An Old Man and his Grandson by Domenico Ghirlandaio

An Old Man And His Grandson by Domenico Ghirlandaio, c. 1490, tempera on panel, Louvre, Paris

My oldest grandson is graduating from high school this month. Where did the time go??? The years just flew by; guess that is how life is, isn’t it!  He is such a huge part of my life, and always will be— so many memories—holding him in my arms the day he was born to all the adventures through the years. It is just so hard to believe he is heading off to his next chapter in life. Though difficult,, I am so proud of him, so proud of the young man he has become.   

My relationship with my grandson makes me think of the painting by Ghirlandaio, Old Man and His Grandson…

On a visit to Paris, I wanted to see this portrait at the Louvre. It held special significance for me as I was about to embark on a new chapter in my life, that of “Nana-hood.” The moment I saw it, fond memories of my grandparents flashed through my mind….

What perfect human love! Eyes locked, the gentle touch of the grandchild’s hand — the warm red tones — in this portrait of human connection, the years that separate the old man and the young boy simply vanish. The piece is tender, quiet, yet emotionally charged. Immediate, yet timeless.

Domenico Ghirlandaio was a master painter during the 15th-century Italian Renaissance. Born in Florence in 1448, he ran a successful artists’ workshop with several other family members. His apprentices included Michelangelo. An Old Man And His Grandson is one of Ghirlandaio’s best-known works, and in my opinion, his most poignant. The artist captures a fleeting moment. There are no barriers between the sweet, innocent face of the child and the wise, tender face of the older gentleman.

Yes, it is the condition of the nose (rhinophyma) of the old man that dominates his face, and this is the element that initially captures our attention. But it is our heart, our soul, that looks beyond his physical appearance and sees and feels such a warmth between two individuals who are separated only by years — the old man in the winter of his life, the youthful boy in the spring of his.

The composition of this portrait is typical of what art historians find from the late 15th-century Florentine Renaissance. Elements include half-length figures, three-quarter profiles, and a window that draws the eyes to the landscape with its serpentine road, rolling hills, and majestic mountains. The landscape, both gentle and rugged, seems to echo the portrait. The color red dominates the painting, exuding the essence of pure love.

The little boy is a classic example of Renaissance beauty: a naturalistic yet idealistic face, tender lips and nose, innocent eyes, delicate fingers, and golden, curly hair framing his face. The touch of his hand is loving, as is the kind gaze of the old man who looks downward with his wrinkled, heavy-lid eyes. Youth and age, beauty and the ravages of time, contemplate one another. Time stands still.

What memories surface as you gaze at Ghirlandaio’s An Old Man and His Grandson? Do you recall a time when you felt safe in the arms of a grandparent or other cherished relative? If you are a grandparent, do you note parallels between the warmth of this artwork and your own connection with your grandchild?

Whatever our age, we all long to feel secure and loved, just the way we are. Perhaps this piece can remind us of the difference we make in the lives of our loved ones. We are more valuable and appreciated than perhaps we realize.

I hope and pray I have been a good influence, a good mentor to my grandson. I hope and pray we will continue our close relationship throughout my life.

Sculpting Power from Silence

The Death of Cleopatra, marble. Edmonia Lewis, 1876.

Sculptor Edmonia Lewis has the distinction of being the first African American and Native American artist to rise to national and international prominence. Born free in Upstate New York, Lewis began her career as a sculptor in Boston. Early success funded a trip to Rome, Italy, where she spent most of her career. Her Neoclassical sculpture often touched on themes related to her African American and Native American heritage. She was so respected that she was invited to produce a piece for the 1876 Centennial Exposition and President Ulysses S. Grant.

This work is considered to be Lewis' masterpiece. Carved in 1876, this massive, two-ton sculpture represents Cleopatra at the moment of her death. The legendary, exotic Egyptian queen committed suicide to avoid being taken as prisoner after the defeat of her armies in a decisive battle with Octavian, who became Augustus Caesar, first leader of the Imperial age of Rome. Lewis adorns Cleopatra in her usual attributes of crown, necklace and bracelets, but dresses her in a more or less Neoclassical garment, which alternately drapes her shoulder and waist and uncovers one breast. The throne appears to have been finely sculpted with many details on the back side. Two identical pharaonic heads decorate the arms of the chair. 

This sculpture is unusual in the canon of Neoclassical portrayals of Cleopatra, as it somewhat inelegantly emphasizes the queen slumped in death. Slouched in her throne, her head thrown back, and still holding the snake in her right hand, Cleopatra's position is highly dramatic. Her face - lacking any Africanized features which would have pointed to the current, progressive acceptance of being Egyptian as also being Black - remains passive.

This monumental sculpture was praised by contemporary critics for its daring expressivity. It commanded a great deal of attention in its debut for the American public, deemed the 'most important sculpture in the American section' in the 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. It was given pride of place, located in the highly desirable rotunda exhibition space. Despite Black Americans' intentions to have heightened national visibility in this exposition, Lewis was one of only two African American artists to be ultimately included. Her treatment of a subject that was already popular among Neoclassical sculptors remains unique, and is the subject of much scholarly focus. 

Lewis portrays the queen alone in her actions immediately preceding her death. For visual source material, Lewis may have relied upon coins struck during the queen's reign, (undoubtedly visible in Roman collections), which depicted Cleopatra with a straight, narrow-nosed profile. This may have been due to the queen's historically accepted but ultimately unproven partial ancestry as Greek or Roman. 

Abolitionists in the 19th century championed Egypt as Black Africa and imbued Cleopatra with "evidence of African accomplishment and capability of leadership," as Susanna W. Gold writes. Driven by an inner vision, Lewis' work in this perspective slightly differs from the abolitionists' vision, in that her Cleopatra - as she became a center point of the Centennial Exposition of 1876 - may instead be a kind of personification of Emancipation and its immediate aftereffects, which were for Black Americans rapidly proving to be dismal. 

Alternately, Cleopatra was a complex figure who could also be seen as a power-mad, sexually controlling Black woman. Lewis may have wished to separate all black women from this unusual conception of the Queen. The abundance of details, the exposure of the body and the unique face force the viewer to consider the figure as Cleopatra only. Lewis forces the viewer to confront the death of a singular figure removed from us in history, and so she cannot be used as an allegory or a self-portrait. This strategy enabled Lewis to keep her identity as a woman artist of mixed race separate from the queen historically framed as a woman of ethnicity. 

For several years, Lewis' sculpture of Cleopatra literally disappeared from view as an important work by an American woman artist of color. A dentist contacted the Metropolitan Museum of Art and a specialist on the career and work of Edmonia Lewis. The sculpture was finally properly recognized and donated to the Smithsonian Museum of American Art in 1994.