to Michelangelo, but here's an excerpt, covering paragraphs two and three:
"The David is, of course, staggeringly physically accurate, but I’m sure you’ve heard that a thousand times before, so I won’t wax poetic on the curve of a toe, the flawless execution of a vein. What I find equally interesting is, for all of its accuracy, how very much you idealized the form of the David. He is thoroughly human, but at the same time almost inhuman in the sheer perfection of his form. Artistically, the implication seems clear: man is not a worthless, depraved being, or—as one man once memorably phrased it—a “polluted clump of earth,” doomed to a lowly existence. Instead, the idealization of David’s form hints that man has a greater purpose, greater—perhaps limitless—capabilities. Am I right? Only you can say for sure, but it would certainly be consistent with Renaissance humanism, and a Giovanni Pico-like sense of self.
My perception of this is further confirmed, I think, by your choice of how to how to portray David’s posture and attitude. We all know the story: the shepherd boy, anointed by God, facing a much larger, better trained foe, armed with nothing but the slingshot dangling from his youthful fingers. I would expect David—I would expect any man—to feel fear at the prospect, even with God on his side. Certainly I would be frightened. But your portrayal of the David tells another story. With shoulders back, weight shifted casually to one leg, left hand gripping his weapon almost carelessly, David appears the epitome of calm. He is not inattentive; but his furrowed brows and steady gaze reflect only concentration, not concern. He stands strong and alone, yet not defiant. Neither is he arrogant. He is only—simply, purely, endlessly—confident. I think I am right in saying that in your portrayal of David, he represents the Renaissance idea of the fully realized man; and by this I mean that he has reached his full potential as a human being. Seemingly undefiled by the burden of sin, David does not bow his head in shame, but waits for his destiny with the quiet confidence of a man who knows he cannot lose—for in the ultimate battle he has already won."
I wrote two more paragraphs after these, but I was particularly happy about how these turned out. Renaissance humanism—especially when taken through the filter of Giovanni Pico—treads thrillingly close to elements of Eastern philosophies, particularly those of the Ancient Vedic texts, especially the Bhagavad Gita. Transcendentalism and perfectibility...how it does my heart good to see you showing up in Western culture!
