Simone Martini, Annunciation, 1333. Uffizi, Florence.

In the early 14^th century the City of Siena commissioned the city’s most famous artist, Simone Martini, to paint an altarpiece.  We suspect the commission was an expression of civic religiosity, pride and wealth and yet another shot in Siena’s long-standing cultural war with nearby Florence. 

Let’s be time travelers and join the crowd of citizens visiting the Duomo in 1333.  While most are there for mass, they too are curious about the painting:  after all, they paid for it.

The Duomo is dimly lit, only the sun entering through windows and hundreds of candles light the vast nave.  We are not used to such dimly lit spaces, but any light but sunlight cost a lot of money 800 years ago. 

From the choir we hear singers.  The sacred music they sing is very different from the music we listen to.  Here is a motet Francesco Landini wrote in 1379.

We turn to the chapel of St. Ansanus, Siena's patron saint.  Before us is the altarpiece.  The panel is large, 6 feet tall, 7 feet wide and hangs in the dim, flickering light.  The brilliant, glimmering gold catches our attention.  We’ve never seen anything like it, and most of the Sienese in the chapel haven’t either. Simone has captured our attention.

Gabriel has just interrupted Mary; while his wings have ceased flapping, his robe is still afloat.  He bears an olive branch:  his intentions are peaceful. 

“And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.”

While we may have forgotten, Mary and our 14^th c. companions haven’t: the last time Gabriel appeared it was with an eviction notice from Eden.  So she shrinks away. Perhaps Gabriel also alarms and scares her, he’s unexpected, stern and not comforting.   Gabriel’s interruption is very unusual.

“And the angel came in unto her, and said, “Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. ²⁹ And when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be.”

Mary hears the news that she will be the mother of Jesus, and she recoils. Martini does not at all suggest that’s she’s happy about the angel and his message: her face is not welcoming.  She a nice Jewish girl and wants no part of this.

Mary’s book, most likely a psalter, establishes she has been reading, her finger marks her place.  The book tells us that Mary is from a wealthy family.  This is 125 years before the printing press.  Books were hand copied, expensive and rare.  Although the historical Mary was not rich at all and was engaged to a carpenter, she has been promoted.  It must have almost impossible for the 14^th century to imagine God honored someone as poor as Mary.  And, to be honest, we are also comfortable with her promotion.

Between the angel and Mary is a vase of lilies, rendered, like the olives, realistically enough.  Simone could paint realistically if he wanted to; as we shall see, he did not want to paint a realistic Mary.

 

The two figures on the side panels are saints; on the right is Ansanus the patron saint of Siena; on the left Margaret, virgin and martyr and apocryphal.  Simone’s brother-in-law probably painted them.  It is not unusual for masters to leave the unimportant bits of large paintings to assistants.

The altarpiece pictures a scared event.  The gold leaf background tells us we are witnesses to a scared moment of deep spiritual meaning and importance.  Mary’s body is almost insubstantial and of no importance – we see only her face and limp hand --; Simone portrays her spiritual and divine power.  Under the influence of Duccio and the Byzantines, he has little need to set the event in the day-to-day world.  This is a sacred, heavenly event.  The picture is a doorway for us, through which we may pass from our material world and daily cares into the sacred world and the sublime.

The Bishop, the City of Sienna and Simone have done their best to offer an opportunity to seize the divine.  Whether we take the opportunity is our choice.