El Greco an Ironist?

The Ironies of El Greco?

Was El Greco something of a ironist? His religious paintings are so perfect, so pious. The expressions of divine and saintly figures are unimprovable as depictions (if one must have them) of divinity and sainthood. And yet… does El Greco deliberately push it all a little too far? And do not some of his human figures, when they appear, subtly undermine the otherwise sublime message?

El Greco, famously, slighted Michelangelo as painter (but admired his sculptures). He offered to repaint the Sistine Chapel. Wryness or just arrogance, or perhaps both?

Consider the Burial of the Count of Orgaz – a high religious subject, even if one illustrating a somewhat pointless and far-fetched miracle: two saints descending to earth in order personally and manually to bury the deceased count.

Although the saints and the count are gorgeously rendered, the main impact of the painting comes from the line-up of portraits of El Greco’s Toledo cronies, who purport anachronistically to attend the funeral.

Far from reacting appropriately to the miraculous action (in the manner, for example, of tomb guards at the Resurrection) they seem rather indifferent (as if - another day, another miraculous visitation) and more involved in the participation in their Club Toledo group portrait.

And there is the upper half of the painting: a vision of heaven, which is the upstage chorus for the Earth-occupied saints. El Greco evokes an ethereal feeling by draining vivid colours from most of this part of the painting. The heavenly scene is suitably divine, with a crowd of onlooking saintly types. Amongst them is the still living (at the time of the painting) Spanish King. High flattery, or is El Greco saying, “I wish you were there” (the King did not like El Greco’s work)?

Regard once more the Toledo dignitaries. One or two glance up, as if aware of the Heavenly Vision. But they do not look in amazement or rapture. Their expressions are cool – antidote, perhaps, to too much miracle and ecstasy.

El Greco loved outrageous colours, even if the matching of colours and iconography are sometimes incongruous. The Disrobing of Christ is a great painting, sited in the great and near-monstrous Toledo Cathedral. To modern eyes, Christ’s fantastically rich scarlet cloak might almost be considered camp. He has just arrived at Calvary, having already suffered flogging and having staggered up carrying his Cross – surely such a gorgeous garment would have already disappeared?

The executioners are rendered realistically as creatures of shallow cruelty and greed. But who is the Hispanic knight at Christ’s right shoulder? He might have been plucked form the gallery of notables in the Burial. He has a similar air of calm detachment from the action, even though he is positioned near the centre of it. He neither urges on the persecution of Christ nor recoils from it. His detachment is certainly wordly, not at all like the detachment of the Christ figure, who is most definitely transcending his torment in divine contemplation, certainly not too concerned about the fate of his wonderful robe.

Contrast the ambiguities of these two great paintings with the straight simplicity of Saint Joseph and the Child in the private chapel of San Jose in Toledo. Here is rendered, uncomplicated by divine glories, the affection between father and son. It is a child Christ who is very human, like his (step) father. No need for any unsettling bystander.

December 2015