Review
Art
Culture
Joy
Suffering
4 min read

Carving joy and suffering – what Donatello’s sculpture captures

The pioneering sculpture of Donatello presents emotional urgency. Sara Schumacher reflects on his art.

Dr Sara Schumacher is Academic Dean and Tutor and Lecturer in Theology & the Arts at St Mellitus College.

A relief sculpture shows the Madonna hold the infant Christ close to her face.
Donatello's Virgin and Child (Pazzi Madonna) sculpture.
Donatello, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

As the weather turns and trees take on their sheen of green, with the seasonal change comes the major spring exhibitions in the nation’s museums. Running from 11 February – 11 June 2023, the Victoria & Albert Museum are hosting a significant exhibition of the work by the Renaissance master, Donatello. Donatello: Sculpting the Renaissance traces the sculptor’s life and career, introducing us to his artistic collaborators as well as tracing his legacy within Western art history. A summary of the exhibition has been well described elsewhere and the curators do a fine job of providing context for the viewer that allows one to understand the significance of Donatello’s work. Instead, in this article, I want to try and capture what is felt in what is seen for I think Donatello, in his subject matter and style, is able to hold in tension the paradox of joy and suffering. This paradox is an all-too-common human experience, something that has been explored as Christians journeyed together through Holy Week. While Christian theology has a way of helping make sense of why this paradox exists, art has a way of helping us all to process our lived experience of it.

Through sculpture in different forms, Donatello invites our bodies, through movement and posture, to engage with what or who is presented.

As the exhibition shows, Donatello is famous for being the first in the Renaissance to sculpt a free-standing form. Sculpture, especially free-standing sculpture, requires something of the viewer. In order to see it properly, you have to position yourself in relation to the work and move around it. And while Donatello was clearly a master at this artform, what he invented was rilievo schiacciato, meaning ‘squashed relief’. The stone or bronze is carved with only a few millimetres of depth. In a way, it is like ‘painting’ with stone or bronze, and in doing so, the two-dimensional and three-dimensional are fused. As you move around it, light refracts off the medium, thus highlighting different aspects of the work and changing what you see. Put another way, through sculpture in different forms, Donatello invites our bodies, through movement and posture, to engage with what or who is presented. This embodied connection can start to cultivate empathy as we place ourselves and identify with who or what we see.

The touch of human to human is so real at times that the bronze or stone seems to give way to soft flesh.

Donatello’s work also evokes empathy in the way that he sculpts the human form. In his work, the touch of human to human is so real at times that the bronze or stone seems to give way to soft flesh. This is at its most poignant in the multiple Virgin and Child sculptures displayed throughout the exhibition. And it is here, particularly in the Virgin and Child (Pazzi Madonna), where the paradox of joy and suffering is presented most evocatively.

It is not uncommon to see artistic renderings of the Virgin and Child where distance is held between the two forms. Sometimes, the child looks out at the viewer, away from his mother, inviting devotion through his gaze. In other depictions, the Virgin adopts a posture of worship before her son. The reason for this is theological: the visual divide was a way to bring to the fore the divinity of the human Jesus. However, what we find in the Donatello renderings is something different.

In the Pazzi Madonna, using his trademark schiacciato, Donatello presents a sculpture of emotional urgency. Instead of distance between Virgin and Child, we see a mother who has her face pressed up against her son’s. While the child has a look of contentment and the beginnings of a smile, the mother looks at her child with intensity, marked by sadness. While a worshipping Virgin indicated her awareness of her Son’s glorification through his crucifixion and resurrection, this face tells of a different knowing. The beginning of this child’s life is already marked by the end. And while the end will bring salvation to the world, the anticipation of the end brings suffering for the mother. Mary knows that her son, the one she has borne and is called to nurture into adulthood, will suffer on her behalf and on behalf of the whole world. It will be this suffering that she cannot stop or protect him from. And while the work tells of joy in the intimacy and tenderness between mother and child, this joy is held in tension with the suffering that will come from their respective acts of obedience. The worst that a mother could imagine for her child must happen because in that worst moment is, paradoxically, the hope for the world. Where their faces meet in this sculpture, joy and suffering are visibly held together.

What does it mean for us to press our suffering faces against the face of Jesus? As we look into his eyes of joy, how does that transform the way we see the world and our circumstances? The Christian story is one of hope. In the end, all things will be made right and there will be an end to all suffering and tears. And while we live with and through real pain, as we see with Donatello, we see that this human paradox can be held now for its resolution will come.

Review
Books
Culture
Podcasts
Re-enchanting
4 min read

Find your next holiday read with the top picks of the Re-Enchanting guests

Recommendations across the genres.

Tom Rippon is Assistant Editor at Roots for Churches, an ecumenical charity.

A person lying on a beach holds a book up to read.
'It was the best of times.'
Dan Dumitriu on Unsplash.

Summertime is well and truly here and with the UK currently sweltering under one of the driest years on record, you would be well advised to seek out indoor activities to occupy the hottest hours of the day. But what to do with this time? So many options jostle for our attention and, as Rachel Luckett recently reflected for Seen & Unseen, reading is losing out with the number of readers steadily dropping year on year. Luckett reminds us that what we read is as important as how much we read; recommendations which intrigue and stimulate us are essential and the best place to get such recommendations is stimulating conversation.  

Where do I find these conversations, I hear you ask. Well, look no further than the Re-enchanting podcast from Seen & Unseen with its perennial opening question: what are you reading? To kick start your holiday reading, here’s a round-up of our guests’ choices from season six of Re-Enchanting. 

In retrospect, our guests seem to have a pronounced inclination towards biography and memoir. Earlier this year, Re-enchanting welcomed the notable forensic scientist, Sue Black, onto the show to discuss her (scientific) fascination with all things living and dead. Despite, or perhaps because of, a life spent looking death in the face, Black begins our summer reading with Richard Holloway’s meditation on a fading life, Waiting for the Last Bus

Whilst Black’s distinct lack of squeamishness may be not be shared by all, her desire to piece together the lives and stories of those she meets seems to be a common thread linking many of our guests. Those contemplating a continental get-away might wish to search for inspiration in Paris, a memoir of life in the French capital by Julian Green, recommended by Andrew Davison, Regius Professor of Divinity at Oxford University. For those planning holidays further afield, then perhaps a biography of Australian opera singer Nellie Melba, recommended by Kate Flaherty, would add a touch of glamour, along with the autobiography of Melba’s friend and fellow performer, Ellen Terry.  

Also falling into the memoir genre is this season’s stand-out recommendation: Helen McDonald’s H for Hawk, which is currently sitting on the bedside tables of Tyler Staton, pastor of Bridgetown Church, Portland, Graham Tomlin and Belle Tindell. Whilst processing the death of her father, McDonald attempts her long-held ambition to train a hawk, and crafts a surprising and poignant book from the twin experiences. 

McDonald is not the only writer to twist multiple strands and genres into her work; many of our guests’ choices defy definite categorisation. Flaherty, a Senior Lecturer in English and Drama at the Australian National University, also recommends Ali Smith’s Artful, which contemplates art, faith, and fiction, and Murriyang: Song of Time, a ‘psalter’ according to its author, Stan Grant, combining Christian and Australian aboriginal spirituality.   

Changing spiritualities are also on the mind of Chine McDonald, the Director of Theos think tank and the first guest to return to Re-enchanting following her initial appearance more than a year ago. On McDonald’s reading list is The Afternoon of Christianity: The Courage to Change by Tomas Halik, who ponders Christianity’s midlife era and what lies ahead for the faith and faithful alike. One way in which the world has changed over the last century is through the withdrawal of ritual from Western society, according to the German-Korean philosopher Byung-Chul Han, whose book The Fading of Ritual—or Vom Verschwinden der Rituale for any German speakers among us—comes with a recommendation from Esther Maria Magnis. Is the pairing of Halik and Han the literary match that reflections on modern Christianity have been waiting for? 

If imagining the future of the Christian faith sounds too heavy for the summer holiday, then why not dip into some of our guests’ fiction suggestions? From Jo Swinney, Director of Communications at A Rocha, comes the modern classic, A House for Mr Biswas, by Nobel laureate, V. S. Naipaul, whilst Rupert Shortt, who, as a former editor of the TLS, knows a thing or two about books, currently reading S. J. Naudé’s Fathers and Fugitives, which takes us on a journey from London to South Africa into a complex story of family, sexuality and relationships.  Readers looking for short form fiction could opt for either Ben Judah’s This is London: Life and Death in the World City, or for a more international perspective, Dream Count, the latest novel by renowned Nigerian writer, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. 

And, finally, Les Isaac, the founder of Street Pastors, reminds us of the importance of responding to the Bible itself. So, if you’re looking for gut-wrenching narratives and a sense of wonder playing out through characters who are just all-too-human, then look no further than the book which in the Middle Ages was known as a bibliotheca, a whole library in itself. 

  

And some additional suggestions: 

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe 

Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh 

The Great Partnership: God, Science and the Search for Meaning by Jonathan Sacks 

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