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Transitory Ecstasy |
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written
by sariah / 10.24.2005 |
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| The Ecstasy of Beata Ludovica Albertoni |
1 of 1 |
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Assignment |
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As I turn into the small enclosure in the left corner furthest from the unadorned entrance to the Church of San Francesco a Ripa, I see the sculpture of Beata Ludovica Albertoni. Prior to entering, I have primed myself for this first visual impression of his masterpiece. However, even with this mental preparation, it still takes a few moments for me to assimilate the contours of white marble and brown shadows into discernable shapes. The first forms to be revealed are Beata’s hands. In particular, her right hand is strikingly white, due to light shining upon marble. Against the shadow-shaded brown folds of marble cloth below, her long fingers hold my attention. Long and smooth, they clutch at her chest, their pressure bending the knuckle joints towards the back of her hand. Her left hand is far less noticeable as it lays in the shadows gently over Beata’s rounded ribcage.
The illumination of the statue directs my eyes upwards to Beata’s head. Here, her expression is not immediately obvious. Instead, I am drawn to the suspended nature of the folds of veil that frame her face. The position of the fabric seems to convey halted motion, as if Beata had temporarily raised her head off the bed, then let it fall back down quickly. Bernini has captured the instant before the fabric folds respond to gravity, where they are no longer being supported by Beata’s skull. From here, I am drawn to her face itself. In contrast to the tension of her hands, Beata’s face is an expression of tension released. The expression of this relief is not matched by the sharpness of facial features. In contrast to the angular beauty of modern models, Beata’s features are composed entirely of soft curves. Her large, round eyes are closed, her long nose pointed upwards, and lips slightly parted. It is clear from her face that Beata exists in a different reality. Unconscious of the viewer and the audience of suspended cherubs, Beata is in ecstasy.
My eyes quickly scan the rest of her figure, glancing at her bent knees and down to her exposed feet. I try to interpret the contrast between the tension of Beata’s posture and the relaxation of her expression. The pure relief on her face when contrasted to the odd angles of her fingers and limbs, makes Beata’s ecstasy seem short-lived. I imagine that if Beata were to come alive from marble, she would not be able to hold her pose for long before becoming stiff and uncomfortable. It also seems unlikely that she would be able to maintain that state of absolute ecstasy for more than the moment frozen in Bernini’s art. Although I scan the statue several times, its religious message is lost on me. I interpret true spiritual awakening as contentment in the style of Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha, and find Bernini’s interpretation of a momentary, monumental emotional climax quite perplexing.
Later, I have an opportunity to visit the Ecstasy of Saint Theresa. The similarities between these works are striking, and it is obvious that both were done by the same artist. Most dramatic is the use of environment to heighten the sense of divine intervention in both Beata’s and Theresa’s lives. Both statues are placed upon pedestals, so one is forced to look upwards and tilt one’s head towards the heavens in order to more fully view the figures. Also, the external light that shines upon the women’s faces serves to enhance their look of rounded beauty. Both sculptures share the same partially reclining poses, and this pose is most striking when considering that Theresa is seconds away from being impaled by a spear. This posture, completely devoid of any defensive positions, serves to increase the intimacy of the viewer with the works. Also, in both figures, neither woman seems aware of an outward viewer, and is, instead, absorbed with her private moment of ecstasy.
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