Artwork Analysis: Christ of Saint John of the Cross - Esther

Sometimes the most famous artworks are the most difficult to pick apart. Sometimes there’s just been so much already said that you wonder, is there anything left to say? & sometimes there really isn’t. When a painting is so famous & controversial that everyone knows something about it, it’s hard to find a new angle if you’re inspired in any way to say anything else about it. Salvador Dalí’s Christ of Saint John of the Cross (1951) is one such artwork. Yet here I am, about to attempt it. To try & say something that others haven’t yet said. Hey, life’s not always about taking the easy route. It might not be that exciting, but I do have a small personal story related to it. More of that later. It’s an analysis. We start with the technical stuff.

It’s easy to hunt down Dalí’s inspiration for the Jesus Christ pose, a drawing by 16th Century Spanish monk & mystic, John of the Cross. Of course much has been said about that alone. After John’s death, his body was moved around until finally the parts of his corpse were divided up to serve as relics. Generally, less tends to be said about this. In any case, his drawing of the crucifixion is the result of a vision he had whilst at prayer. No-one seems to have had any problems about it at the time. Friars were probably having visions left, right & centre & you were probably expected to have a divine revelation at some point, certainly living in hope of one. 

In John’s version, we look down on the crucified Jesus but from the side, clearly different from Dalí’s version. But here we are, looking down on Jesus as if we are the lord God himself. & that’s only the start of the life of controversy this painting has led. 

John of the Cross drawing

As a post-war image, there’s a serenity to this death. Jesus is suspended without blood, nails, thorns or cuts, which I find interesting for this time in history. Nevertheless, this is clearly a disgusting & agonising method of killing, suffocation & enervation causing eventual death. None of this is depicted. In this sense, it’s an image of acceptance of one’s fate.

Jesus looks towards Port Lligat, Dalí’s home at the time & a fisherman & boat complete the scene. All appears quiet & calm & Christ floats in space. The darkness even evokes outer space & with 21st Century eyes, your mind is easily transported to every science-fiction film you’ve ever seen. There’s the suggestion of his rising & the “triangle” of the body in relation to the cross further suggests the Holy Trinity. In his notes, Dalí described seeing this representation in his dreams, wherein it signified the “nucleus of the atom.” 

Dalí's studies, 1950-51

Technically, there’s no doubt the painting’s an utter beast of chiaroscuro & of foreshortening. Dalí hired a film stuntman to be hanged up in the studio, so that he could correctly portray the posture & capture the gravitational drag required. All the same, Dalí’s masterful ability to accurately & convincingly depict this is staggering. The composition roughly adheres to the Rule of Three vertically & horizontally, plus it’s almost symmetrical.    

There was further controversy when Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum in Glasgow purchased the painting in 1952 which went on display on 23 June. Apart from the “affront to the Protestant Christian mind,” that is. It’s remarkable that it was bought so quickly & so cheaply.  There were protests & a petition against this move however, since many believed such sums of money ought to be spent on promoting & buying the work of local artists. 

Then in 1961, another protester attacked the painting, ripping the canvas with a stone & his hands. After months of restoration, it was exhibited again & almost perfect. 

Restored

***

Like my love of Klimt, it started with a postcard. I saw Dalí's masterpiece, thought it looked cool & unusual & stuck it on the wall. I did a talk about it for an art assignment at teacher training college. I went (& still do) to see it often & in more than one location (it was moved to St Mungo Museum of Religious Life & Art whilst Kelvingrove was being renovated from 1993-2006). 

Having such an iconic painting in Scotland that I was actually excited by was fantastic. It made us seem very cool & exotic & a bit less fifth rate (& still does). Despite incredible restoration, if you know where to look & move into the right light you can make out where it was slashed. It is sort of thrilling to be in the presence of something that was so controversial but it’s also difficult to see why it ever was. You’re firmly aware of being in the presence of greatness. It’s hung high & imposing. & yes, it’s iconic, but it now also serves as an icon, except here we come to look & worship the art. Not to mention the artist, Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, 1st Marquis of Dalí de Púbol. Confusing stuff for an atheist.

Anyway, for a long time I thought it had started with a postcard.

I was wrong.

When my Dad's own father died, we were given one or two items from his house, including some old bottles from his pharmacy. I was also given a couple of framed pictures that my Dad knew I'd like & when I took off the bubble wrap was stunned to see a print of Christ of St John of the Cross. 

Provenance: Granny & Grandad Green

The reason I was so freaked out was that I instantly recognised this particular copy in this particular frame & the memory of it hanging in my grandparents' house in Portsoy came galloping at me, having been buried for years. I had known it before. I had loved it before. But I'd completely forgotten. I truly thought it had started with a postcard.

Evidently, Granny & Grandad paid less for it than Director Tom Honeyman at Kelvingrove

With hindsight & in view of the aforementioned controversy, I still find it surprising that the church-going Granny & Grandad liked it. Never forget - your grandparents had their own lives & they’re never what they seem…