Pietà 

Editor: This oil painting is titled "Pietà," by Antonio Ciseri. While undated, the artist’s use of realism and chiaroscuro immediately brings to mind Renaissance art. I’m struck by its stillness, a very human depiction of grief. What draws your eye when you look at this work? Curator: The humanity, exactly as you pointed out, strikes me. Ciseri is offering us a backstage pass to grief, stripping away the theatricality you often find in historical painting. The stark lighting focuses us on Mary's face and gesture, the almost imperceptible touch. Doesn't it feel…intimate, in a way that’s almost unsettling? As though we've stumbled into a private moment of sorrow. Editor: Yes, that intimacy is intense. There is a gentleness in the darkness that feels very modern, though informed by Renaissance ideals. I am wondering why the other figures are obscured? Curator: I read that as intentional. They become almost a chorus, murmuring in the background. But it's Mary's story here, isn't it? Her loss, her acceptance. Those secondary figures help define the composition by heightening the contrast between the deep shadow and the light shining down on mother and son. Tell me, how do you react to Christ's pale skin? Editor: I almost missed it, because it’s not dramatically different in tone from the shroud, and I think that contributes to that overwhelming quiet of the work, because it requires deeper contemplation to see the distinction between flesh and fabric. It certainly adds to the emotion once perceived. Thank you, this has opened my eyes to new interpretations of such works. Curator: And you’ve helped me see it fresh as well! The painting whispers rather than shouts, and like any good poem, it rewards careful attention, offering us a new perspective.