Heft and Palpability - Francisco de Zurbarán at the National Gallery (II)

 

Did I mention that Francisco de Zurbarán is an extraordinary painter of clothing? I’ve already remarked upon the rendering of Christ’s lily-like loincloth in my last post, but in the third room of the exhibition, the blaze of colour and texture that greets you is astonishing. For sheer spectacle, you cannot do better than spend time with the artist’s Saint Casilda. This Muslim daughter of the Emir of Toledo, who secretly converts to Christianity, and then when caught smuggling bread to Christian prisoners, finds her rolls miraculously transformed into flowers. Which means she gets away with it. Notwithstanding that this seems a low and rather passive threshold for sainthood, it’s a great excuse for Zurbarán to get to work on an incredible outfit.

Zurbarán, Saint Casilda, 1630

The flowers that she is gesturing towards are something of an afterthought, and so you bypass the subject of the miracle and dive straight into that incandescent brocade of reds and oranges that make up her skirts. The folds, too, conjure a trompe l'oeil heft … you sense the weight of her wardrobe. 

Detail from Zurbarán, Saint Casilda

And that bangle of shimmering tangerine in the sleeve, smoother than the brocade, the contrast drawing out the locus of Zurbarán’s unrivalled genius with fabric. The depiction of these textiles are close to palpable.