Notes From the Museum: The Beauty of a Gaze

An encounter with two paintings

This past week, I traveled to Washington D.C. and it was wonderful to see things I hadn't seen before like the White House, the House and Senate floors, the Supreme Court, and the National Archives. However, one of the highlights of the trip for me was our visit to the National Gallery of Art. Though my feet were incredibly sore and tired it was amazing to see so many works of art I had only seen digitally in real life. There is something about being in the presence of these things that is just... different.

I also got to encounter a few pieces I had never seen before, like Andrea Solario's Lamentation. The second I saw it, it reminded me of another favorite paining, Christ Carrying the Cross by Titian.

Lamentation by Andrea Solario

Christ Carrying the Cross by Titian

In addition to both being simply stunning works of art, in both pieces there is a figure gazing directly at the viewer as if to invite the viewer to step into the painting. I find this method of engaging with a work of art to be both jarring and compelling. Jarring because it forces you to stop and actually engage with the work and compelling because the eyes draw you in and start asking you questions, questions you may or may not have wanted to answer.

In Lamentation, all the figures except one are focused on Jesus' dead body. Only St. John looks out at the viewer, holding your gaze with eyes raw, red, and full of tears, his mouth slightly opened as if asking, "Do you see this? Do you see Him? Look what they, what we, have done to Him. Look and see how far love will go for you." Look and see how far love will go for you. I find it fitting that I am sitting here typing this on the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, a day where we celebrate and contemplate the love of God for us.

"Look and see how far love will go for you."

Christ Carrying the Cross is for me, one of the most moving images of how much Jesus loves us. Jesus stares out at the viewer, holding up the cross. His head is crowned with thorns and dripping blood. His eye's, like St. John's in Lamentation are red and bloodshot, a single tear falling from one eye. In His gaze, I see sorrow, deep sorrow, but it is a sorrow motivated by love. He is saying, "I love you, and I will do all this and more to prove it. It is your soul that I want. More than anything, I want you to love me. I want your love, you already have all of mine."

"I want your love. You already have all of Mine."

And friends, it breaks me every time. Every single time. The gaze of love, the invitation to weep for what ought to be wept over, the infinite, unconditional, and overwhelming love of Christ. How often, O Lord, I have denied you, turned my gaze away, refused to weep, refused to come close, insisted on my own way instead of submitting to Yours. How often I have withheld my love when it was the one thing that could ease Your suffering. Let me never deny You that consolation again, sweetest Jesus. May I return to You the infinite love that you have lavished on me and never again take it for granted. Because, Lord, it is this movement of the soul, this gaze, this encounter that is truly beautiful. In encountering You, the Source of all Beauty, I can become what you are, truly and forever beautiful and Yours.

I encourage you to spend time with these two paintings, how is Christ speaking to you through these works of art, or a favorite piece whose gaze draws you in? May you today experience the love of Christ poured abundantly into your heart.