Saint George and the dragon 1490

Editor: We’re looking at Carlo Crivelli’s "Saint George and the Dragon" from around 1490, made with tempera on panel. There's something unsettling and almost dreamlike about the composition. What's your take on it? Curator: Unsettling is a good word. I feel like Crivelli pulls you in, not with grand gestures, but with peculiar details. Notice the almost archaeological precision of the buildings behind, but then juxtapose them with the more fairytale-like rendering of the dragon, and the strangely docile looking horse... it is like two different worlds colliding in the same frame. And what about the story here? Editor: Right! I'm used to seeing triumphant versions of this story. This feels… static? Like the moment *before* the kill, suspended. Is that something Crivelli did a lot? Curator: He had a knack for freezing a narrative at its most pregnant moment. His compositions aren't explosive so much as implosive with narrative potential. All the elements are here; a medieval romance, sacred and profane together. Are the knight’s face and armour somewhat too ornate? Is it just realism? Editor: I see what you mean; almost too busy. Now that I’m thinking of it in those terms, his other work often blends grandeur and the mundane pretty intriguingly. Curator: Exactly! It makes me consider that the power lies not just in George’s bravery, but perhaps in the anxieties and aspirations of Crivelli’s world, or our own; perhaps a time-lapse of fear of monsters and hopes for a happy ending. Editor: It’s funny how that shift in perspective suddenly brings the whole painting into a different focus. Thanks! Curator: My pleasure. It’s always worthwhile to think of a painting as a little frozen story—a world unto itself.