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Poverty in Painting: Maintaining Strict Social Hierarchy in a Time of Religious Schism
In my Art History Senior Thesis I discuss how the Baroque painters of Spain portrayed poverty. I examine three paintings each from the bodies of work of Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, Jusepe de Ribera, and Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez. The three paintings of Murillo’s will be Three Boys, Boys Eating a Pie, and The Young Beggar. I will focus on de Ribera’s Blind Old Beggar, Taste, and The Clubfooted Boy. Finally, the three Velázquez paintings will be The Waterseller of Seville, An Old Woman Cooking Eggs, and Kitchen Maid. My aim in this project is to analyze how the three painters portrayed the poor. Ultimately, I want to prove that, although at first glance the paintings seem to show support for the impoverished, the images actually support the strict social structure of Spain in order to legitimize the Counter-Reformation, the power of the Catholic Church, and uphold the extreme economic divides present in that society.
Poverty in Painting: Maintaining Strict Social Hierarchy
“Charity was established not so much for the poor as for the rich”
-Anonymous Sevillian cleric
INTRODUCTION
Seventeenth century Spain was plagued by economic crisis, which plunged a large portion of society into endemic poverty. It is in this context, during the 17th century, that we start to see the appearance of the pícaro. This figure is typically a beggar boy with street smarts who steals food, clothing, and other basic resources. He tricks those whom he meets just to survive. Several texts of the period highlight the burdens of the poor, and especially street urchins, who represented the majority of the population living on the streets. In fact, Lazarillo de Tormes, written by an anonymous author, chronicles the life and struggles of the pícaro, Lázaro de Tormes. In this novel, the author criticizes Spanish society, the Catholic Church, and the aristocracy, and its treatment of the poor. Simultaneously, his interest in the state of the poor became popular in the Spanish Baroque painting as well. However, the visual representations of the marginalized were less sympathetic to the poor than their literary counterparts. Painters offered a romanticized view of poverty by showcasing happy, healthy beggars who were not worried about their economic situation; instead, the young children were shown as content eating their grapes and playing games. These paintings instructed their viewers that there was no need to end poverty because the poor were happy. Furthermore, according to Christian teachings, God had created this social structure, and it should remain in place. The Church, through Baroque painting in Spain, was able to promulgate a feigned concern for the poor while ultimately supporting the rigid social structure that kept it in power.
The three most prominent Spanish Baroque painters were Jusepe de Ribera, Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, and Diego Velázquez. “All these Spaniards seem to have had an astonishing ability to seize subtle lifelike action. It is safe to say that no paintings in all Europe can equal them. All the leading men had this gift, though it was most perfectly developed in Velázquez. It is naturalism carried to its perfection.”[1] Velázquez was the only painter of these three who showed the poor with an unaffected naturalism. He did not romanticize their situation, leading one to conclude that it is possible that he sympathized with the poor. However, Velázquez stopped short of advocating for a change to the economic and social condition of the poor. Velázquez’s paintings of the poor were studies of naturalism, not a call to action. Murillo and de Ribera, on the other hand, engaged more fully in romanticizing the poor. Their images suggest that the poor do not suffer, thus, there is no need to change the status quo. While at first glance the viewer might think that these images of the poor were made in an effort to show sympathy for those who were “down on their luck,” on closer examination, we see that these Baroque Spanish painters created blissful images of the poor to justify the rigid class structure supported by the Catholic Church, and ultimately, uphold the authority of Counter-Reformation.
This thesis will analyze and possibly uncover coded messages concerning poverty in Spain during the 17th century. Due to the political climate, Spain was dealing with multiple crises: the economy was taking a plung, plagues and famine were ravishing the population of Spain and Naples (one of its colonies at the time), the moriscos[2] had been expelled leaving a large hole in the agricultural sector, the Counter-Reformation was in full force, and Spain was involved in a war with the Netherlands over religion, among other things. Thus, it was necessary for Spain and its Counter-Reformation policies to show themselves as an omnipotent empire, while chaos reigned just below the empire’s skin. Taking into account the social and historical context of the 17th century, I will conduct a close read of three paintings from each artist—de Ribera, Murillo, and Velázquez—in order to demonstrate that these three artists ultimately upheld the institutions of power in Baroque Spain.
Before going into an artistic analysis of the work of each artist, this paper will cover the social, economic, and political context of 17th century Spain. In this first chapter, I will briefly describe the state of the Spanish Empire. Some of the topics I will discuss are the plagues, famines, and agricultural crises that affected life in the Iberian Peninsula. Being that the focus of this project is the impoverished, this section will go in depth on how the social crises affected the lowest classes of the Spanish society. I will also take a look at why the poor had to deal with these situations. Namely, the first section of this paper’s first chapter will tie in the political actions of the Crown and the Church and how their actions (religious and economic wars and the Counter-Reformation) caused social strife.
The next three sections of my first chapter will take a closer look at the main places of work for de Ribera, Murillo, and Velázquez. The first subsection will focus on Naples, Jusepe de Ribera’s main hub. Because Naples was a colony of Spain, I aim to examine, first, how the city interacted with the Spanish Empire and, second, how the Counter-Reformation manifested itself there. In the second chapter of the paper, I will draw on this information to further discuss the work of de Ribera.
The second subsection will dive into Sevilla, the birthplace of Bartolomé Esteban Murillo and Diego Velázquez. Again, I want to examine how the city cultivated a false sense of power for the Spanish Empire and the Counter-Reformation movement. I will briefly mention La Hermandad de la Santa Caridad (or the Brotherhood of Holy Charity) and how it used charity as a way to benefit the upper class—and their chances of getting into heaven—instead of serving the poor. I will also discuss the declining status of Sevilla as a city in the 17th century and link it to the situation of the Spanish Empire as a whole.
The third and final subsection of the first chapter will provide historical context for Madrid, the city where Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez reached the height of his career. Because Madrid was also the home of the Spanish Crown, I aim to examine both the political environment of the city, as well as the state of the lower classes. This subsection will discuss the political and religious propaganda that circulated around Spain’s capital so that I can draw upon it in my final chapter regarding Velázquez’s work.
The second chapter will focus on the king of romanticiziation: Bartolomé Esteban Murillo. The three works I have selected for this artist are Three Boys (1670), Children Eating a Pie (1675), and The Young Beggar (1650). Each painting shows young beggar boys—or pícaros. Thus, I will analyze each work and discuss how Murillo idealized the situation of these children. In reality, most of the young beggar boys died either from a plague or from famine. However, their artistic counterparts lived happy and healthy lives inside the frames of Murillo’s paintings. I plan to examine the backgrounds of all three paintings and connect them to the commonplace political and religious propaganda of the 17th century. I will also analyze the possible religious symbolism of the different types of food present in each painting, and connect my findings to the Counter-Reformation.
Chapter three of this project will show a close read of Jusepe de Ribera’s work. The painter, born in Xàtiva, Spain, who eventually relocated to Naples, where he painted the three images on which I will focus: Blind Old Beggar (1632), Taste (1615), and The Clubfooted Boy (1642). I will perform a close examination of each painting and draw upon previous analyses of each image to construct my argument. Some topics which will be discussed are the pícaro, a perceived “roughness” of the lower, working classes, and the idea of physical handicaps. While de Ribera used a naturalistic style to paint these three images, there is still a level of romanticization that occurred in his work even though he referenced difficult situations, like physical handicaps.
The final chapter will look at three Velázquez paintings: The Waterseller of Seville (1622), An Old Woman Cooking Eggs (1618), and The Kitchen Maid (1618). Obviously there has been an incredibly large amount of scholarship written about the great Spanish Baroque painter, so I want to draw on the conclusion of other art historians, while looking at Velázquez’s work through the lens of representations of poverty. I will start by completing a close reading of each painting, focusing on the artist’s amazing deployment of naturalism. At the same time, I will analyze the use of light and its possible religious subtexts. Race and its (colonies) relationship to religion will be discussed in regards to The Kitchen Maid, which shows a female slave of African descent. The main argument of this section will be that, although Velázquez’s naturalism imbued his lower-class subjects with humanity and dignity, he did not do this to demand social change. Instead, his paintings of the poor were just a study in realism, not a call to action. As a result, his paintings ultimately supported the power plays of the Spanish Crown and the Counter-Reformation.
CHAPTER ONE: CRISES IN THE SPANISH EMPIRE
Section One: Overview of the Spanish Empire and the Counter-Reformation
Out of this environment came the first half of what Spanish literature studies call el Siglo de Oro, the Golden Century. In reality, the 16th and 17th century were given this title because the literary, and later the visual, arts became world renowned. It was at this time that Garcilaso de la Vega, Francisco de Quevedo, Lope de Vega, Calderón de la Barca, and, of course, don Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra published some of Spain’s best literary works such as El Lazarillo de Tormes and El Ingenioso Hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha. Of equally high regard are the painters that will be discussed in this project (Murillo, de Ribera, and Velázquez). All of these artists produced work during Spain’s Golden Age.
Until 711 CE, Spain was inhabited by a succession of peoples, including Phoenicians, Celts, Romans, and Visigoths. By 711 CE Abd al-Rahman I, a Muslim prince from Damascus, conquered the Iberian Peninsula, integrating the Umayyad Dynasty to Spain. While different Muslim emirates and caliphates ruled over modern day Spain and Portugal, there were also groups of Christians and Jews coexisting in the peninsula. Thus, Spanish culture and art have strong Muslim and Jewish influences. In fact, Seville was the capital city of the Almohad Dynasty, an Islamic caliphate originating in Morocco, as early as 1172. However, Seville’s time as the Islamic capital of one of the two Western caliphates was short-lived. In 1248 the king of Spain, Fernando III, conquered the city and converted it to a Christian stronghold. With the so-called Reconquest, large groups of Jews and Muslims living in Spain were forced to convert to Catholicism or to go to exile. However, there were small groups of these two religious minorities that were able to live in the peninsula for another 200 years or so. Sadly, on November 1st, 1478 the Inquisition was reinstated in Seville. So, the conversos (the descendants of Jews forced to convert to Christianity) and moriscos (the descendants of Muslims forced to convert to Christianity) were brutally persecuted well into the 1600s. Spain went from a multi-cultural territory with a decently peaceful level of cohabitation across religions to a monolithic—Catholic—culture. To really secure this position, the Catholic Kings Isabel and Fernando expelled the Jews from Spain and conquered the Islamic Kingdom of Granada in 1492.
The 16th century was characterized by a powerful image of the Spanish Crown, with serious social issues lying just below the surface. The two most powerful monarchs in Spain’s history ruled during the 1500s: Carlos V and Felipe II. They were known for their strong political and military strategies, that led to their colonization of the Americas, Northern and Southern Europe, and the Pacific Islands. For example, the Philippines were named after Philip II. Of course, colonization and conversion were not free. The Crown had to finance the many trips to the “New World.” Thus, a large portion of money was going towards colonization, as well as the wars in the Netherlands and England regarding the Counter-Reformation. “In the 1580s there were a number of problems facing Philip II of Spain, especially the ongoing revolt in the Netherlands. But the seemingly vast resources at Philip’s disposal, together with a conviction that he was God’s special agent in the protection and propagation of the Catholic faith, suggested that time and Providence were on his side. At the same time, a principal irritant to Philip and Spain was, increasingly, England, and its pragmatic Protestant ruler, Elizabeth I.”[3] Consequently, the Crown was spending a great deal of money on wars in foreign countries. Unsurprisingly, this non-stop spending took a slow and consistent toll on Spain’s economy, which disproportionately affected the members of the lowest class in the country.
The economic practices of the Crown in the 16th century caused one of the biggest issues plaguing Spain in the 17th century, a severe economic crisis. “It could be assumed that the financial and social crises that had been affecting Spain since the close of the sixteenth century were also having an impact on the practice and praxis of architecture [and art]. The wars on multiple fronts—both at home and abroad—were the prime cause of the financial instability that crippled seventeenth-century Spain.”[4] In all of Spain the economy was in such a state that the streets were filled with beggars, an overwhelming number of whom were children. Most of the population was in poverty. So, “bouts of pestilence . . . struck throughout the century, decimating the population of major cities, most notably that of Seville.[5]” In fact, by 1649 Seville and many other Spanish cities had lost close to half of their populations due to the plague.[6] 17th century Spain was suffering heavily and was on the decline.
The three plagues of the 17th century and the unrelenting economic crisis only served to multiply the number of impoverished citizens. There were so many poor people that they “had to register for licensed begging to be protected from impostors that would take “alms from the truly poor who cannot work”. City authorities used charitable funds to create “hospitals” for vagrants to be put away from the public eye.”[7] While in reality the upper classes attempted to “help” the poor by hiding them away, art during the Counter-Reformation worked to romanticize their situation: “the Catholic Church made numerous decrees at the Council of Trent that were intended to ensure that no indecorous or offensive religious art was created or displayed.”[8] The Church was able to justify the immense socioeconomic divisions in Spanish society by displaying the poor as happy and healthy citizens. Furthermore, because the poor were shown as content in their representations, the Church and the Crown could focus their efforts on the Counter-Reformation without objection from the people.
Section Two: Seville
As a fully Christian city, Seville became the crown jewel of the Spanish Empire during the 1500s. Not only was it the birthplace of the second Inquisition, a point of pride for the kings of Spain and the Papacy, but it was also the main port of entry for the plundered goods coming from the Americas. Additionally, “at its peak [Seville] had a population larger than London, Rome, or Madrid. Its development as a port town ultimately provided Seville with important commercial links to the rest of Europe, Africa, and the New World.”[9] In the 16th century, the city had the reputation of being a devoutly Catholic metropolis experiencing a political, economic, and artistic bloom. Because of the multiple layers of power Seville held it became “an increasingly important stronghold in the Catholic Church. Due to Seville’s proximity to the Moorish North Africa, the Catholic Church and the Spanish crown had to work to defend ‘Catholicism and the evangelization of Andalusia.’”[10]
The 16th century certainly was a Golden Age for Seville. In 1503 it was named the location of la Casa de Contratación (the House of Trade), due to its position on the Guadalquivir river. Moreover, Seville “retained between twenty and forty percent of all bounty. That tax covered the cost of Spain’s army in Italy and the Netherlands, and the remaining money was either used to pay back the Italian and German financiers, taken by the individuals involved, or put back into the Indies trade. These exchanges placed Seville at the heart of a European network of commerce and credit.”[11] However, by the 17th century, Seville’s economy was starting to decline. This economic depression led to the end of Seville’s monopoly on trade with the Americas in 1717. Cádiz, another port town on the river Guadalquivir, was named the new location for the Casa de Contratación. This was the official end to Seville’s power and prestige. During the second half of the 17th century, the city officials knew that Seville would soon lose its power. Consequently, the Church made such a strong effort to promote a strong image of itself in the arts in hopes that it would inspire religious fervor in the people, while providing a distraction from the daily pain and suffering that so many people endured.
With this, Baroque-age Seville saw a rise in a faux interest in the poor. Suddenly, with so many beggars on the street, caring for them became fashionable. The crown was slow in alleviating the sufferings of its people, and thus the responsibility fell onto the Church. In the 17th century, the brotherhood of charity, or la Hermandad de la Santa Caridad, “a prestigious organization of more than three hundred of the most noble, wealthy, and most esteemed and preeminent men from the secular and ecclesiastical estates in all the Republic. . . gained great power. The Santa Caridad in Seville restricted membership to men and cared only for poor men at its facilities.”[12] Although it was not required that members of the brotherhood belong to the nobility, the organization was still selective about its members, so conversos, moriscos, and non-white people were excluded. In the 1650s, the brotherhood started to attract, almost exclusively, the rich and noble.
It was a fundamental tenet of the Catholic Church that well-to-do Christians were obliged to help the less fortunate, for which they would be rewarded in the afterlife. It is no surprise then, that “‘charity was established not so much for the poor as for the rich,’ [because] God, in his infinite wisdom, had created the poor so that the rich could win salvation. A community that engaged in collective acts of charity could expect to enjoy divine favor and protection.”[13] Hence, Seville was desperately in need of this so-called charity because of the economic crisis and the effects of natural disasters. However, while the brotherhood was formed to give charity to the community, the Hospital of la Caridad was more of “a theater for the performance of charity, where members of the brotherhood attempted to fulfill the obligations that their organization imposed on them.”[14] Charity was viewed as a noble endeavor that secured one’s social status. As a result, although the brothers did focus on charitable acts, the motivation behind them was hardly philanthropic. Ultimately, the forced and feigned image of charity and concern for the poor was done so that Seville could portray itself as politically and economically powerful supporter of the Church.[15] By showing the dominance of Catholicism in perhaps one of the most important cities of the Renaissance and Baroque periods, Seville aligned itself with the Counter-Reformation through its artistic expressions.
Section Three: Naples
Due to the fact that Naples was a Spanish colony, the Counter-Reformation also took hold in the Italian city. Like Seville, Naples was a bustling metropolis “far surpassing Rome in population [and] bursting with artistic talent.”[16] In fact, its population numbered “over half a million citizens,” making it the second largest city in Europe after Paris.[17] The city has also held fame for its ego: “Naples saw itself endowed with an unsurpassed natural beauty and legendary agricultural abundance.”[18] In 1442, Naples was conquered by the Aragonese king Alfonso V. During the remainder of the 15th century, Naples remained under the rule of the crown of Aragon. Later, from 1484 until 1559, the city was the source of conflict between France and Spain. Finally, the Spanish Crown was given control over the city and most of the land associated with its kingdom. Thus, Naples inherited Spain’s artists, like Jusepe de Ribera, as well as Spain’s economic crises, the Counter-Reformation agenda, and the growing number of beggars typical of Spanish cities. Being a colony, Naples was heavily taxed by Madrid “in order to feed the wars that afflicted the Habsburg empire during most of the seventeenth century, worked against the viceroys’ popularity and considerably weakened their authority” in the minds of the masses of Naples.[19] In fact, in the mid-17th century, Neapolitans revolted against their Spanish colonizers. While these revolts were quelled, it showed a distrust of the Spaniards, and specifically the viceroys, who implemented the Crown’s various wishes.
Of course, the decisions made in the Madrid palace regarding Naples established a social hierarchy in the city: the “other” was not considered the (typically wealthy) Spanish foreigners, but the lowest class of Neapolitans.[20] “Otherness,” and therefore marginalization, was not focused on nationality in Naples, but economic standing: there was “a distinction between wealthy, professional guildsmen, such as doctors, lawyers, merchants, and entrepreneurs, and the poor and working class, who were identified as the plebs and most often condemned with stereotypical characterization as vile, demonical, bestial, mad, and turbulent rabble.”[21] Thus, the construction of the “other” in Spanish Naples followed the Catholic Church’s artistic attitude towards the poor.
The Counter-Reformation and its mission latched onto Naples’ identity with ease. Because Neapolitan lore dictated that the city was the first in Europe to “be converted to Christianity and the refuge of Christianity during the persecution of the primitive church, and since then it has remained steadfast in its ancient faith with ‘more holy places than any other city in the world’ and ‘the most devout of every other part of Italy’ in order that the ‘intercession of the just and their good works’ might placate the wrath of God. Naples was the New Jerusalem, a religious center with priority and fidelity in the West before Rome.”[22] Thus, the need to establish an image of divine approval was present in both the Counter-Reformation and the Neapolitan identity.
Section Four: Madrid
While Seville was the crown jewel of the peninsula and Naples was the prime European colony, Madrid was still the capital of the Empire. Accordingly, the Crown had to create an image of opulence and strength in it seat of power. During the end of the 16th century and the first third of the 17th century, Madrid underwent immense re-construction. By “the spring of 1624, Madrid was no longer the idyllic village that sixteenth-century Spanish historians had praised . . . Madrid had become one of the largest and most populated cities in Southern Europe.”[23] In fact, it was described as “‘polluted monster’ filled with carriages, multistoried buildings, and all kinds of commercial establishments.”[24] Again, this development was brought about by Philip II’s decision to make Madrid the capital of the Spanish Empire, which was at the apogee of its power in the mid-16th century. Without the court’s presence, Madrid would not have experienced an economic, social, urban, and artistic boom. By the mid-17th century, Madrid’s population was comprised of several classes, including an “upper middle class” that started to spend their wealth on the arts in order to improve its image. In fact, Madrid gained a fame as “a city of consumption that exploited the wealth of the empire without productively contributing to it . . . Political advisers lamented the nobility’s tendency to live off rents that they did not invest productively but instead spent superfluously.”[25] Thus, Baroque-age Madrid was marked as decadent. Of course, superfluous spending is not sustainable, and Madrid suffered from the poor local economic practices as well as the Empire-wide crisis. Like Seville and Naples, Madrid was dealing with an economic crisis, while it was trying to define itself in time of turmoil.
Because Madrid was the capital of the Spanish Empire, a paradoxical culture of both austerity and opulence formed in the late 16th century and was maintained into the 17th century. As a result, the city’s identity was centered on the upper classes: the wealthy held political positions and had abundant spending opportunities. “Madrid also became the national center for the elite’s extravagant needs, which include exotic foodstuffs, expensive clothes, shoes and jewelry, carriages, furnitures, tapestries, and paintings. A number or recent publications thus picture seventeenth-century Madrid as a protocapitalist society comparable to the better-known (and more studied) cases of Amsterdam, Paris, or London.”[26] Because wealth was one of the defining characteristics of this new Baroque Madrid, the poor became “others,” just as they did in Naples. Members of the lowest classes could not add to Madrid’s identity of political power or extreme wealth. Thus, they were excluded from the city’s image of itself. If opulence and political dominance were two defining elements of Madrid’s identity, Catholicism was the third and final trait. Philip IV (1621-1665) was the great-great-great grandson of Isabel and Fernando (the Catholic kings who expelled the Jews, defeated the Islamic dynasty, officially created Spain, and reimplemented the Inquisition). Thus, he had incredibly strong ties to Catholicism through his ancestry alone. More significantly, Spain emphasized its tie to the Catholic Church during the Baroque era because of the Counter-Reformation. At the time, England (a Protestant country) was one of Spain’s strongest political adversaries. Therefore, to help legitimize Spain’s power, the mission of the Counter-Reformation was used to create a faux image of supremacy and strength. It is no surprise then that artists were commissioned to make images with strong Catholic perspectives. Thus, art was used to show an image of wealth, political prowess, and devotion to the Catholic Church in 17th century Madrid.
Postscript
In this project, I will briefly address three images of poverty in the Italian Renaissance, as these images are some of the first paintings to depict the lower classes in modern Western Art. I want to highlight the shift in subject matter that occurred with the rise of humanism in relation to the depiction of poverty.
The first image is Andrea Mantegna’s Adoration of the Shepherds (1450) [Figure 1.1], which was commissioned by the duke of Ferrara, Borso d’Este. The painting features the birth of Christ and it is set in what appear to be classical ruins. While Mary is contemplating Christ, Joseph is dozing off. To the Christ’s left are two shepherds bowing dressed in contemporary clothing. Further down the winding road is a shepherd husband and wife. There are two key aspects to the depiction of the shepherds. The first is the appearance of their garments. All three male shepherds wear ripped clothing. In fact, all of their knees are visible because their pants are worn out. The blonde shepherd to Christ’s left is even barefooted. The viewer can surmise that these figures are quite poor and that they undergo intense daily physical labor. To tear the knees of one’s pants, they must move, bend down, and kneel quite a bit. Of course, the aristocracy has no need to perform such movement. However, shepherds must be on their feet all day and are required to perform highly labor-intensive movements. The fact that these men came to witness the birth of Christ in tattered clothing demonstrates that they cannot afford to pay for new garments, but they are also faithful and in God’s favor.
The expressions of the two men in the forefront of the painting are quite grotesque. The blonde-haired man closest to the viewer is wrinkled with hollowed cheeks. He appears to be an old man; however, his physique is that of a younger man. So, the hard toil that he has been through accelerated the aging of his face. Similarly, his black-haired companion bears the signs of physical labor. His parted mouth and beady eyes also give him a simpleton’s air. Throughout the 15th century, artists started playing with their subject matter. We start to see a change in who and what is displayed in painting. While Mantegna’s Adoration of the Shepherds is still highly religious in nature, there is a sense of realism in regards to how the poor are depicted. Mantegna does not portray them in a sympathetic, or even faux-sympathetic, manner though. The two shepherds in the forefront look practically monstrous. This almost macabre display of the poor will be echoed in de Ribera’s work about two hundred years later.
Hugo van der Goes’ Portinari Altarpiece (1475) [Figure 1.2] also features the birth of the Christ. The triptych was commissioned by Tommaso Portinari and hung in the Portinari charity hospital. Thus, the altarpiece served as a “testimony to Tommaso’s wealth and beneficence.”[27] It was intended “to occupy a most visible position, on the high altar in the chapel of the great hospital founded by his celebrated ancestor, Folco.”[28] To make his “charitable” intentions clearer, Tommaso had van der Goes paint him and his wife on the sides of the triptych, as was the Renaissance custom to feature the patrons on the margins of sacred spaces and events. The pair are dressed in simple but high quality black robes. The deep black color of the garments indicates great wealth, since incredibly expensive dye is needed to achieve this long-lasting color. However, the main donors to the hospital were not the only figures depicted in expensive clothing; there are several figures, like the angels and women in the center panel, dressed in elaborately brocades gowns and cloaks. These brightly colored garments with intricate designs required a great deal of time and resources to make. Consequently, they were incredibly expensive.
High-end fabrics are contrasted with the peasants in the background of the main panel. They wear dark and monochromatic colors, like brown and gray. Again, this is a signifier of their social status. They cannot afford the ornate clothing of the upper classes. Furthermore, the viewer knows that these figures are poor laborers because of their physical appearance: they are tanned from working in the sun all day, and their cheeks and collarbones are very prominent, signifying that they do not eat very much but still perform a great deal of physical labor on a daily basis. While these laborers are not shown with the same style of realism as that of 17th Spain, the way van der Goes depicts them does not idealize their situation. These peasants are not particularly nice or charming to look at because of the toil on their bodies. In the 15th century, we start to see a growing interest in the situation of the poor. This interest only intensifies by the 17th century in Baroque art. It is also important to note that this altarpiece was hung in the chapel of the Portinari hospital. Thus, it functioned as proof of Tommaso’s charitable nature. Again, by the 17th century, images of the poor in the Spanish Empire will serve the needs of the rich, as I will soon discuss.
The final image of this postscript is Ghirlandaio’s Adoration of the Shepherds (1485) [Figure 1.3]. This painting was commissioned by Francesco Sassetti, as “part of the inner circle of Lorenzo de Medici.”[29] Again, we see the birth of Christ and shepherds coming to witness this event. However, Ghirlandaio’s shepherds are much more pleasant to view than those of Mantegna. While they have the markers of physical laborers—tanned skin with wrinkles and hollowed cheeks—and wear drab-colored clothing, these peasants do not have the same horrific expressions as their counterparts in Mantegna’s work. These figures are more idealized and have an air of dignity about them. However, the viewer can still identify them as poor compared to Mary and Joseph. The Biblical characters are dressed elegantly. Joseph has on a bright golden yellow cloak and a lilac gown with embroidery around the neckline. Mary wears a deep black robe with golden trimming. Underneath it, she wears a bright red dress with similar golden embroidery around her neckline. The quality of their clothing is very high, meanwhile the shepherds are dressed in coarse, plain, and dark clothing. While Christ may have been a humble carpenter in religious texts, this painting connects him to wealth, as early depictions made him appear as a Roman emperor. The shepherds, who live without high economic means are merely witnesses to the birth of Christ. This image shows that they will be admitted to his kingdom. However, he is not a part of their world. The poor can really only join Christ in the next life, which becomes a major theme in Spanish 17th century art surrounding poverty, which I will proceed to explore in the following chapters. I plan to show how these depictions evolved in turn with the faux concern for the poor and affected Baroque Spanish art. Specifically, I will attempt to make a link between images of poverty and the upholding of social and religious structures.
CHAPTER TWO: BARTOLOMÉ ESTEBAN MURILLO
Like Velázquez, Murillo was born in Seville in 1617. Although we consider Velázquez to be the king of Spanish Baroque painting, in the 17th century Murillo was considered the prime painter of his time. In fact, he founded the Seville Academy of Art.[30] He is best known for his images of beggar boys and the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary. Titian, Veronese, Tintoretto, Rubens, and Velázquez were his main influences.[31] While Murillo was influenced by Velázquez, the former’s images do not have that extreme realism. Instead, Murillo chose to idealize his subjects, and is described as “a painter of pretty pictures, smooth and sweet, a popular artist.”[32] In a way, he is the opposite of de Ribera in that the Valencian artist showed macabre scenes, while Murillo showed appealing scenes. However, one thing that de Ribera and Murillo do have in common is their idealization of the poor.
Murillo’s Three Boys (1670) [Figure 2.1] is a wonderful first example of this romanticization of the poor. Three beggar boys form a triangle and are framed by an idyllic cloudy sky. One of the white boys is guarding a pie in his hands from the black boy holding a jug on his back who is politely gesturing that the other boy share. Grabbing his leg is a younger boy who looks at the viewer and smiles. For beggars, these boys are well dressed. Even though their clothes are loose-fitting, they are clean clothes and their white shirts have not started to fade, rip, or stain. Furthermore, the boys have clean faces and plump cheeks. The only sign of poverty is the feet of the boy on the right. The balls of his feet are calloused, dry and dirty. However, he is not bone thin, as most beggar boys would have been. He looks like a healthy twelve-year-old boy. It is also important to point out the complexion of the two white boys: their skin is very pale for beggars. Seville gets sun all year round, and it is particularly harsh from April until about October. “Street urchins” in 17th century Seville would have had very tanned skin, but these boys do not. The children in Three Boys are “picturesquely dressed and . . . healthily colored.”[33] Instead of portraying the reality of poverty, Murillo offers the viewer an idyllic life with minor struggles.
This life of poverty—the alternate universe—that Murillo displays in Three Boys shows a life without many repercussions. The two older boys are fighting over food, which alludes to the fact that food is scarce for them; however, all of the boys look healthy. Murillo creates a world in which poverty exists with mild ramifications. In this imagined society, boys argue over food, but that does not lead to severe action; children of all socio-economic backgrounds argue over possessions. “Any hint of aggression between the two main characters has been softened by the third boy´s open smile at the viewer. Nor, despite the fearful expression of the seated boy, does the black boy look menacing. Though Murillo has chosen to depict a confrontation and explore the selfish covetousness of children, he does so in a sympathetic, even humorous vein.”[34] Thus, the image becomes an image about childish selfishness, and not starving children. Yet, statistics have shown us that beggar children were dying in large numbers during 17th century Spain due to malnutrition and the constant plagues and their public health ramifications.
In Three Boys, Murillo also alludes to the fact that there were very young children living on the streets of Seville, as evidenced by the young boy on the left. He cannot be older than eight, while the two other boys are probably about thirteen. Again, because he is painting “street urchins,” Murillo has to portray some aspects of Sevillian reality. However, the youngest boy looks healthy: his cheeks are full, suggesting he is well-fed. In reality, beggar children would most probably have had hollowed cheeks and skinny limbs. None of the figures in Three Boys exhibit any such characteristics. Again, while the two older boys are squabbling over food, their physical stature suggests that they both eat well. Murillo supports this by painting the boys with enough supplies to survive: they have a pie of some sort, a small jug, a much larger jug, and a woven basket that appears to be at least partially full as indicated by the volume in the painting. Here Murillo presents a very diluted version of historical reality. None of the devastating consequences of real poverty show themselves. Most prominently, the youngest boy is smiling directly at the viewer. He assures the viewer that, although he and the two other boys live on the streets of Seville, they are alright; there is no need to worry about them. Therefore, there is no need to try and change their social status. Murillo idealized the situation of the poor to justify the economic and social systems that put them in such a low position in society. This is an intentional fabrication.
In Boys Eating a Pie (1675) [Figure 2.2], Murillo depicts two boys eating a pie and a melon. Murillo places them in the same cloudy, cozy, and idyllic scenery as the boys in Three Boys. However, these boys have a less refined physical appearances: their clothes are dirty, ragged, torn, and much too large for them, while their faces and feet are quite filthy. These boys, at first glance, fit the stereotypical image of a “street urchin.” Yet, when a closer look is taken at their physical composition, the viewer starts to understand that these figures do not accurately represent poverty either. To begin with, their cheeks are rosy and plump. The presence of color in the human face typically correlates to health, and round cheeks connote a full diet. People, especially children, living on the streets of Seville in the 1600s did not look like this. Again, malnutrition leaves one’s face hollowed and sickly looking. Emmaciated individuals also tend to have incredibly thin limbs, with very limited muscles. The two figures in Boys Eating a Pie do not fit this description. For example, the blonde boy’s calves have the typical muscle mass of a young boy. Furthermore, there is also meat on his forearm. Whether or not the model’s body actually looked like this, Murillo chose to represent “street urchins” as happy young boys in decent shape. This, of course, clashes with the actual experiences and appearances of the lower classes.
Another aspect of Boys Eating a Pie that contradicts the realities of poverty is the way in which the boys are eating. The blonde boy playfully dangles a piece of melon over his mouth while the brunette boy tears off a piece of the pie by his side and smiles at his friend. Starving people usually do not take the time to dangle food over their mouths. Instead, because they are starving, they rush to eat; there is no playfulness in their eating. The blonde boy is essentially making a performance out of eating, which suggests that it is an activity he partakes in frequently. This gesture was associated with the aristocracy, as it suggests luxury and an abundance of food. Real beggar children would not make a game out of nourishing themselves because food signified basic survival, not play time. Yet, these boys Murillo painted are having fun while eating, which shows that feeding themselves is not a main concern of theirs. Thus, almost immediately we can tell that this boy is not starving. This is supported by the large basket resting at their feet, which is full of fruit. However, this is not the only food the boys have: they have their pie and a complete loaf of bread (which sits next to the basket). This is enough food for at least a few days. Beggar boys typically did not have this abundance of food. However, Murillo’s beggars almost appear to be on a picnic. Again, the blonde boy is luxuriously dangling food into his mouth while his friend graciously smiles at him. The viewer is presented a scene of succulent fruits and a happy-go-lucky attitude towards life. Murillo is not linking poverty with deprivation. If the beggar children have enough to eat and are content, poverty is not that bad and their suffering is minimal. However, Murillo’s images are not accurate portrayal of poverty in the Baroque; they offer the viewer implicit messages about the status quo. His beggars are happy, therefore, delinking poverty and unhappiness. Consequently, the elite do not really need to concern themselves with the lower classes. Three Boys and Boys Eating a Pie function to make the problem of the poor invisible: because the poor boys seem happy, healthy, and surviving, their socio-economic situations need not change. If the poor can stay where they are, the rich can also maintain their social status. Murillo helped the upper classes clean their hands and consciences of the poor.
Bartolomé Esteban Murillo’s most famous depiction of a beggar boy is The Young Beggar (1682) [Figure 2.3]. In this painting Murillo played with tenebrism so that the boy and the window are the only elements bathed in light; everything else is obscured by shadows. The extremely bright light shows us that this boy is delousing himself. His short hair is also a sign of lice. Children who had lice were shed of their long hair to get rid of the lice. Along with the insects’ details, Murillo shows the viewer that this boy is poor with his clothing and his room. The boy’s shirt is made completely of patches, and his shirt is too big for him. The room is in a similar condition: there is a single, small window in the mud room and the walls have cracks running down their entire length. Next to the boy’s left knee, we see flakes from the wall. There is no doubt that he is poor. However, he is not as skinny as a real beggar boy, just like the boys in Three Boys and Boys Eating a Pie. In fact, his calf muscles are quite a bit bigger than what would be expected of a sickly beggar boy in Baroque Seville. The figure is idealized and shown to be healthier than his real-life counterparts.
Other aspects of the boy’s appearance similarly not very plausible: his hair is neatly combed, which again, is not very realistic. Yet, next to him are shrimp shells and bread; shrimp would have been one of the few food items affordable even to the poor. However, at the boy’s feet is a beautiful basket of apples and a large jug of water or wine. So, in this image the boy is not in dire need of food. Another implausible detail is how clean the boy is. As I have mentioned before, people living on the streets or in a hovel like this would not have had access to enough water to be this clean. Even though this piojoso is not smiling like Murillo’s other beggar boys, he is also not a true representation of the plight of poor children in 17th century Spain.
Murillo, with his treatment of light, may have been alluding to the idea of salvation. The light is shining directly onto the beggar boy. With this, Murillo represents a divine presence that acknowledges the child’s insipid situation. God is enveloping this child within his light and knowledge to assure the viewer that this beggar boy will be saved from his temporary suffering. In the next life, this child will be saved. Therefore, if God will save the poor, the upper classes do not need to uproot the social order and, therefore, can stay in power. Murillo’s paintings offer a false narrative that tells the upper classes not to worry about the plight of the poor, for they are happy and healthy.
CHAPTER THREE: JUSEPE DE RIBERA
Jusepe de Ribera was another Spanish Baroque painter. Like Velázquez, he worked in a kind of realism that was greatly influenced by Caravaggio. More so than Velázquez, de Ribera used dark Caravaggio colors such as browns and blacks.[35] He also used chiaroscuro. De Ribera’s taste in subject matter too was strongly linked to Caravaggio. The Italian loved to subvert expectations and painted less than polite images, partly due to his wild personality. Similarly, many of de Ribera’s paintings show dark, macabre, and uncomfortable situations. He was born in Xàtiva, Spain, in 1591 and worked with Francisco Ribalta. However, by 1611 he left for Italy and never returned to the Iberian Peninsula. In 1616, de Ribera found himself in Naples, where his career in painting took off unchallenged.[36] In Naples, de Ribera painted the three paintings I will discuss.
While de Ribera shared a sense of realistic sensibility with Velázquez, like Murillo he tended more to romanticize the status of the poor. Blind Old Beggar (1632) [Figure 3.1] shows an old blind man with his lazarillo, his guide. The old man is begging as he holds a cup in his right hand that has a note attached to it, probably saying that he is blind and in need of money. De Ribera shows the viewer how poorly time has treated this man and how this process was exacerbated by physical toil: he is balding, and his beard is graying. His face is wrinkled, his cheeks are hollow, and his eyes are sunken. “Ribera’s model has not that hint of light or life in his eye that would lead a man to doubt his blindness . . . He is not in any sense a beau; not, by any strain of the imagination, flirtatious, amorous, jovial, jocular, convivial, or sociable.”[37] The light in the painting perfectly illuminates the aging of this old beggar. However, the intense light also falls on the boy’s face and his right sleeve. De Ribera’s use of chiaroscuro brings our attention to the lazarillo’s tattered and oversized clothes. The boy’s large dark orange coat is ripped at the shoulder, revealing his white undershirt. The light also reveals the boy’s expression: he is calm, possibly even smiling. It is important to note that, unlike his master, the boy is healthy: his cheeks are plump and his hair is long, signifying that he does not have lice. Finally, the boy is quite pale. This suggests that he does not spend time in the sun begging. So, through subtle details de Ribera tells the viewer that the situation of the old blind beggar and his guide is not that bad. They may be poor, but they are healthy and serene. The implication is that because these two are not miserable there is no need to feel bad for them. More importantly, there is no need to uproot the economic system oppressing them.
Blind Old Beggar has a connection to The Young Beggar in terms of light. De Ribera uses tenebrism symbolically, just as Murillo did. Light is shining onto the faces of the beggar and his lazarillo, two marginalized characters, while their surroundings are in the dark. Light functions as the presence of God as it did in Renaissance paintings. So, by shining light onto the faces of two beggars, de Ribera is suggesting that God is acknowledging their situation and promising them salvation in the next life. The artist is trying to remind the viewer that their suffering is physical and temporary. God sees them and, in return for their submission to pain in this life, He will reward them with salvation in the next. Thus, the upper-class viewer is absolved of any responsibility of this social inequality and injustice. It is God’s will that the poor be where they are, and correspondingly, the rich where they are.
The blind beggar and his lazarillo are not shown with much a fake sympathy, unlike Murillo’s beggars. De Ribera makes a somber spectacle out of the beggar instead of romanticizing as Murillo does. However, by making the beggar and his life a spectacle, de Ribera in turn trivializes their poverty. The idea of a spectacle has a performative connotation, therefore, there is a subtle hint that this is a scene in a play, not the reality of any particular individual. As I mentioned in Chapter 1, the poor were considered “others” instead of the Spaniards in Naples, who were essentially foreigners, in the 17th century. This attitude is clearly reflected in Blind Old Beggar; de Ribera showcases this spectacle of a poor and physically disabled man so that the rich can gawk at him and satisfy their curiosity around the life of Naples’ Other. Moreover, by representing this image to an upper-class patron, de Ribera is playing into the idea that concern for the poor only really helps the aristocrats in their spiritual penance. A señor could hang this up in his house in an attempt to “care” for the poor symbolically so that he can secure absolution the afterlife. Yet, by only concerning himself with the poor through a painting is the 17th century equivalent of liking a post on social media concerning poverty. There is no actual action or change required; it only serves to promote the ego of the viewer (or “liker”). Again, the covert messaging—which claims that the suffering of the poor is only temporary and that they will be rewarded in the next life—preserves existing socio-economic structures.
If Blind Old Beggar shows a tranquil life for the poor, then de Ribera’s Taste (1615) [Figure 3.2] shows the poor as healthy, well-fed, and simple people. The painting is one of five depicting the five senses. Taste shows a portly man treating himself to wine, bread, and navajas, or razor clams. “It is important to note that for the poor . . . wine and bread constituted the main dietary staples as well as purchases.”[38] This painting calls to mind Annibale Carracci’s The Beaneater, which shows a peasant eating beans. However, de Ribera’s figure has a much more extravagant meal: He has a “paper cone of black olives, six of which have spilled onto the table; a carafe of red wine; a large bread roll; a shallow bowl filled to overflowing with what scholars have variously guessed to be squid, cuttlefish, eels . . . and a truncated cone, most likely of salt. The flat oval at the far right on the table resembles a bay leaf that, along with the salt, could indicate seasonings for the dish.”[39] This abundance of food and the plumpness of the man suggest that, even in poverty, workers are still able to eat plenty and be merry. The viewer knows that this man is most likely a farm worker due to “the ruddiness of his cheeks [and] his sun-browned, workmanlike hands, . . . a dirty thumbnail, and what looks like a wart or two near the top opening of his jacket.”[40] His shirt is also thinning, tearing, and incredibly dirty. The sweat from working in the fields is turning his shirt gray from its original white. Moreover, he holds the wine glass by its foot, implying that he does not know proper eating manners. While he is poor and “uncultured,” this man is happy. In poverty, he has found health and joy. Therefore, de Ribera tells the viewer that the poor are comfortable where they are and there is no need to help them rise out of poverty.
Because Christianity purports that this life is less important that the next one, in which an individual will either go to Heaven or Hell. Consequently, the Church claims that the corporeal aspect of “this” life is only temporary, and therefore not as important as one’s spiritual experiences. Therefore, there is a hierarchy in physical senses, which puts touch, taste, and romantic experiences at the bottom. Hence, because taste is a lower sense, de Ribera links it with the poor. Within this othering of the lower classes, there is a belief that all they know is the physical and that they are not capable of higher thought. To put it bluntly, the figure that de Ribera painted looks like a country bumpkin—fat and dumb. This laborer is only characterized by his physical aspects. Even his stare is somewhat empty because he is only focused on the physical act of eating. With Taste, de Ribera characterizes the lower classes very derisively: they are only capable of physical labor and eating. De Ribera shows this laborer almost as an animal who is incapable of “higher thought.” Thus, he and other upper-class members may not have believed that the poor were even worth a change in the social structure, since the poor were not fully human, only a pathetic Other. When the dominant group fails to recognize the humanity of another social group, it is very unlikely that they will give up part of their power and resources so that the divisions between classes are lessened.
While Taste depicts a poor but happy adult man, de Ribera’s The Clubfooted Boy (1642) [Figure 3.3] shows a proud and joyful beggar boy. This boy is about twelve years old and has a condition called cleft foot, which deforms his foot preventing him from walking with ease. So, to accommodate his condition, the boy carries a crutch. The beggar boy is without shoes and his clothes are oversized and torn. He holds a paper in his in his left hand, asking for alms. Interestingly enough though, “the poor had to register for licensed begging to be protected from impostors that would take ‘alms from the truly poor who cannot work.’”[41] There is no doubt that this boy is poor. However, it is very odd that a boy with a club foot condition is set against an ideal landscape with rolling hills. One would think that if a boy with a cleft foot could even reach this point in nature, he would be sweating profusely after climbing a hill. Yet, de Ribera shows us a proud and happy boy. Additionally, instead of walking with his crutch, the boy throws it over his shoulder as if he were a soldier with his gun. And, his smile is wide enough to reveal his crooked teeth. This boy, who in reality probably suffered a great deal of pain every day, is shown as a jovial kid. In the 17th century, collecting images of those with physical disabilities and deformities became very fashionable amongst the upper class, because it allowed the rich to gawk at the poor from a safe distance. Furthermore, images made by Murillo and de Ribera represented the poor in a way in which did not challenge the upper classes’ view of society. By hanging up images of happy, healthy, and dumb beggars, aristocrats could carry on with their lives, while still claiming that they cared for the poor. Of course, they did not actually care for the lower classes; instead, it was a way for them to secure a spot in Heaven. The Clubfooted Boy assures the rich that there is no need to worry about the seemingly poor. There is no strife in this ideal, happy image, no feeling of guilt on the part of the viewer. The rich can pride themselves on being good Christians, even if they avert their gaze from the unmediated reality. Instead of questioning why this boy and other individuals lived in poverty, de Ribera presents the poor as happy, dumb and flat characters who are barely human. By belittling the lower class, de Ribera upholds the social and economic systems that put them in that position in the first place. His work functions to reaffirm the cosmovision of the aristocracy in Naples, and the larger Spanish Empire. Because God willed the poor to be where they are, all the rich need to do is think of them every once in a while to make sure they 1) keep all of their power and resources in this life and 2) secure redemption in the afterlife.
CHAPTER FOUR: DIEGO RODRÍGUEZ DE SILVA Y VELÁZQUEZ
Unlike his two contemporaries, Velázquez did not portray in his work a romanticized view of the poor. Born in Seville in 1599, he studied under Francisco Pacheco. When he was 17 or 18, he left this studio and worked as an independent artist in Seville; it was during this time that he painted the three works I will discuss. When Velázquez was 23, he went to Madrid and became the court painter for Felipe IV, the king of Spain. After obtaining this coveted position, Velázquez left bodegones or still life scenes of bodegas, taverns, or shops behind. Still, when he was in Seville, he painted bodegón scenes to showcase his skills in realism.[42] Since Annibale Carracci’s The Beaneater, bodegones included the people who typically inhabited these spaces. “Velázquez further emphasized the novelty of his work by challenging the elevated status of history painting and offering an interpretation of playful poetic conventions within the context of a bodegón . . . By joining these clever conceits with his humble subject matter, Velázquez highlighted his ingenuity and demonstrated his ability to take Spanish bodegones to a new level of sophistication.”[43] Within these scenes Velázquez showed humans with extreme realism. This is natural since he was strongly influenced by Caravaggio. However, realism is not the only element that Velázquez took from the great Italian Baroque painter. Velázquez employed tenebrism, intentionally contrasting extreme light and shadow in a painting. This technique adds emotional drama to his paintings, elevating them from simple scientific studies of humans.[44] Some scholars speculate whether Velázquez felt sympathy for the lower classes, considering he painted many realistic images of the poor. There is also the question of Juan de Pareja: he was a slave that Velázquez inherited. Then, after teaching him to paint, Velázquez freed de Pareja. He even painted his former slave as a noble man. However, freeing slaves was fairly common in 17th century Spain.[45] There is little information on de Pareja, so it would be irresponsible for us to draw conclusions about Velázquez’s feelings on the poor and marginalized, base on an anecdote.
One of Velázquez’s most famous paintings of the poor is Old Woman Frying Eggs (1618) [Figure 4.1]. He painted this when he was only 18 or 19 years old. Historians believe that it was one of the first paintings he created after leaving his apprenticeship with Francisco Pacheco.[46] Again, this is the epitome of a bodegón scene. Velázquez shows an old woman cooking eggs and talking with a boy, who might be the same model from Waterseller of Seville. “This painting depicts a brief snapshot of the gritty, lowly, everyday lives of the Sevillian people struggling to survive. Both the child and the old woman display a lack of emotion and exude a sense of boredom and monotony, adding to the bleakness of the scene and rendering it truly unidealized and lifelike.”[47] It is true that, with his bodegones, Velázquez was breaking the traditions of his master Francisco de Pacheco by depicting the poor, moving drastically away from his training. Old Woman Frying Eggs is clearly different from Murillo and de Ribera’s work. The peasants in these two artists’ works are happy and usually healthy. Unfortunately for them, the poor in Velázquez’s paintings are treated as kindly. The older woman skin has wrinkles around her mouth and temples, while the bags under her eyes are very pronounced. To add to this demeanor of poverty, the old woman’s cheeks are hollow, which is accentuated even more by Velázquez’s use of light. Her physical state suggests she is not well-fed. Finally, some historians believe her blank stare to be an indicator of blindness.[48] Age and hard work have worn down her body. There are also signs of wear and tear in her headscarf: parts of the fabric are graying, indicating that she has worn this item consistently and that she has worked hard and perspired in it. The background setting in Old Woman Frying Eggs also connotes poverty: the dish used to cook the eggs is chipped, the gourd in the boy’s arms is decaying, and the cloth around the woven basket in the background is graying, just like the old woman’s scarf. The elements in the environment are dirty, worn, and decaying, suggesting that these two characters do not have the means to buy higher quality goods and resources.
The composition Old Woman Frying Eggs deserves a brief explanation. For instance, the spatial placement in which the image’s various elements are shown are all different. The table in the forefront is shown from above, while the old woman is depicted head on and the young boy from slightly above eye level.[49] This suggests that the painting was a chance for Velázquez to study perspective and light. Furthermore, his use of tenebrism draws visual parallels between the eggs, the white dishes, the old woman’s shawl, the boy’s shirt collar, the basket in the background, and the faces of the boy and old woman. These are basically the only elements in the painting that are lit. These still life elements make Old Woman Frying Eggs an exemplar bodegón painting, along with the fact that Velázquez shows common stock in the image.[50]
While the young artist used this painting to show off his every improving technical skills, this bodegón scene not only broke with his former training, but also with the general depiction of the poor in 17th century art. “In contrast to the cardsharps, fortunetellers, and lowlifes represented in Caravaggio’s genre scenes, Velázquez’s figures appear humble yet dignified.”[51] He certainly does not romanticize the character’s appearance like his contemporaries Murillo and de Ribera. Instead, Velázquez employs realism and shows his subjects as real people in real situations. Velázquez highlights the old woman’s age: she has bags and dark circles under her eyes, hollowed cheeks, and veiny hands. Velázquez honestly portrayed how age had ravaged this woman. While the painter has deprived us of a background, we are still able to tell that the two figures are not wealthy. Old Woman Frying Eggs is likely the most forgiving of Velázquez’s three works analyzed in this paper. The tone is somber and there is no doubt that these two characters have a hard life, yet Velázquez still offers us the situation with realism. “Velázquez found that the ‘ordinary could be raised to the level of art and enjoyed in its own right,’ which is something that the Carracci brothers and Caravaggio had discovered in Italy at the turn of the century.”[52] Nevertheless, these topics were meant to be enjoyed as they were and not changed. He is not romanticizing the poor’s situation to fake sympathy for them. However, he also does not romanticize their situation to call for social change. Instead, Velázquez shows the situation as it is and nothing more. Although they inspired the likes of Courbet and Daumier to critique 19th century France, Velázquez’s paintings are not about inspiring social change. For him, it is a study of objects, texture, perspective and light. While the poor may be his subject, Old Woman Frying Eggs could be considered almost a scientific and objective study of reality. Therefore, he shows the reality of the poor, but without any further pretext. The woman’s headscarf is gray not because Velázquez wants to call attention to her lower economic status, but because that is the reality of the fabric. It is significant that Velázquez chose the lower classes as the subjects of his bodegones; he certainly broke with his instructor’s traditions. Ultimately, though, his aim was not social change. Velázquez showed reality as it was and did not ask his viewers, who were mostly aristocrats, to change it. I believe that there is a way to call for real social change without idealizing the poor. Murillo and de Ribera did not ask their viewers to alter the socio-economic divisions of 17th century Spain by idealizing the situation of the poor. On the other hand, Velázquez showed the same subjects but treated their reality as a fact. Poverty simply exists in his work; we cannot change it because it is just a part of reality.
The second painting I will discuss is Velázquez’s Waterseller of Seville (1622) [Figure 4.2]. As the title suggests, the painting depicts a water seller from the streets of Seville, which was considered a lowly subject matter. Juan de Fonseca y Figueroa, one of the men who promoted Velázquez’s career, patronized the painting.[53] “In the foreground appears an enormous earthenware water jug, expertly rendered in detail. On a rustic wooden table on the right side of the composition sits another, smaller clay pitcher.”[54] In fact, the jug is the brightest element in the painting.[55] The jug, compared with the plain black background, shines as Velázquez showcases his technical skill of chiaroscuro and domain over textures, being that water has just splashed onto the jug. The viewer sees three figures lit in varying levels of light: a young boy, the old water seller, and a shady figure. It appears that the boy is buying water from the old man, whose face is tanned from working in the sun his whole life. And, we see that he is an older man from the wrinkles on his forehead and his hollowed cheeks. The viewer can also see that the waterseller is poor on too many instances. The sleeves of his cloak are almost completely torn at the shoulders. Furthermore, the figure’s collar is starting to fray. While the left sleeve of his shirt has a brilliant white color, the viewer soon realizes that this color is produced by the light Velázquez projects onto the fabric. White clothing, even if it is dirty, almost shines in direct light. Thus, the forearm of the waterseller’s shirt is resplendent, but the cuff—which is in the shadows—has a yellow overtone. This suggests that the shirt is old and has been worked in. When we combine the tattered cloak and dirty undershirt, we can guess that the waterseller could not have afforded to buy new clothing. There is no doubt that he is poor; he is a waterseller! That much is obvious. The young boy to the waterseller’s right, however, is not. In fact, the boy is dressed better than he is. For example, the black color of his shirt has not faded, signifying the high quality of his clothing. In the 17th century, only the upper classes could afford fabric with a deep “Spanish” black color. Black cloth was a luxury, and black cloth that kept its color even more so. Thus, the young boy is not a beggar child. Perhaps he is a page for an aristocrat and was sent out to get water. Whatever the narrative is, there is a clear economic divide between the two principal characters.
Velázquez establishes the economic difference through the fabric that the characters wear. However, unlike de Ribera, he does not present the poor waterseller as a country bumpkin. In fact, his interpretation of the poor almost completely contradicted the typical depictions of the poor in Western art at the time: “these prints often depicted the tradesmen [like watersellers] as ugly, grotesque figures [think de Ribera] encumbered by their toils . . . In fact, the profile pose and solemn demeanor of Velázquez’s Waterseller are closer to . . . classicizing stances and serious expressions . . . than to the objects of derision seen in most early seventeenth-century prints of lowly tradesmen.”[56] Velázquez showcases his “lowly” subject honestly and with dignity, which was significant for the time period. He was one of the first artists at this time to show the poor with full humanity. While the waterseller is of the working class, he is still a human being who elicits sympathy from the viewer. However, “Velázquez’s naturalism, ‘probably more than anything, is the true meaning of this work.’ This suggestion that naturalistic painting is impervious to interpretation nevertheless represents an anachronistic approach to Velázquez’s work and ignores the artist’s own emphasis on the importance of invention.”[57] Velazquez’s invention is his ability to humanize the figures or the poor and lower classes. This may have been revolutionary at the time, but it is still important to acknowledge that his work did not call for social change. He humanized the lower classes, but he did not aim to lift them out of poverty.
While the waterseller is clearly poor, he is not grotesque or overburdened by his situation. In fact, he just looks old and tired. Having broken from his master Francisco de Pacheco, Velázquez “was no longer interested in trying to improve upon nature, rather he wanted to get back to the visual basics of nature and elevate the quotidian to something worthy of artistic attention.”[58] As a result, the waterseller is convincingly depicted as an old and overworked man. Life has not been particularly kind to him, considering the realism in which Velázquez depicted his wrinkles and the quality of his clothes. However, the waterseller is still present, doing his job and going on. Being poor has not defeated his spirit; he is just tired, not broken. In short, he is able to survive. Still, showing the poor in a realistic light does not equate a call for change. If the waterseller is still capable of doing his job despite his economic situation, then there is no need to change the social structure. In fact, who would sell water if not this man? Surely not the aristocrats. Perhaps there is a subtle message in Waterseller of Seville that the economy could not sustain itself if the lower classes were suddenly elevated. The young upper-class boy needs the waterseller to get the most basic resource, water. Without the existence of the poor and working class, the upper class could not maintain its position. Wealth only comes from subjecting someone else to poverty. Thus, Velázquez could be depicting the reality of Spain’s proto-capitalist economy. The waterseller and, by extension, the poor must stay in their situations for the upper class to continue to exist.
If this is the case, Waterseller of Seville is by no means a call to action to help the poor. Instead, it is a snapshot of daily life that represents the economic schisms and their purpose in greater society. I do not wish to have Velázquez paint saccharine images of poverty, like Murillo. However, at a certain point, artists need to be held responsible for the social implications of their work. There is general consensus amongst historians that Velázquez had Jewish ancestors. At the time, the Inquisition was persecuting conversos, or “recent” Christians who were believed to have Jewish lineage. Thus, having Jewish ancestors was a possibly dangerous thing in 17th century Spain. It is completely understandable that Velázquez would not want to draw too much attention to his genetic makeup, but I still struggle with the extent to which he stood up for economically marginalized people. Painting “others” with humanity and dignity is revolutionary, but I do not believe this was meant to uproot the socio-economic divides. His paintings have a matter-of-fact air to them. He shows poverty as a part of life and does not ask his viewers to change said fact. The waterseller is tired and overworked, but, again, there is nothing the viewer can, or should, do about this.
The final painting by Velázquez I will discuss is Kitchen Servant (1618) [Figure 4.3]. At the center of the image is an African slave in a typical 17th century kitchen, with “a shimmering copper pot, a ceramic jug and glazed bowls overturned to dry, and a brass mortar and pestle.”[59] The woman depicted in Velázquez’s painting wears a brown jacket, a maroon skirt with a missing button, and covers her hair with a white bonnet. In fact, her jacket is starting to rip at her bellybutton, indicating she often had to execute physical labor in these clothes. The earthy colors of her clothing and the deterioration show that she had a low social position—that of a slave. The viewer can see that she is poor just by her clothing. However, Velázquez placed her in the kitchen of an aristocratic family. The jugs are of high quality and do not have chips or deformities, unlike the earthenware in Old Woman Frying Eggs and Waterseller of Seville. Furthermore, the clothes present in Kitchen Servant are actually white and not gray. This suggests that the household can afford new, clean clothes. As the woman sets down one of the jugs, she turns her head to her right and lowers her gaze. Her expression is similar to that of the waterseller: tired but dignified. She may not be happy or wealthy, but Velázquez portrays her as a woman who is surviving: “With a gesture that suggests both seeing and listening, the woman inclines her head toward the illumination on the painting’s left-hand side. The object of her glaze is unclear; she may be staring at some point outside the canvas, observing the jug and pot on the table, or turning to look toward the framed scene in the background.”[60] Regardless, her head is [Figure 4.3] inclined towards the Biblical scene behind her—the Supper at Emmaus. She is turning her head away from all of her work which lies on the table. Female African slaves
had little control over their bodily existence. Masters frequently raped and prostituted African slaves, and they often sold or traded their slaves’ children for service elsewhere. Significantly, the gendered dynamics between master and slave shed light on the relationship between beholder and subject in Supper at Emmaus. Velázquez mitigated the woman´s potential to generate desire by representing her eyes averted from the viewer’s, even as the artist subjected her to the spectator’s gaze. Velázquez thus created an image that allowed its primary male beholder to look upon one possession encompassed within another: a female slave represented within a painting by Seville’s most promising young artist.[61]
Thus, Kitchen Servant was meant for the household of a member of the aristocracy, so it would have been seen by all members of an aristocratic Sevillian house: men, women, and “various social and ethnic groups” like North African slaves.[62] Because this woman is depicted in a kitchen, Kitchen Servant is a bodegón scene just like An Old Woman Frying Eggs and Waterseller of Seville.
Similar to Old Woman Frying Eggs, there is a strong contrast between light and shadow. Velázquez painted a strong light coming from the left side of the image illuminating part of the woman’s face, her bonnet, the jug she holds, the rag spilling out from a woven basket in the background, and a set of bowls on the right side of the table. The painting behind the woman, painting of Supper at Emmaus, is the scene when Christ resurrected eats with his disciples and they realize his identity. Most of the slaves in Seville were from North Africa and they made up as much as ten percent of the city’s population.[63] Due to Seville’s importance at the start of the 17th century, “slave ships bound for [Spanish] colonies regularly stopped there, and Africans on board were then bought and sold by local Spaniards. By the late sixteenth century, Seville’s African populace was large enough to comprise three religious confraternities, whose activities were strictly controlled by the archbishop.”[64] One of the aspects of the Counter-Reformation was converting non-Europeans to Catholicism. Therefore, this painting could be related to religious conversion of this woman.
Before I discuss whether or not this image justifies slavery and poverty mediated by religion, it is important to understand how Velázquez depicts this woman. To begin, her skin tone and hair are very realistic. In most European paintings of Africans, the skin tones are not depicted accurately; they are often exoticized. Moreover, non-African painters could not depict black hair and its curl patterns well, most likely due to the fact that depicting this physical attribute was not one of their priorities. However, because Velázquez stayed true to his hyper realism, this woman looks like a living, breathing human from Northern Africa. She is not a stereotype or caricature of a slave. While she may have been depicted realistically, this does not mean that Velázquez hoped that she would rise from her low position. Her body language—hunched over and downcast eyes—suggest her subservience.[65] Yet, this position is almost perfectly repeated in the painting within the painting: Christ, like the woman, has his arms stretched out in front of him. The only difference in their positions is that Christ’s eyes are not downcast; he looks directly at his disciples and, subsequently, the viewers of Kitchen Servant. As mentioned before, the light in the painting is coming from the left side, which happens to be where the “painting” of Supper at Emmaus is located and falls directly on the slave’s face. The frame and the perspective of the wall portrayed in Supper at Emmaus give the temporary illusion that the painting is in fact a view from a window. Upon further inspection, it becomes clear that the scene is a painting within Kitchen Servant. Thus, Velázquez “invited the beholder to consider the elusive relationship between the lofty biblical episode and the humble foreground scene.”[66]
Both “paintings,” or scenes, share the same light source. Light falls onto the woman’s face while also illuminating Christ’s face in the smaller image. This employment of chiaroscuro may have connected the suffering of African slaves to the suffering of Christ. Thus, the choice of Supper at Emmaus suggests that, just like Christ, slaves may find “salvation” through Catholicism and sacrifice, which was the belief of Seville’s religious leaders.[67] They believed that African slaves needed to be baptized, and, through this, they could “survive” their subjugation, which was forced onto them by many of Spain’s economic and religious elite. While this woman is not romanticized, Velázquez does not give the viewer reason to abolish slavery. Instead, he suggests that her terrible social position may be elaborated by religion. She may be suffering in this life, but Christ will save her in the next. To add to this, according to the Catholic Church, God predetermines everyone’s social standing. It would be useless to question the position of a slave because God designed her position, and she will be saved by Christ in the next life.
The repetition of a table has significance in this interpretation. As a slave in an upper class Sevillian house, she cannot dine with the other household members; she must clean it for them, but she cannot participate with them. Again, by placing Supper at Emmaus to her left, Velázquez may be suggesting, that only if she accepts Christianity can she “have a place at the table” in the next life. Ultimately, her (forced) hard work will be rewarded in the afterlife only if she takes Catholicism into her heart. Yes, he did not romanticize or exoticize this woman, but Velázquez is showing her salvation as related on her ability to accept Jesus Christ. Consequently, Velázquez is not only not challenging the social systems of slavery and Catholicism, but also, he is subtly supporting them. Christ is capable of saving the souls of everyone, including African slaves, according to this painting. And, because Christ is being displayed by a Spanish artist in Seville, one of the most important and staunchly Catholic cities in the Spanish Empire, Christ is a tool of the Catholic Church in Kitchen Servant. Velázquez depicts what was perceived at the time as the necessity of the Counter-Reformation. The movement is intended to show the English and Dutch an authentic form of Christianity; the Catholic Church also boasted of “saving” Africans and Native Americans by “bringing” them Christianity. However, this incessant desire to convert non-Europeans was more about legitimizing the power of the Catholic Church. Again, we see how a false concern for the poor and marginalized ultimately functioned to reinforce the socio-economic divides and legitimacy of the Catholic Church in the 17th century Spanish Empire.
Velázquez catered to the beliefs of Seville’s religious leaders. They looked for art that would shine a better light on slavery so that they could justify the Crown and the Church’s actions in Africa and Latin America. By linking this woman’s suffering with salvation in the next life, he seems to trivialize all of the trauma experienced by slaves in Europe and America. He could have depicted her as a human in this kitchen. However, he did not really do that. By showing this woman in relationship with Christ, he is almost mediating her existence. My vision for a “call to action” for Velázquez would consist of him showing the poor and marginalized as they are: tired physical, emotionally, and mentally with no further pretexts. Of course, he showed the poor as dignified in the 17th century which is pretty revolutionary. However, he still qualified their struggles with religion, capitalism, etc. He showed us that the poor existed to keep the rich in power. As a descendant of a converso, this is disappointing. I understand that, in light of the Inquisition and development in his career, he had to act within the status quo. However, social change is not achieved through protecting one’s self. It is a tricky situation, but I held some expectations for Velázquez to act akin to Miguel de Cervantes, the author of El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha. Cervantes inserted very extreme criticism in El Quijote even though it could have led to his persecution. Moreover, Cervantes did not hide these criticisms deep down in his exemplary novel. With just the slightest amount of analysis the reader discovers that Cervantes criticizes the Crown, the Church, and the economic divides at play in the 17th century. And, he was a noble man with a lot to lose. So, it is against these standards that I compare Velázquez. Cervantes purposefully stuck his neck out during a very decisive political time period. Velázquez took steps to change Western painting, but he did not commit to social change.
CONCLUSION
Whether it was the beggar boy with lice in Murillo’s The Young Beggar or The Clubfooted Boy by de Ribera, Baroque painters represented the rampant poverty on the streets of Seville with different attitudes. However, neither The Young Beggar nor The Clubfooted Boy inspire real compassion or a desire for change in the viewer. The poor were portrayed as happy and content in paintings as a way to rationalize the ruling classes’ control of the political and economic power levers. The status quo was most strongly reaffirmed by the Catholic Church, which proclaimed that God established this social system. He had predetermined the status of the poor, meaning that poverty was not a punishment, but more so a destiny. In fact, the poor, according to the Church, were more likely to be saved since they “renounced” material goods. Christ proclaims in the Beatitudes that “the meek shall inherit the earth.”[68] In other words, the poor will be saved in the next life as a reward for their suffering in this one. Consequently, “‘charity was established not so much for the poor as for the rich,’ in the words of an anonymous Sevillian cleric, who explained that God, in his infinite wisdom, had created the poor so that the rich could win salvation. A community that engaged in collective acts of charity could expect to enjoy divine favor and protection.”[69] Spanish Baroque paintings held up this idea that the poor lived a happy, but simple life so that the upper class could be saved, but most importantly, preserve their social status and political and economic power.
Bartolomé Esteban Murillo is without a doubt a proponent of this attitude. All of his images of beggar children romanticized their conciliations of poverty. While his figures appear to be beggars on the most superficial level, they quickly reveal healthy and happy children at a deeper level. The children in Murillo’s paintings are often depicted with an abundance of food. They also have normal body weights and adequate muscle mass for children their age. Thus, their calves are strong and their cheeks are rosy and plump. Murillo also input a generally playful attitude in his paintings. Three Boys, for example, has a possibly dark subject matter—three boys fighting over food. These children are no more than thirteen and do not have a home or anyone to take care of them. Therefore, their fight for food is a battle for playful childish distraction. This could easily be a much darker painting, a sinister one indeed, but Murillo depicts fighting over food as a part of boyhood. It is only natural that the boys fight over food. In fact, it seems to be decoupled from their socio-economic status. Furthermore, the body language of all three boys is very non-confrontational. None of the figures look threatening. Again, this is essentially a scene of children playing and not children starving. It is much easier to look at boys play-fighting than young, starving beggars. The viewer used these paintings to reaffirm their own obliviousness for the situation of the poor.
Jusepe de Ribera also played into the “othering” of the poor, but specifically in Naples. Like his Sevillian counterpart, de Ribera idealized, or even simplified, the situation of the poor. The Clubfooted Boy is a prime example of this: the boy has a cleft foot, but somehow managed to climb up a hill and pose proudly with his crutch. This is most likely not realistic for a young, physically disabled beggar boy. However, de Ribera chose to display this child as almost a circus attraction. By minimizing the boy’s suffering, de Ribera basically dehumanized him. This, in turn, showed the upper class that the poor were not a part of their community and their world, and, consequently, there was no need to care about their wellbeing. This dehumanization was also justified by the fact that de Ribera displayed many of his poor subjects as simpletons. By showing the poor as unintelligent, de Ribera sent a message to the aristocrats that the poor were too simple to understand their own suffering; therefore, the rich did not need to concern themselves with the lower class.
Unlike his contemporaries, Velázquez did not idealize social conditions in his work. Instead, he chose to paint in a realistic style. For example, in Old Woman Frying Eggs, he is able to capture the texture of the rotting gourd, as well as the thinning of the old woman’s shawl. Yet, it is important to note that these details did not call for social reform. Objectivity, then, has two sides in Velázquez’s work: he did not falsely romanticize poverty, but he also did not create a call to action. Therefore, there was no need to question the economic divide between the poor and the rich, which was especially steep in Spain. Velázquez also showcased a Counter-Reformationist attitude towards salvation and non-Europeans in Kitchen Servant. The oppression and suffering of slaves were framed as a guarantee to salvation during the 17th century. During that time, their suffering was considered only physical and therefore temporary. As a result, God would save them in the next life. Because the subtext of Kitchen Servant is tied so closely to Catholicism, it is in a way reaffirming the Church’s power. Again, this is not a call for social reform because God created the social order. By legitimizing the socio-economic divides through Catholicism, Velázquez also upheld the power of the Catholic Church during the Counter-Reformation.
Spain was one of the leaders in the Counter-Reformation. The Crown fought wars with England and the Netherlands under the name of religion. Of course, within Spain, the Church took important steps to secure the power of Catholicism. As I mentioned in the introduction, brotherhoods, or confraternities, started popping up in the late 16th century and 17th century. “Their expansion in number and membership, and their new emphasis on works of charity, represented to a degree a response to the growing number of poor and unfortunate, especially in the cities. Many confraternities were associated with religious orders and offered an alternative to the parish, especially in cities and towns.”[70] One of the supposed missions of many Spanish confraternities was to provide assistance to the poor. However, the motivations of the individual members of the hermandades was usually not so pure. Most members partook in charity so that they could secure a spot in Heaven. As an institution, however, these brotherhoods were meant to give the Spanish Catholic Church a good image. All over the empire organizations composed of aristocrats were appear and claiming to not only spread Catholicism, but take care of the lower classes and other marginalized peoples. It does not seem like a coincidence that the Church in Spain started creating confraternities. The country was in dire need of a change in image. In face of the Reformation, the Catholic Church had to start justifying its actions and policies. While the Council of Trent (1545-1563) did aim to address some of the complaints wagered against Catholicism, the Church still had to find ways to fix its image. Thus, creating hermandades all over the Spanish Empire, which was on the decline in the 17th century, was a feasible option. By setting up confraternities aimed at charity, the Spanish Church and Crown could improve their image. However, as we now know, these hermandades were not established so much for the sake of charity as for improving the afterlives of the rich. The Church was aware of the limited affect that brotherhoods had on the poor, yet it kept them running as is so that the greater social and economic status quo could be maintained. Furthermore, art served to reinforce this new image of Catholicism. Artists like Murillo, de Ribera, and Velázquez were often patronized by Church members. Thus, it was expected of these painters to reinforce the different efforts to legitimize the power of the Catholic Church and the Counter-Reformation, whose power, of course, relied on the strict social and economic divisions in the Spanish Empire.
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End Notes
[1] James William Pattison, “Painting of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries” (Fine Arts Journal), 452.
[2] Moriscos were descendants of Iberian Muslims forced to convert to Catholicism; by the 17th century most of the moriscos considered themselves Catholic but were still discriminated against in Spain.
[3] Robert Scully, “In the Confident Hope of a Miracle: The Spanish Armada and Religious Mentalities in the Late Sixteenth Century” (Catholic Historical Review, 2003), 644.
[4] Sing d’Arcy, “Ecclesiastical Architecture and the Castilian Crisis of the Seventeenth Century: Seville Cathedral and the Church of the Sagrario” (Architectural Histories, 2014), 1.
[5] D’Arcy “Ecclesiastical Architecture and the Castilian Crisis of the Seventeenth Century: Seville Cathedral and the Church of the Sagrario” 1.
[6] D’Arcy 12.
[7] Polyxeni Potter, “‘How comes it, Rocinante, you’re so lean?’ ‘I’m underfed, with overwork I’m worn.’” (Emerging Infectious Diseases, 2018), 2.
[8] Elyse Cosma, “The Early Works of Velázquez Through a Phenomenological Lens” (University of Florida, 2012), 23.
[9] Cosma “The Early Works of Velázquez Through a Phenomenological Lens” 11-12.
[10] Cosma 14.
[11] Cosma “The Early Works of Velázquez Through a Phenomenological Lens” 15.
[12] Amanda Wunder, “Baroque Seville: Sacred Art in a Century of Crisis” (The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2017), 100.
[13] Wunder “Baroque Seville: Sacred Art in a Century of Crisis” 99.
[14] Wunder 114.
[15] Cosma “The Early Works of Velázquez Through a Phenomenological Lens” 13-14.
[16] Alexander Bailey Gauvin, “Blood and Glory in Baroque Seville and Naples” (Art History, 2018), 772.
[17] Gabriel Guarino “Spanish Celebrations in Seventeenth-Century Naples” (The Sixteenth Century Journal, 2006), 25.
[18] John Marino, Becoming Neapolitan: Citizen Culture in Baroque Naples, 2011, 17.
[19] Guarino “Spanish Celebrations in Seventeenth-Century Naples” 25-26.
[20] Marino, Becoming Neapolitan: Citizen Culture in Baroque Naples 62.
[21] Marino 13.
[22] Marino 47.
[23] Carmen Ripollés, “Fictions of Abundance in Early Modern Madrid: Hospitality, Consumption, and Artistic Identity in the Work of Juan van de Hamen y León” (Renaissance Quarterly),160.
[24] Ripollés “Fictions of Abundance in Early Modern Madrid: Hospitality, Consumption, and Artistic Identity in the Work of Juan van de Hamen y León” 160.
[25] Ripollés 175.
[26] Ripollés 168-169.
[27] Julia Miller, “Miraculous Childbirth and the Portinari Altarpiece” (Art Bulletin), 256.
[28] Miller “Miraculous Childbirth and the Portinari Altarpiece” 256.
[29] Janie Boyer, “St. Joseph Iconography in Fifteenth Century Florentine Painting” (University of South Carolina), 42.
[30] Potter “‘How comes it, Rocinante, you’re so lean?’ ‘I’m underfed, with overwork I’m worn.’” 1.
[31] Potter 1.
[32] Pattison "Painting of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries" 453.
[33] Luis Oceja, Marc W. Heerdink, Eric L. Stocks, Tamara Ambrona, Belén López-Pérez, Sergio Salgado, “Empathy, Awareness of Others, and Actions: How Feeling Empathy for One-Among-Others Motivates Helping the Other” (Basic and Applied Social Psychology), 164.
[34] Oceja, et al “Empathy, Awareness of Others, and Actions: How Feeling Empathy for One-Among-Others Motivates Helping the Other” 168.
[35] Pattison “Painting of the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries” 449.
[36] Perhaps because he was the head of the artist mafia in Naples and killed or scared away any competing artists.
[37] Delphine Darby Fitz, “Ribera and the Blind Men” (The Art Bulletin, 1957), 198.
[38] Lisa Vergara, “Il Gusto: José de Ribera’s Personification of Taste” (Gastronómica, 2012), 9.
[39] Vergara “Il Gusto: José de Ribera’s Personification of Taste” 8.
[40] Vergara 8.
[41] Potter “‘How comes it, Rocinante, you’re so lean?’ ‘I’m underfed, with overwork I’m worn.’” 2.
[42] Tanya J. Tiffany “Interpreting Velázquez: Artistic Innovation and Painted Devotion in Seventeenth-Century Seville” (The John Hopkins University, 2004), 59.
[43] Tiffany “Interpreting Velázquez: Artistic Innovation and Painted Devotion in Seventeenth-Century Seville” 89.
[44] Lance Esplund, “A Mysterious Domestic Univers: ‘An Old Woman Cooking Eggs’ by Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez Was Made When the Artist Was Just 18 or 19” (Wall Street Journal, 2014), 2.
[45] Tiffany “Interpreting Velázquez: Artistic Innovation and Painted Devotion in Seventeenth-Century Seville” 89.
[46] Esplund “A Mysterious Domestic Univers: ‘An Old Woman Cooking Eggs’ by Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez Was Made When the Artist Was Just 18 or 19” 1.
[47] Cosma “The Early Works of Velázquez Through a Phenomenological Lens” 43.
[48] Tiffany “Interpreting Velázquez: Artistic Innovation and Painted Devotion in Seventeenth-Century Seville” 59.
[49] Esplund “A Mysterious Domestic Univers: ‘An Old Woman Cooking Eggs’ by Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez Was Made When the Artist Was Just 18 or 19” 2.
[50] About 200 years after his work, Velázquez’s paintings inspired Manet and the optical realist movement. Many artists of the 19th century were inspired by his work to carry out social critique in France at the time.
[51] Tiffany “Interpreting Velázquez: Artistic Innovation and Painted Devotion in Seventeenth-Century Seville” 74.
[52] Cosma “The Early Works of Velázquez Through a Phenomenological Lens” 9.
[53] Tiffany “Interpreting Velázquez: Artistic Innovation and Painted Devotion in Seventeenth-Century Seville” 82.
[54] Tiffany 82.
[55] Tiffany 88.
[56] Tiffany 83-84.
[57] Tiffany 84.
[58] Cosma “The Early Works of Velázquez Through a Phenomenological Lens” 46-47.
[59] Tanya J. Tiffany “Light, Darkness, and African Salvation: Velázquez’s Supper at Emmaus” (Art History, 2008), 33.
[60] Tiffany “Light, Darkness, and African Salvation: Velázquez’s Supper at Emmaus” 33-34.
[61] Tiffany 40.
[62] Tiffany 38.
[63] Tiffany 38.
[64] Tiffany 40.
[65] Tiffany 43.
[66] Tiffany 37.
[67] Tiffany 41.
[68] Matthew 5:5
[69] Wunder “Baroque Seville: Sacred Art in a Century of Crisis” 99.
[70] Robert Bireley, “Redefining Catholicism: Trent and Beyond” (Cambridge History of Christianity, 2007) 158.
IMAGES
Figure 1.1 Andrea Mantegna’s Adoration of the Shepherds (1450)
Figure 1.2 Hugo van der Goes’ Portinari Altarpiece (1475)
Figure 1.3 Ghirlandaio’s Adoration of the Shepherds (1485)
Figure 2.1 Murillo’s Three Boys (1670)
Figure 2.2 Murillo's Boys Eating a Pie (1675)
Figure 2.3 Murillo's The Young Beggar (1682)
Figure 3.1 de Ribera's Blind Old Beggar (1632)
Figure 3.2 de Ribera’s Taste (1615)
Figure 3.3 de Ribera’s The Clubfooted Boy (1642)
Figure 4.1 Velázquez's Old Woman Frying Eggs (1618)
Figure 4.2 Velázquez’s Waterseller of Seville (1622)
Figure 4.3 Velázquez's Kitchen Servant (1618)
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