Uffizi | Fabbriche di Storie Uffizi | Fabbriche di Storie

GENTILE DA FABRIANO |

Adorazione dei Magi |

Uffizi, Sala 5-6 |

Versione breve | La narrazione è di Zeinab Kabil, la voce di Laura Curino |

Leggi la scheda completa dell'opera su uffizi.it

  

Gentile da Fabriano | Adoration of the Magi | Room 5-6 

On a journey, following a star. To meet the Child, here in the foreground.

In the three lunettes of the frame, we can follow the procession of the Magi. In the top left, the three wise men are gazing at the star from a mountain peak overlooking the sea. I wonder: is it possible that, in spite of their precious robes, they too felt the bewilderment and uncertainty of the journey? That, in spite of the lavish procession, they felt alone? That, once at their destination, they longed to return home?

The sea breeze accompanied my journey. When I arrived in Italy, everything was new. The homesickness for my birthplace was replaced by the nostalgia for the person I was when I lived there.

In the central lunette, the Magi are crossing an idyllic landscape to enter Jerusalem. I can smell the scent of my land, the embrace of the warm air. The journey of the three wise men has become an exotic hunting trip, with cheetahs sitting on horseback.

In the top right, finally, the Magi enter Bethlehem, then continue down to where the Child is. The star, almost close enough to touch, now shines above Joseph’s head. The three wise men from the East are represented as the three ages of man. During different stages of their lives, they have all been able to face their challenges.

For them, as for me, travel was a source of knowledge and renewal. When I became an Italian citizen, I started to visit Europe with my children. These journeys were so different from the one that brought me to Italy many years ago. Today I am no longer afraid. 

Gentile da Fabriano, the artist who painted this precious panel, travelled a lot too. When he reached Florence he found a new way to make art, which he embraced with an open mind, although he remained faithful to his late-Gothic artistic roots. Thus, for example, he enjoys playing with illusions of depth, but at the same time he maintains as main points of view as there are episodes narrated in the painting.

Opening up to new things while remaining true to ourselves is what I have done with my three children. As they grew up, they enjoyed the freedom of this country, but also the solid nature of their roots. In our house, we wake at dawn, and each one of us pray in silence. In the Koran, there is a verse that says: “My Lord, increase me in knowledge”. In my early days in Italy, prayer was not enough to soothe my worries. Knowledge led me to pray in a way that was more mature, aware. 

And it is talking about prayer that I perceive the great unity in this painting, given by the prevalence of gold. This was probably at the request of Palla Strozzi, the rich Florentine banker who commissioned this panel and is depicted behind the youngest of the Magi.

On a symbolic level, however, gold refers to divine light and defines a holy space, bringing harmony even where there is diversity. True wealth does not lie in the material value of gold, but in faith, in knowledge and in the journey.

The Magi went home “by another way” because their lives had changed. My life also changed, and today I am surprised to see, in the center of the predella, these small figures fleeing to safety, towards my land, Egypt.

 GENTILE DA FABRIANO |

Adorazione dei Magi |

Uffizi, Sala 5-6 |

Versione integrale | La narrazione è di Zeinab Kabil, la voce di Laura Curino |

Leggi la scheda completa dell'opera su uffizi.it

 

Gentile da Fabriano | Adoration of the Magi | Room 5-6 

On a journey, following a star. To meet the Child, here in the foreground.

In the three lunettes of the frame, we can follow the procession of the Magi. In the top left, the three wise men are gazing at the star from a mountain peak overlooking the sea. I wonder: is it possible that, in spite of their precious robes, they too felt the bewilderment and uncertainty of the journey? That, in spite of the lavish procession, they felt alone? That, once at their destination, they longed to return home?

The sea breeze accompanied my journey. When I arrived in Italy, everything was new. The homesickness for my birthplace was replaced by the nostalgia for the person I was when I lived there.

In the central lunette, the Magi are crossing an idyllic landscape to enter Jerusalem. I can smell the scent of my land, the embrace of the warm air. The journey of the three wise men has become an exotic hunting trip, with cheetahs sitting on horseback.

In the top right, finally, the Magi enter Bethlehem, then continue down to where the Child is. The star, almost close enough to touch, now shines above Joseph’s head. The three wise men from the East are represented as the three ages of man. During different stages of their lives, they have all been able to face their challenges.

For them, as for me, travel was a source of knowledge and renewal. When I became an Italian citizen, I started to visit Europe with my children. These journeys were so different from the one that brought me to Italy many years ago. Today I am no longer afraid. 

Gentile da Fabriano, the artist who painted this precious panel, travelled a lot too. When he reached Florence he found a new way to make art, which he embraced with an open mind, although he remained faithful to his late-Gothic artistic roots. Thus, for example, he enjoys playing with illusions of depth, but at the same time he maintains as main points of view as there are episodes narrated in the painting.

Opening up to new things while remaining true to ourselves is what I have done with my three children. As they grew up, they enjoyed the freedom of this country, but also the solid nature of their roots. In our house, we wake at dawn, and each one of us pray in silence. In the Koran, there is a verse that says: “My Lord, increase me in knowledge”. In my early days in Italy, prayer was not enough to soothe my worries. Knowledge led me to pray in a way that was more mature, aware. 

And it is talking about prayer that I perceive the great unity in this painting, given by the prevalence of gold. This was probably at the request of Palla Strozzi, the rich Florentine banker who commissioned this panel and is depicted behind the youngest of the Magi.

On a symbolic level, however, gold refers to divine light and defines a holy space, bringing harmony even where there is diversity. True wealth does not lie in the material value of gold, but in faith, in knowledge and in the journey.

The Magi went home “by another way” because their lives had changed. My life also changed, and today I am surprised to see, in the center of the predella, these small figures fleeing to safety, towards my land, Egypt.

 GENTILE DA FABRIANO |

Adorazione dei Magi |

Uffizi, Sala 5-6 |

Lingua originale (Arabo) | La narrazione e la voce sono di Zeinab Kabil |

Leggi la scheda completa dell'opera su uffizi.it

 

Gentile da Fabriano | Adoration of the Magi | Room 5-6 

On a journey, following a star. To meet the Child, here in the foreground.

In the three lunettes of the frame, we can follow the procession of the Magi. In the top left, the three wise men are gazing at the star from a mountain peak overlooking the sea. I wonder: is it possible that, in spite of their precious robes, they too felt the bewilderment and uncertainty of the journey? That, in spite of the lavish procession, they felt alone? That, once at their destination, they longed to return home?

The sea breeze accompanied my journey. When I arrived in Italy, everything was new. The homesickness for my birthplace was replaced by the nostalgia for the person I was when I lived there.

In the central lunette, the Magi are crossing an idyllic landscape to enter Jerusalem. I can smell the scent of my land, the embrace of the warm air. The journey of the three wise men has become an exotic hunting trip, with cheetahs sitting on horseback.

In the top right, finally, the Magi enter Bethlehem, then continue down to where the Child is. The star, almost close enough to touch, now shines above Joseph’s head. The three wise men from the East are represented as the three ages of man. During different stages of their lives, they have all been able to face their challenges.

For them, as for me, travel was a source of knowledge and renewal. When I became an Italian citizen, I started to visit Europe with my children. These journeys were so different from the one that brought me to Italy many years ago. Today I am no longer afraid. 

Gentile da Fabriano, the artist who painted this precious panel, travelled a lot too. When he reached Florence he found a new way to make art, which he embraced with an open mind, although he remained faithful to his late-Gothic artistic roots. Thus, for example, he enjoys playing with illusions of depth, but at the same time he maintains as main points of view as there are episodes narrated in the painting.

Opening up to new things while remaining true to ourselves is what I have done with my three children. As they grew up, they enjoyed the freedom of this country, but also the solid nature of their roots. In our house, we wake at dawn, and each one of us pray in silence. In the Koran, there is a verse that says: “My Lord, increase me in knowledge”. In my early days in Italy, prayer was not enough to soothe my worries. Knowledge led me to pray in a way that was more mature, aware. 

And it is talking about prayer that I perceive the great unity in this painting, given by the prevalence of gold. This was probably at the request of Palla Strozzi, the rich Florentine banker who commissioned this panel and is depicted behind the youngest of the Magi.

On a symbolic level, however, gold refers to divine light and defines a holy space, bringing harmony even where there is diversity. True wealth does not lie in the material value of gold, but in faith, in knowledge and in the journey.

The Magi went home “by another way” because their lives had changed. My life also changed, and today I am surprised to see, in the center of the predella, these small figures fleeing to safety, towards my land, Egypt.

BEATO ANGELICO (attr.) |

Tebaide |

Uffizi, Sala 7 |

Versione breve | La narrazione è di Mohammad Aletaha, la voce di Marco Paolini |

Leggi la scheda completa dell'opera su uffizi.it

  

Fra Angelico (attr.) | Thebaid | Room 7 

In this painting, no one is alone.

This is what struck me when I first approached the Thebaid: it should be a wasteland (the desert near Thebes, Egypt), yet it is a garden; it should be a place of solitude, yet it is filled with relationships. As Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, wrote, the desert had become “a city”.

Mashhad is the name of an Iranian holy city; here, an imposing mausoleum was built in the name of the Imam Reza. A once small village was transformed into the most important destination for pilgrims in my country, and a sanctuary built around the mausoleum, creating a city within the city. The heart of the sanctuary is always full of people, even late at night. Many stories can be heard here. Relationships are formed, even among strangers. But when the people pray, personal silence descends.  

I think this painting reflects the two extremes of life: there is a space for silence and one for relationships. It is up to us to find a balance. The disorderly scene before us is only apparently so. Most episodes are taken from a collection of hagiographic texts, the Lives of the Desert Fathers, whose increasing spread through Italy determined the success of the Thebaid scenes. This success, however, was ephemeral: the Thebaids we know today, ten in total, were mainly painted in Florence over a period of just fifty years, starting in the early 15th century. Then they disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. But this was just the beginning of their journey through time: the Thebaids, more often painted on panels rather than frescoed, were uprooted from their context, at times cut and disassembled.

My friends and I were also split up. We used to go to the mountains together. In winter, we would proceed in single file, so that whoever was in front would leave footprints for the others to follow. Outside the refuge, at sunset, we would all be in a circle, laughing and eating, enjoying the natural surroundings and being together. With the Revolution and the war with Iraq, we all left or fled; all except one. For years, we lost sight of one another. Then, when each of us was settled, we were able to get back in touch. It is great to get together, like the reassembled fragments of a painting.

Frescoed Thebaid scenes, seen by many, had a narrative purpose. Those on panels, seen by few, were a support for meditation. They were probably placed in the chapter house of monastic communities, where the Lives of the Fathers would be read aloud in the evening, and then visualized by each monk in the silence of his cell.

I like to think that these monks lived through something similar to what I feel when I am fasting for Ramadan. It is a purification that trains the brain and the heart, suspends hunger and thirst. As a child, my father would take me to the mosque and we would pray with the others. Then preaching became too intolerant. I don’t like those who believe they possess the truth. For many years now, I have been praying alone.

In the Thebaid, monks have their own cell or cave, but they live together in prayer. The relationships between them are full of gestures of care. No one is in command. No one feels superior to the others.

BEATO ANGELICO (attr.) |

Tebaide |

Uffizi, Sala 7 |

Versione integrale | La narrazione è di Mohammad Aletaha, la voce di Marco Paolini |

Leggi la scheda completa dell'opera su uffizi.it

 

Fra Angelico (attr.) | Thebaid | Room 7 

In this painting, no one is alone.

This is what struck me when I first approached the Thebaid: it should be a wasteland (the desert near Thebes, Egypt), yet it is a garden; it should be a place of solitude, yet it is filled with relationships. As Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, wrote, the desert had become “a city”.

Mashhad is the name of an Iranian holy city; here, an imposing mausoleum was built in the name of the Imam Reza. A once small village was transformed into the most important destination for pilgrims in my country, and a sanctuary built around the mausoleum, creating a city within the city. The heart of the sanctuary is always full of people, even late at night. Many stories can be heard here. Relationships are formed, even among strangers. But when the people pray, personal silence descends. 

I think this painting reflects the two extremes of life: there is a space for silence and one for relationships. It is up to us to find a balance. The disorderly scene before us is only apparently so. Most episodes are taken from a collection of hagiographic texts, the Lives of the Desert Fathers, whose increasing spread through Italy determined the success of the Thebaid scenes. This success, however, was ephemeral: the Thebaids we know today, ten in total, were mainly painted in Florence over a period of just fifty years, starting in the early 15th century. Then they disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. But this was just the beginning of their journey through time: the Thebaids, more often painted on panels rather than frescoed, were uprooted from their context, at times cut and disassembled.

My friends and I were also split up. We used to go to the mountains together. In winter, we would proceed in single file, so that whoever was in front would leave footprints for the others to follow. Outside the refuge, at sunset, we would all be in a circle, laughing and eating, enjoying the natural surroundings and being together. With the Revolution and the war with Iraq, we all left or fled; all except one. For years, we lost sight of one another. Then, when each of us was settled, we were able to get back in touch. It is great to get together, like the reassembled fragments of a painting.

Frescoed Thebaid scenes, seen by many, had a narrative purpose. Those on panels, seen by few, were a support for meditation. They were probably placed in the chapter house of monastic communities, where the Lives of the Fathers would be read aloud in the evening, and then visualized by each monk in the silence of his cell.

I like to think that these monks lived through something similar to what I feel when I am fasting for Ramadan. It is a purification that trains the brain and the heart, suspends hunger and thirst. As a child, my father would take me to the mosque and we would pray with the others. Then preaching became too intolerant. I don’t like those who believe they possess the truth. For many years now, I have been praying alone.

In the Thebaid, monks have their own cell or cave, but they live together in prayer. The relationships between them are full of gestures of care. No one is in command. No one feels superior to the others.

BEATO ANGELICO (attr.) |

Tebaide |

Uffizi, Sala 7 |

Lingua originale (Farsi) |  La narrazione e la voce sono di Mohammad Aletaha |

Leggi la scheda completa dell'opera su uffizi.it

 

Fra Angelico (attr.) | Thebaid | Room 7 

In this painting, no one is alone.

This is what struck me when I first approached the Thebaid: it should be a wasteland (the desert near Thebes, Egypt), yet it is a garden; it should be a place of solitude, yet it is filled with relationships. As Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, wrote, the desert had become “a city”.

Mashhad is the name of an Iranian holy city; here, an imposing mausoleum was built in the name of the Imam Reza. A once small village was transformed into the most important destination for pilgrims in my country, and a sanctuary built around the mausoleum, creating a city within the city. The heart of the sanctuary is always full of people, even late at night. Many stories can be heard here. Relationships are formed, even among strangers. But when the people pray, personal silence descends. 

I think this painting reflects the two extremes of life: there is a space for silence and one for relationships. It is up to us to find a balance. The disorderly scene before us is only apparently so. Most episodes are taken from a collection of hagiographic texts, the Lives of the Desert Fathers, whose increasing spread through Italy determined the success of the Thebaid scenes. This success, however, was ephemeral: the Thebaids we know today, ten in total, were mainly painted in Florence over a period of just fifty years, starting in the early 15th century. Then they disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. But this was just the beginning of their journey through time: the Thebaids, more often painted on panels rather than frescoed, were uprooted from their context, at times cut and disassembled.

My friends and I were also split up. We used to go to the mountains together. In winter, we would proceed in single file, so that whoever was in front would leave footprints for the others to follow. Outside the refuge, at sunset, we would all be in a circle, laughing and eating, enjoying the natural surroundings and being together. With the Revolution and the war with Iraq, we all left or fled; all except one. For years, we lost sight of one another. Then, when each of us was settled, we were able to get back in touch. It is great to get together, like the reassembled fragments of a painting.

Frescoed Thebaid scenes, seen by many, had a narrative purpose. Those on panels, seen by few, were a support for meditation. They were probably placed in the chapter house of monastic communities, where the Lives of the Fathers would be read aloud in the evening, and then visualized by each monk in the silence of his cell.

I like to think that these monks lived through something similar to what I feel when I am fasting for Ramadan. It is a purification that trains the brain and the heart, suspends hunger and thirst. As a child, my father would take me to the mosque and we would pray with the others. Then preaching became too intolerant. I don’t like those who believe they possess the truth. For many years now, I have been praying alone.

In the Thebaid, monks have their own cell or cave, but they live together in prayer. The relationships between them are full of gestures of care. No one is in command. No one feels superior to the others.