THE MEANING OF PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA’S
THE RESURRECTION
FOR THE LIVES OF PEOPLE NOW
by Dorothy Koppelman
I believe the deep meaning of Piero della Francesca’s great “Resurrection,” which we are looking at now, is one which, when it is seen, can change the lives of people in ways that are in keeping with the idea of resurrection. Aesthetic Realism shows that we can actually learn from art about our own selves.

I first heard Eli Siegel speak of the greatness of Piero in a lecture I attended in the early 1950s. He said,
Piero put together geometry and emotion,
and this is what we want. We want the feeling that our blood cells have something to do
with the eternal forms. If we could only relate our palpitating worries, our fearful body, to something as eternal as a triangle and sphere, it would be a comfort.
Yes, and that is why thousands of people come to look at his paintings year after year.
Piero is painting the time when, after having been crucified, entombed, forsaken, watched over by unseeing soldiers, Christ, in the early morning rises, comes back to life. This work, which Aldous Huxley writes of as the “greatest ever painted,” and Roberto Longhi describes as “the most sublime and transcendental of all religious themes,” I see as a symbolic representation of the two forces in people which Aesthetic Realism has described: the desire to respect the world, see meaning in it, and the desire to have contempt for it, to dismiss it, immure ourselves against it--as a means of building ourselves up.
Piero presents, in that large triangular form these two opposing motions of the self--being energetically awake, with vivid awareness and interest in persons and objects, and wanting to be listless, weary, bored with it all.
On the one hand there is the figure of Christ who, rising from his tomb, newly awakened from the dead, looks out at the world before him with eyes that are deep, intense and wide open. And at his feet are the soldiers, asleep to the miracle of life which is occurring above them. These soldiers are doing what people, unknowingly, do every day--closing their eyes to what is around them.
I’m sure that every person here has had the experience of being excited by something new or beautiful, and felt another person was not so interested. And likely we’ve also been in the other position, of being unresponsive to another’s enthusiasm. In Aesthetic Realism consultations I’ve been told often by a wife that she tried to tell her husband about something important to her, and felt he wasn’t listening. And many a husband has left off telling his wife of something that matters to him because, sadly, he feels she won’t appreciate its meaning. How often have you had to ask someone talking to you, while your mind was elsewhere: “What did you say?” How many times have you seen a child saying to its mother “Look, look mama,” and the mother is elsewhere in her mind, or on the cell phone? These common instances are forms of everyday contempt, which, surprising as it may seem, comment on this grand work of Piero.

Opposites central in the idea of resurrection--the coming to be of life out of death are--Repose and Energy. In Eli Siegel’s historic Fifteen Questions of 1955, “Is Beauty the Making One of Opposites?” he asks:
Is there in painting an effect which arises
from the being together of repose and energy in
the artist’s mind?--can both repose and
energy be seen in a painting’s line and color, plane and volume, surface and depth, detail and composition?--and is the true effect of a good painting on the spectator one that makes at once for repose and energy, calmness and intensity, serenity and stir?
Energy is in the risen Christ, that upright, strong figure with that triumphant banner. He is vibrantly awake. The surprising color of his robe is that new-born pink. Pink puts opposites together—it is an almost lighthearted oneness of the energy of red and the quietude of white. I believe that the deep sense of satisfaction people have felt standing before this painting—is because of the way he puts together intensity and calm.
See how Christ’s hand rests on his raised knee, and his firmly placed, fleshy foot is ready to step forth from the stone ledge of the tomb. Piero paints in every detail a most subtle and convincing relation between the repose and energy in Christ and in the world around him.

Though Christ is standing still, the folds of his robe are in motion, and related to the cylindrical forms of his fingers holding the robe, and to the dark, vertical trees rising on either side of him. . And look, the small creases of flesh at the waist which are signs of a body in motion are like the horizontal clouds in the sky.
He has risen with grace and with one purpose--to see. And to see, Aesthetic Realism states with beautiful certainty, is the purpose of art and it is success in life. It is deeply affecting that that desire includes so much; we know from his face that he has not forgotten all that he has seen. He is not smooth, his face is rough; his cheeks are worn with care, he has a rough beard; there is a simultaneous presence of sorrow and courage.

Now look at the sleeping soldiers beneath him. What do they mean? What can they tell us about ourselves? These soldiers do not want to see. Their legs and arms are so crossed that movement is impeded. Theirs is restfulness not for the purpose of more energy, but of willful denial. And yet as Piero paints the angle of their limbs, he makes us feel motion and energy. There is a relation of rest and motion in the colors. The energy of red interweaves with a restful green. The robes of the soldiers go from green, to quiet brown, to green, with red on a hat above, a leg below, green on a foot, green on a helmet. There is the simultaneous impact of rest and motion, rising and falling as Piero relates these opposites in his careful way.

Famously, it has been noted that Piero has painted himself as he did in the Misericordia, and perhaps elsewhere. There he is, bareheaded, without the hard, covering helmet. He is resting with eyes shut on the edge of the stone tomb. I believe, as courageous artist, he wanted to show that aspect of himself he saw as not so noble, not so divinely impelled.

At the same time his head becomes part of the pole Christ carries aloft with its red cross. Perhaps Piero is saying: “I, in my seeingness and unseeingness, stand for humanity.”

And so it moves me very much to have spoken about works I love, and that now, over 500 years since Piero lived, we can see more through Aesthetic Realism about their meaning for the world and ourselves. |