The Christ the Redeemer in Art
Iconography and Morphology of Portrait
The human face, like everything in the universe, maintains a precise balance and symmetry. The eyes, nose, cheekbones, nostrils, chin, cheeks, ears, and neck form a highly balanced and harmonious whole, which is quite difficult to reconstruct.
The attempts to depict the face and portraiture throughout the centuries have all left an unmistakable mark, which has even contributed to defining the degree and level of civilization of a people and its history.
The ancient Egyptians (1), as is well known, depicted the nose in profile and the eyes from the front; the combination may seem odd, but in effect, even after millennia, it remains extremely elegant and full of meaning. It is worth noting that this perspective solution was adopted only in frescoes, never in sculptures (2), which remained three-dimensional and of wonderful craftsmanship.
The Greeks (3) undoubtedly achieved the pinnacle of aesthetic perfection. It is reasonable to say that it would take until the Italian Renaissance to rediscover the symmetry and balance seen in the faces of classical men and women. However, balance is not the only goal or criterion of evaluation; a person’s face embodies an entire range of meanings and aspects that deviate significantly from the purity of lines and forms in a perfectly symmetrical morphology.
In advertisements for famous fashion brands or skincare products, we often see examples of absolutely perfect morphologies—faces that, however, a painter would have no interest in reproducing. In reality, there is something beyond the face itself. A perfect face, by definition, is an inexpressive face—undoubtedly immature, bland, if you will.
After the Middle Ages, with Giotto (4), Masaccio, and the birth of perspective—and with it, modern art—the issue began to be addressed in different ways.
Piero della Francesca’s portrait of Federico da Montefeltro (5) is indeed a starting point, in which, beyond the strictly formal solution, one can also discern a state of mind. Defining a person’s character and attitude becomes the primary objective.
Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa (6) is a sublime and emblematic example of how painting can reveal unexpected depths. Raphael (7) and Michelangelo, in turn, followed this path, each in their own way, depending on their artistic vision and personal style.
It is important to emphasize one thing: this type of artistic research cannot be carried out in the same way in sculpture. Representation on a two-dimensional surface allows for much greater freedom in capturing an expression, a nuance, or a moment. The same representation in sculpture would risk appearing overly exaggerated, almost baroque—something akin to a slapstick caricature. After all, there is a reason for the saying “as still as a statue”; three-dimensionality implies visibility from multiple angles, and in depicting a facial expression, the very morphology of the face means that an emotion clearly conveyed from one perspective may lose its meaning entirely when viewed from another.
Thus, in sculpture, the artist’s freedom of action is significantly different, as the challenges, as we will see later, are of another kind.
El Greco’s (8) portrait of Hortensio Félix marks the birth of the psychological portrait. In his religious subjects (9), the Spanish painter instead emphasizes spirituality, as is fitting; hence, the faces represent souls, appearing pale, elongated, and stretched upwards, as if they were about to ascend to heaven. We are getting closer to the core issue.
The problem with portraying Christ is that Christ has no face. A face’s morphology corresponds to the underlying bone structure. In past years, when teaching how to draw an arm, students were first taught the skeletal structure—the humerus, the radius… for the leg, the tibia, and so on—followed by the muscles and other details. In the absence of a model, as in the case of the Redeemer, the challenge becomes even greater.
In contemporary times, Gauguin’s (10) self-portrait strikes me as a lesser-known but extremely significant example. The psychological traits of both the man and the artist are conveyed in a remarkably evident manner.
Slowly, with Cézanne (11), in an attempt to resolve such issues and simplify the matter, an effort is made to subsume the problem in geometric terms. Evidently, anything in reality can be represented through the simple, schematic lines of a triangle, a square, and a circle. This is the path leading to Cubism that is beginning to open. However, it is not just a geometric issue; there is also something else, as the problem of perspective balance must be maintained.
When something is destroyed, it can only be done in virtue of a subsequent reconstruction of perspective balance.
Pablo Picasso’s portrait of Gertrude Stein (12) is a remarkable example of this concept.
The point I wish to emphasize (with the necessary proportions, as this is a secular painting, that is, depicting a relatively normal person, and therefore not a sacred subject) is the absolute aesthetic similarity to Russian icons. Despite being completely different subjects, they retain the same characteristics of depth, inquiry, solutions, interpretations, and facets.
This marks the beginning of entry into the territory of contemporary art: the artist’s objective is no longer the subject being depicted, but rather the representation of a psychological state, in which the observer is able to engage with the artwork, study it, and ultimately experience the emotion themselves.
Throughout the centuries, and particularly in the case of Christ, the emphasis has been placed primarily on the aspect of the Passion. This has been done for various reasons, and I bring here as an example the remarkable Crucifixion by Velázquez (13).
First of all, because of the scandal that a man of such moral and spiritual stature was subjected to such treatment.
Secondly, because of his resemblance to God. The final accusation against him, in fact, was precisely his claim of unity with God. He clearly responded to the High Priest who interrogated him: “My Father, before you were born…” and this ultimately led him to death on the Cross.
Furthermore, in representing the death on the Cross, all the sufferings of humanity are embodied. There is, in fact, no greater pain than this, so every other form of suffering is contained within it.
Not least, for painters, this subject is much simpler to depict. A man in pain is much easier to represent. The real challenge, however, is that in the case of the Redeemer, one should depict the Resurrection, that is, Christ Risen.
That is, after he has died—when he is seen by the women, when he returns in glory, and remains for fifty days with the apostles and disciples.
This, in truth, is extremely difficult to paint and sculpt.
The first Risen Christ that comes to mind is Masaccio’s Trinity (14).
In this magnificent fresco in the Basilica of Santa Maria Novella, the Resurrection is represented—not an easy concept to conceive.
Christ suffers, but that is not all. He is on the cross, probably exhausted, in pain, but it is clear that it does not end there.
Death is not portrayed; it is overcome according to a divine plan.
In Dalí’s Resurrection (15), a moment is depicted in which Christ sacrifices himself for humanity; he is still suffering beyond words.
His face is not visible.
The Resurrection in the Vatican’s Audience Hall by Pericle Fazzini (16) is a magnificent sculpture.
Here, the focus is not on death, but on the moment of passage to Eternal Glory.
The parallel with Moses’ burning bush, in which God manifests Himself, and this explosion of transcendent power and force, in which Christ rises again, are clearly expressed.
I believe that this sculpture, though not widely known to the general public or those unfamiliar with the subject, deserves an interest and importance that history will undoubtedly grant it.
From the same artist, I also deeply admire a simple drawing of the Cross, adorned only with a drape, a small shroud, a piece of cloth—and Christ is not there.
Here too, one perceives a state of calm, resolution, and peace, in contrast to the tragedy that has occurred—a tragedy that is now in the past.
The Christ the Redeemer by Bruno Innocenti in Maratea is a Risen Jesus.
It is a Christ in glory, who comes, returns, and brings peace and hope to all of humanity.
