The Art of Patience: Reading Late Life with Rembrandt
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by Peter L. Doebler
Peter L. Doebler is currently the Hone Research Fellow for Museum Engagement at the Dayton Art Institute in Dayton, Ohio. He holds a Ph.D. in art and religion from the Graduate Theological Union, Berkeley, and his research interests include theological and comparative aesthetics. He can be reached at pdoebler@ses.gtu.edu. At the end of his masterly study Rembrandt’s Eyes, Simon Schama summarizes what it is about the Dutch painter that makes him so singular and attractive: [F]or Rembrandt, imperfections are the norm of humanity. Which is why he will always speak across the centuries to those for whom art might be something other than the quest for ideal forms; to |
the unnumbered legions of damaged humanity who recognize, instinctively and with gratitude, Rembrandt’s vision of our fallen race, with all its flaws and infirmities squarely on view, as a proper subject for picturing, and, more important, as worthy of love, of saving grace.1
Imperfections and frailties certainly mark the human life course at all stages, but late life is a time that acutely consolidates many of them as body, mind, and social relationships face various forms of deterioration. And for an artist so concerned with the human condition as Rembrandt was, it is not surprising that he made many paintings of figures in late life. This essay is an initial attempt to explore some of the wisdom these paintings offer us for thinking about, and living with, our aging selves.
As a way of theoretically framing the following discussion, I want to use the idea of the poetics of aging developed by William Randall and Elizabeth McKim in Reading Our Lives: The Poetics of Growing Old (Oxford University Press, 2008). This idea is that a human life is like a story, a story where the person is author, narrator, character, and reader all at the same time. The importance of telling one’s story has long been discussed and practiced in gerontology, but Randall and McKim’s approach is more nuanced. Building on recent research in cognitive neuroscience that sees human consciousness—from basic perception to the awareness of our identity over time—as a network of narrative actions, they suggest that the activity of reading this self-narration “stands before us as a pivotal developmental task for the second half of life.”2 And by “reading,” Randall and McKim mean more than just recounting the various people, places, and events of one’s life, but taking a more critical stance—why do we recount these particular people, places, and events? What do they tell us about ourselves?3 This way of reading challenges us to expand our memories and probe them for meanings that, in turn, may give us a deepened perspective and even enable us to transcend our stories by integrating them into larger stories that go beyond our own.4
This notion of a poetics of aging is suggestive for how art and religion together may contribute to our understanding and experience of the aging process, since both artistic and religious practices are inextricably connected to narrative. Likewise, this indicates that the phenomenon of aging, rather than being some marginal topic for either art or religion, shares the concerns of both on a fundamental level. Linking aging, art, and religion to one another through the node of poetics creates a network where focusing on one will enhance the understanding of the others. This network establishes a variety of methodological pathways. One could begin with studies of aging, such as Randall and McKim, and use this to approach aesthetic and spiritual issues. A complementary approach would be to start from the perspective of religious or spiritual traditions and, after considering how these deal with the topic of aging, perhaps then to branch out into the arts.5 A third way would be detailed studies of specific artworks and through these teasing out spiritual and gerontological threads.
In what follows, I will offer a sketch of this last approach. I will compare four of Rembrandt’s paintings of the elderly New Testament figures Simeon and Anna to show how he instantiates the notion of a poetics of aging in two ways. First, the poetics of aging are evident in how Simeon and Anna are represented as readers of their own lives, and second, poetics are evident, too, in how Rembrandt’s reading of the biblical story changes through the different paintings. Through a comparison of Rembrandt’s use of line, color, light, and gesture, I will show how there is a movement in Rembrandt’s reading of the story, from an exciting drama with an objective presentation of the story, to a more subjective and contemplative meditation from the point of view of both Simeon and Anna.
The story of Simeon and Anna appears in St. Luke’s Gospel, chapter 2, verses 25–38 (NIV):
Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: ‘Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you may now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel.’ The child’s father and mother marveled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: ‘This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.’ There was also a prophet, Anna, the daughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.
The encounter of Simeon and Anna with the Christ child takes place in the Temple in Jerusalem. Mary and Joseph have come to present their first-born child in the Temple according to the Jewish Law. What is emphasized about both Simeon and Anna is their age and their piety. They stand out because they have not given up hope in waiting for the fulfillment of the ancient prophecies concerning the Jewish Messiah, such as in Isaiah 40:1. They both testify that this child is a new chapter in the story of God’s dealing with Israel, and they interpret their own lives—the numerous years spent in prayer, fasting, and other ritual observance—as finding a conclusion in this event. Now let us see how Rembrandt gives visual form to this story.
The early painting of the story, Simeon and Anna in the Temple (fig. 1), bustles with life. The strong use of vertical lines through all four adult figures, the stout pillar, and the miniscule, extinguished candle all make the entire painting literally “perk up.” But this upward movement is balanced by the diagonal lines in the painting, first the brilliant slice of light that enters from the upper right corner, emphasizing Anna’s outstretched hand. This leads the eye to the two diagonals that cluster the five characters in a snug pyramid. And within this is a smaller triangle of Simeon, Mary, and the child, leading us to the very point of the story, the prophecy of Simeon to Mary concerning her new baby. This tight triangular grouping is in turn balanced by the depth of the picture, which contains at least six distinct planes, from Joseph in the front to the furthest wall in the back, darkened by the snuffed candle. The planes create a very clear dramatic space for us to look into as a somewhat detached audience; Joseph’s back and rugged, bare feet screen us from being immediately present.
The colors that dominate the picture are the warm, custard yellows of light that create an amber glow on the figures, offset by Mary’s green veil. The colors support the emphasis on the theme of light in the painting, which is also expressed in the contrasting tones of the painting, particularly the stark contrast between the heavy black reverse “L” on the right side of the painting and the upper left pocket of light. But the brightest part of the canvas is reserved for the face of the Christ child, capturing Simeon’s prophecy that the child will be “a light for revelation to the Gentiles.” The infant is illumined by the incoming natural light, but is also backlit with his own halo of holiness. The brilliance is so strong that the face is almost eclipsed.
While the child may be the motive for the encounter, Rembrandt focuses the viewer’s eyes on the figures of Mary and Simeon by erasing the child’s features. We are clearly in the middle of a drama, right at the part of the prophecy where Simeon says, “And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” Joseph recoils in surprise while Mary clenches her hands, eyes wide with—what is it? Apprehension? Acceptance? Wonder?
Rembrandt frames this moment with what happened previously, and what will happen momentarily. Just before in his prophecy, Simeon forecasted that the child “is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel.” This is expressed in the painting through the contrast of light and dark, particularly the darkened interior of the Temple and the extinguished candle, which may symbolize the New Covenant appearing in the child. The coming moment is the appearance of Anna. The biblical text says, “Coming up to them at that very moment….” Right as Simeon finishes his words, there is Anna, effervescent with joy and praise at the sight of this thing which, for so long, she has been waiting.
The expressions and gestures given to Anna and Simeon further communicate the vigorous drama in the painting. Simeon’s face is full of sage wisdom and clear thought, his gesturing hand stable and controlled while he firmly holds the baby in the other, still-strong left hand. He has no trouble kneeling down to talk to Mary. Likewise Anna, while clearly older, is still spry, her hands raised easily, almost over her head, in delight. Finally, the eyes of both Simeon and Anna are bright and active, looking at others, Simeon to Mary and Anna out at us, the hook that catches our eyes and leads us to participate in this drama of encounter.
Simeon’s Song of Praise (fig. 2), completed three years after Simeon’s Prophecy to Mary, shows a clear development in Rembrandt’s artistry. While the paintings are almost the same size, what immediately stands out in the latter painting is the immense space and the swarming people. It is clearly a different moment in the story. Simeon raises his eyes to the heavens in prayer: “For my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel.” In keeping with the story, Anna is still there, but she is slowly approaching from the right and we anticipate she will arrive just after Simeon’s prophecy to Mary. In effect, the painting is even more dramatic—bordering on operatic—than the earlier one.
The emphasis on space and audience in this painting is significant. In the earlier painting, the commentary on the child as the fulfillment of the Messianic prophecies was alluded to through the extinguished Temple candle. Here it is much more explicit. The previous depiction of the Temple was almost primitive, a small, somewhat cozy rock temple, a little decoration on the pillars but nothing too gaudy. Now the Temple is cavernous and opulent, a blend of Pantheon, Gothic cathedral, and Paris opera house. It yawns with history, ritual, and stubborn patience. Likewise, the previous painting focused on the intimate drama of Mary, Simeon, and Anna. For all we know, there was nobody else at the Temple that day. Now the event takes place before scads of onlookers, ranging from common people like Joseph and Mary all the way up to the high priest and the other religious authorities.
Again, Rembrandt uses strong vertical lines to create the feeling of expanding space, particularly the pillars of the temple which recede into the background. The other strong vertical is the daunting figure of the purple-robed high priest. This associates him with the pillars of the Temple and the cultic tradition of Israel, making him a representative of the Old Covenant. The space is further expanded by the use of clear perspective diagonals on the floor that lead the eye back into the darkened recesses. But in the midst of this expanding space, our gaze is reigned in and focused by the sharp downward diagonals of the priest’s arm and the mass of people descending the stairs, leading again to a focus on the center of the drama: Simeon holding the child and singing his song.
The colors in this painting also are very different from the earlier painting. Here it is darker browns and greys that create a sublime contrast with the purple, red, and blue on the core figures that hover around the particle of light at the lower center of the painting. This also contrasts with the earlier work, which divided the canvas into light and dark sides. Here darkness surrounds the entire image and the light that reflects off of Simeon comes from some unknown (divine?) source. This use of color and light reflects Simeon’s words, “For my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles . . . .”
But the painting also foreshadows Simeon’s imminent prophecy that “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed.” Indeed, already the hearts of many are being revealed as Rembrandt shows us in the various reactions and gestures by different observers: the pure, clear face of Mary; the somewhat skeptical look of the man behind Mary (a self-portrait of Rembrandt?); the worried glance of the man in the right foreground; and the ambiguous reaction of the high priest. The priest’s hands are outstretched like Anna’s in the previous painting, but we cannot see his face. Is the hand raised in surprise? Blessing? Does it attempt to suppress the aged man’s song? Finally, Simeon’s own heart is revealed, a mirror of pure light, faithful waiting, and fulfilled hope. Compared with the previous painting, this Simeon appears even healthier, a robust body that securely cradles the baby, looks wide-eyed toward the skies, and opens his mouth in song.
Rembrandt’s portrait of an old woman, probably Anna (fig. 3), was completed the same year as Simeon’s Song of Praise, but it gives us a totally different perspective. If the previous two paintings presented us with an objective perspective on a drama with a complex interweaving of multiple elements, here we are given an image of quiet simplicity and gentle contemplation. We move from looking at Anna, to sharing in the life of Anna.
Compared to Simeon’s Song of Praise, this painting is almost identical in size, but the feeling of space is totally reversed. The previous paintings had multiple planes of action while here it is stripped down to two planes—the figure and the background—as we are brought close enough to hear Anna’s patient heart beat. And whereas firm vertical lines dominated the other paintings, giving a rigid strength and monumentality, here it is diagonals that are the majority. Anna’s bending back and the spine of the book create diagonal lines that give the painting a rightward-falling feeling, a frail tension that is caught by the one strong horizontal line, Anna’s hand on the book, as if she is sustained by the very act of reading.
This close connection between Anna and the Torah she is reading is reinforced by the use of color. Besides the engulfing oil-spill of black, the main colors are the sumptuous red robe and the off-white of the parchment that blend perfectly in the skin tones of hand and face. Indeed, this painting is all about the hand. It is a hand that contrasts markedly with that of Simeon’s Prophecy to Mary. It is a barely animated hand, weighed down with wrinkles, a hand that shows as much history and memory as the ancient temple in Simeon’s Song of Praise.
Equal care is given to Anna’s face. In the previous paintings, Simeon and Anna were elderly but not old. In this Anna, Rembrandt makes us feel the years. The eyes are not wide open, gazing out at the viewer, but barely open, eyes in their last extremity, a face in the shadow of the valley of death. The lightest spot of the painting is where the hand touches the book and, through this, Rembrandt connects the Torah to the brightest part of the other paintings, the Christ child, making the text here a surrogate for the child, the word speaking of the Word. And we see this in Anna’s gesture, as her thoughtful, crow’s-footed eyes continue to search the scriptures as she reaches out, touching the words in hope that she might touch the One about whom the words speak. In this very personal portrait, we are shown a moment in the endless moments, years, decades, of Anna’s waiting, a lifetime of waiting that preceded the single instant of joy St. Luke records for us. In her silent reading, we see Anna reading her own life and inscribing it into the story she reads, the story of Israel.
Rembrandt’s Simeon in the Temple (fig. 4) from 1669 is one of the last paintings by Rembrandt. It was found incomplete in his studio. The woman in the background, possibly Anna, is perhaps a later addition. This unadorned image is a stunning departure from the other paintings we have seen.6 It shares the contemplative simplicity and subjective perspective that we saw in the portrait of Anna, reducing the figures to a minimum, blackening out any identifiable surroundings, and flattening the painting to nearly a single plane. But it departs from the other paintings in size. The previous three paintings were all roughly the same size, but this last painting is almost twice the size of the others. There is also a notable change in both palette and brushstrokes, the palette reduced to the earthy browns, oranges, and yellows typical of later Rembrandt paintings. The realistic sheen of the earlier works has given way to short, impasto brushstrokes. If in the earlier works paint is transformed into bodies, here the body becomes paint. Man returns to the earth from which he came.
The painting is stripped down to the most basic elements as old age and youth, the bookends of life, are brought together. There is one vertical line (Simeon), one horizontal line (Simeon’s right-angled hands), and three diagonals (Simeon’s shoulders and the baby). On the one hand, these create a triangle out of Simeon, which gives the painting a solidity and weight, but on the other hand, the diagonals, similar to the effect in the painting of Anna, create a sense of imbalance.
This sense of imbalance is reinforced by the depiction of Simeon that, like the previous painting of Anna, is very different from the earlier images. The strong, mobile, wise sage, intently gazing at Mary or up into heaven in a bold song of praise, is gone. Instead, the eyes are closed, the mouth mumbling, the hands almost prosthetic. What is surprising is that, whereas the brightest point in the other paintings was the Christ child, often back-lit with a halo, here the brightest point is the forehead of Simeon.
The earlier paintings of Simeon focused on different parts of the Simeon story: his prophecy to Mary or his song about the coming of the Messiah. But here the focus is on Simeon’s first words, which continue to be sung to this day: “Lord let thy servant depart in peace.” There is almost a hint that the prophecy given to Simeon, that he would not die until he had seen the Messiah, had become a burden, that he had to keep living. But this acknowledgment of the problems of old age, so sensitively portrayed by Rembrandt in this painting, and no doubt felt in his own dying body, is balanced by an equally powerful affirmation that Simeon had made it. His story had reached its end, an ending that was bigger than Simeon and would take all of his fears and hopes into itself, an end that is a new beginning in the child he holds in his arms. And if Simeon is represented differently here, so is the child who is no longer idealized to the point of deformation in a burst of light. Instead, the baby Simeon holds is plain, all too plain, and human. And only in this painting does the child look at Simeon, confirming in his childish gaze that, indeed, Simeon can depart in peace.
These are not the only versions of Simeon and Anna that Rembrandt painted. But in just these four paintings, Rembrandt presents different readings of the story of Simeon and Anna, both in the sense of what is read and how it is read. What I have tried to highlight is that, in the first two paintings, Rembrandt shows us an objective drama with Simeon and Anna as active characters, while in the last two paintings, they are presented as reflecting on their own lives and their relation to the larger biblical story they read. Such a dual perspective is essential to a poetics of aging. Sometimes we are performers in the action of life. But equally necessary, and perhaps more so as we age, we are readers of our lives. We reflect on our own story, and how it fits into the larger stories that have preceded us as well as those that will follow. It is a reflection that, in time, may prepare us to depart in peace.
NOTES
CAPTIONS
As a way of theoretically framing the following discussion, I want to use the idea of the poetics of aging developed by William Randall and Elizabeth McKim in Reading Our Lives: The Poetics of Growing Old (Oxford University Press, 2008). This idea is that a human life is like a story, a story where the person is author, narrator, character, and reader all at the same time. The importance of telling one’s story has long been discussed and practiced in gerontology, but Randall and McKim’s approach is more nuanced. Building on recent research in cognitive neuroscience that sees human consciousness—from basic perception to the awareness of our identity over time—as a network of narrative actions, they suggest that the activity of reading this self-narration “stands before us as a pivotal developmental task for the second half of life.”2 And by “reading,” Randall and McKim mean more than just recounting the various people, places, and events of one’s life, but taking a more critical stance—why do we recount these particular people, places, and events? What do they tell us about ourselves?3 This way of reading challenges us to expand our memories and probe them for meanings that, in turn, may give us a deepened perspective and even enable us to transcend our stories by integrating them into larger stories that go beyond our own.4
This notion of a poetics of aging is suggestive for how art and religion together may contribute to our understanding and experience of the aging process, since both artistic and religious practices are inextricably connected to narrative. Likewise, this indicates that the phenomenon of aging, rather than being some marginal topic for either art or religion, shares the concerns of both on a fundamental level. Linking aging, art, and religion to one another through the node of poetics creates a network where focusing on one will enhance the understanding of the others. This network establishes a variety of methodological pathways. One could begin with studies of aging, such as Randall and McKim, and use this to approach aesthetic and spiritual issues. A complementary approach would be to start from the perspective of religious or spiritual traditions and, after considering how these deal with the topic of aging, perhaps then to branch out into the arts.5 A third way would be detailed studies of specific artworks and through these teasing out spiritual and gerontological threads.
In what follows, I will offer a sketch of this last approach. I will compare four of Rembrandt’s paintings of the elderly New Testament figures Simeon and Anna to show how he instantiates the notion of a poetics of aging in two ways. First, the poetics of aging are evident in how Simeon and Anna are represented as readers of their own lives, and second, poetics are evident, too, in how Rembrandt’s reading of the biblical story changes through the different paintings. Through a comparison of Rembrandt’s use of line, color, light, and gesture, I will show how there is a movement in Rembrandt’s reading of the story, from an exciting drama with an objective presentation of the story, to a more subjective and contemplative meditation from the point of view of both Simeon and Anna.
The story of Simeon and Anna appears in St. Luke’s Gospel, chapter 2, verses 25–38 (NIV):
Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him. It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying: ‘Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you may now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel.’ The child’s father and mother marveled at what was said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: ‘This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.’ There was also a prophet, Anna, the daughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, and then was a widow until she was eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.
The encounter of Simeon and Anna with the Christ child takes place in the Temple in Jerusalem. Mary and Joseph have come to present their first-born child in the Temple according to the Jewish Law. What is emphasized about both Simeon and Anna is their age and their piety. They stand out because they have not given up hope in waiting for the fulfillment of the ancient prophecies concerning the Jewish Messiah, such as in Isaiah 40:1. They both testify that this child is a new chapter in the story of God’s dealing with Israel, and they interpret their own lives—the numerous years spent in prayer, fasting, and other ritual observance—as finding a conclusion in this event. Now let us see how Rembrandt gives visual form to this story.
The early painting of the story, Simeon and Anna in the Temple (fig. 1), bustles with life. The strong use of vertical lines through all four adult figures, the stout pillar, and the miniscule, extinguished candle all make the entire painting literally “perk up.” But this upward movement is balanced by the diagonal lines in the painting, first the brilliant slice of light that enters from the upper right corner, emphasizing Anna’s outstretched hand. This leads the eye to the two diagonals that cluster the five characters in a snug pyramid. And within this is a smaller triangle of Simeon, Mary, and the child, leading us to the very point of the story, the prophecy of Simeon to Mary concerning her new baby. This tight triangular grouping is in turn balanced by the depth of the picture, which contains at least six distinct planes, from Joseph in the front to the furthest wall in the back, darkened by the snuffed candle. The planes create a very clear dramatic space for us to look into as a somewhat detached audience; Joseph’s back and rugged, bare feet screen us from being immediately present.
The colors that dominate the picture are the warm, custard yellows of light that create an amber glow on the figures, offset by Mary’s green veil. The colors support the emphasis on the theme of light in the painting, which is also expressed in the contrasting tones of the painting, particularly the stark contrast between the heavy black reverse “L” on the right side of the painting and the upper left pocket of light. But the brightest part of the canvas is reserved for the face of the Christ child, capturing Simeon’s prophecy that the child will be “a light for revelation to the Gentiles.” The infant is illumined by the incoming natural light, but is also backlit with his own halo of holiness. The brilliance is so strong that the face is almost eclipsed.
While the child may be the motive for the encounter, Rembrandt focuses the viewer’s eyes on the figures of Mary and Simeon by erasing the child’s features. We are clearly in the middle of a drama, right at the part of the prophecy where Simeon says, “And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” Joseph recoils in surprise while Mary clenches her hands, eyes wide with—what is it? Apprehension? Acceptance? Wonder?
Rembrandt frames this moment with what happened previously, and what will happen momentarily. Just before in his prophecy, Simeon forecasted that the child “is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel.” This is expressed in the painting through the contrast of light and dark, particularly the darkened interior of the Temple and the extinguished candle, which may symbolize the New Covenant appearing in the child. The coming moment is the appearance of Anna. The biblical text says, “Coming up to them at that very moment….” Right as Simeon finishes his words, there is Anna, effervescent with joy and praise at the sight of this thing which, for so long, she has been waiting.
The expressions and gestures given to Anna and Simeon further communicate the vigorous drama in the painting. Simeon’s face is full of sage wisdom and clear thought, his gesturing hand stable and controlled while he firmly holds the baby in the other, still-strong left hand. He has no trouble kneeling down to talk to Mary. Likewise Anna, while clearly older, is still spry, her hands raised easily, almost over her head, in delight. Finally, the eyes of both Simeon and Anna are bright and active, looking at others, Simeon to Mary and Anna out at us, the hook that catches our eyes and leads us to participate in this drama of encounter.
Simeon’s Song of Praise (fig. 2), completed three years after Simeon’s Prophecy to Mary, shows a clear development in Rembrandt’s artistry. While the paintings are almost the same size, what immediately stands out in the latter painting is the immense space and the swarming people. It is clearly a different moment in the story. Simeon raises his eyes to the heavens in prayer: “For my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of your people Israel.” In keeping with the story, Anna is still there, but she is slowly approaching from the right and we anticipate she will arrive just after Simeon’s prophecy to Mary. In effect, the painting is even more dramatic—bordering on operatic—than the earlier one.
The emphasis on space and audience in this painting is significant. In the earlier painting, the commentary on the child as the fulfillment of the Messianic prophecies was alluded to through the extinguished Temple candle. Here it is much more explicit. The previous depiction of the Temple was almost primitive, a small, somewhat cozy rock temple, a little decoration on the pillars but nothing too gaudy. Now the Temple is cavernous and opulent, a blend of Pantheon, Gothic cathedral, and Paris opera house. It yawns with history, ritual, and stubborn patience. Likewise, the previous painting focused on the intimate drama of Mary, Simeon, and Anna. For all we know, there was nobody else at the Temple that day. Now the event takes place before scads of onlookers, ranging from common people like Joseph and Mary all the way up to the high priest and the other religious authorities.
Again, Rembrandt uses strong vertical lines to create the feeling of expanding space, particularly the pillars of the temple which recede into the background. The other strong vertical is the daunting figure of the purple-robed high priest. This associates him with the pillars of the Temple and the cultic tradition of Israel, making him a representative of the Old Covenant. The space is further expanded by the use of clear perspective diagonals on the floor that lead the eye back into the darkened recesses. But in the midst of this expanding space, our gaze is reigned in and focused by the sharp downward diagonals of the priest’s arm and the mass of people descending the stairs, leading again to a focus on the center of the drama: Simeon holding the child and singing his song.
The colors in this painting also are very different from the earlier painting. Here it is darker browns and greys that create a sublime contrast with the purple, red, and blue on the core figures that hover around the particle of light at the lower center of the painting. This also contrasts with the earlier work, which divided the canvas into light and dark sides. Here darkness surrounds the entire image and the light that reflects off of Simeon comes from some unknown (divine?) source. This use of color and light reflects Simeon’s words, “For my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the sight of all nations: a light for revelation to the Gentiles . . . .”
But the painting also foreshadows Simeon’s imminent prophecy that “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed.” Indeed, already the hearts of many are being revealed as Rembrandt shows us in the various reactions and gestures by different observers: the pure, clear face of Mary; the somewhat skeptical look of the man behind Mary (a self-portrait of Rembrandt?); the worried glance of the man in the right foreground; and the ambiguous reaction of the high priest. The priest’s hands are outstretched like Anna’s in the previous painting, but we cannot see his face. Is the hand raised in surprise? Blessing? Does it attempt to suppress the aged man’s song? Finally, Simeon’s own heart is revealed, a mirror of pure light, faithful waiting, and fulfilled hope. Compared with the previous painting, this Simeon appears even healthier, a robust body that securely cradles the baby, looks wide-eyed toward the skies, and opens his mouth in song.
Rembrandt’s portrait of an old woman, probably Anna (fig. 3), was completed the same year as Simeon’s Song of Praise, but it gives us a totally different perspective. If the previous two paintings presented us with an objective perspective on a drama with a complex interweaving of multiple elements, here we are given an image of quiet simplicity and gentle contemplation. We move from looking at Anna, to sharing in the life of Anna.
Compared to Simeon’s Song of Praise, this painting is almost identical in size, but the feeling of space is totally reversed. The previous paintings had multiple planes of action while here it is stripped down to two planes—the figure and the background—as we are brought close enough to hear Anna’s patient heart beat. And whereas firm vertical lines dominated the other paintings, giving a rigid strength and monumentality, here it is diagonals that are the majority. Anna’s bending back and the spine of the book create diagonal lines that give the painting a rightward-falling feeling, a frail tension that is caught by the one strong horizontal line, Anna’s hand on the book, as if she is sustained by the very act of reading.
This close connection between Anna and the Torah she is reading is reinforced by the use of color. Besides the engulfing oil-spill of black, the main colors are the sumptuous red robe and the off-white of the parchment that blend perfectly in the skin tones of hand and face. Indeed, this painting is all about the hand. It is a hand that contrasts markedly with that of Simeon’s Prophecy to Mary. It is a barely animated hand, weighed down with wrinkles, a hand that shows as much history and memory as the ancient temple in Simeon’s Song of Praise.
Equal care is given to Anna’s face. In the previous paintings, Simeon and Anna were elderly but not old. In this Anna, Rembrandt makes us feel the years. The eyes are not wide open, gazing out at the viewer, but barely open, eyes in their last extremity, a face in the shadow of the valley of death. The lightest spot of the painting is where the hand touches the book and, through this, Rembrandt connects the Torah to the brightest part of the other paintings, the Christ child, making the text here a surrogate for the child, the word speaking of the Word. And we see this in Anna’s gesture, as her thoughtful, crow’s-footed eyes continue to search the scriptures as she reaches out, touching the words in hope that she might touch the One about whom the words speak. In this very personal portrait, we are shown a moment in the endless moments, years, decades, of Anna’s waiting, a lifetime of waiting that preceded the single instant of joy St. Luke records for us. In her silent reading, we see Anna reading her own life and inscribing it into the story she reads, the story of Israel.
Rembrandt’s Simeon in the Temple (fig. 4) from 1669 is one of the last paintings by Rembrandt. It was found incomplete in his studio. The woman in the background, possibly Anna, is perhaps a later addition. This unadorned image is a stunning departure from the other paintings we have seen.6 It shares the contemplative simplicity and subjective perspective that we saw in the portrait of Anna, reducing the figures to a minimum, blackening out any identifiable surroundings, and flattening the painting to nearly a single plane. But it departs from the other paintings in size. The previous three paintings were all roughly the same size, but this last painting is almost twice the size of the others. There is also a notable change in both palette and brushstrokes, the palette reduced to the earthy browns, oranges, and yellows typical of later Rembrandt paintings. The realistic sheen of the earlier works has given way to short, impasto brushstrokes. If in the earlier works paint is transformed into bodies, here the body becomes paint. Man returns to the earth from which he came.
The painting is stripped down to the most basic elements as old age and youth, the bookends of life, are brought together. There is one vertical line (Simeon), one horizontal line (Simeon’s right-angled hands), and three diagonals (Simeon’s shoulders and the baby). On the one hand, these create a triangle out of Simeon, which gives the painting a solidity and weight, but on the other hand, the diagonals, similar to the effect in the painting of Anna, create a sense of imbalance.
This sense of imbalance is reinforced by the depiction of Simeon that, like the previous painting of Anna, is very different from the earlier images. The strong, mobile, wise sage, intently gazing at Mary or up into heaven in a bold song of praise, is gone. Instead, the eyes are closed, the mouth mumbling, the hands almost prosthetic. What is surprising is that, whereas the brightest point in the other paintings was the Christ child, often back-lit with a halo, here the brightest point is the forehead of Simeon.
The earlier paintings of Simeon focused on different parts of the Simeon story: his prophecy to Mary or his song about the coming of the Messiah. But here the focus is on Simeon’s first words, which continue to be sung to this day: “Lord let thy servant depart in peace.” There is almost a hint that the prophecy given to Simeon, that he would not die until he had seen the Messiah, had become a burden, that he had to keep living. But this acknowledgment of the problems of old age, so sensitively portrayed by Rembrandt in this painting, and no doubt felt in his own dying body, is balanced by an equally powerful affirmation that Simeon had made it. His story had reached its end, an ending that was bigger than Simeon and would take all of his fears and hopes into itself, an end that is a new beginning in the child he holds in his arms. And if Simeon is represented differently here, so is the child who is no longer idealized to the point of deformation in a burst of light. Instead, the baby Simeon holds is plain, all too plain, and human. And only in this painting does the child look at Simeon, confirming in his childish gaze that, indeed, Simeon can depart in peace.
These are not the only versions of Simeon and Anna that Rembrandt painted. But in just these four paintings, Rembrandt presents different readings of the story of Simeon and Anna, both in the sense of what is read and how it is read. What I have tried to highlight is that, in the first two paintings, Rembrandt shows us an objective drama with Simeon and Anna as active characters, while in the last two paintings, they are presented as reflecting on their own lives and their relation to the larger biblical story they read. Such a dual perspective is essential to a poetics of aging. Sometimes we are performers in the action of life. But equally necessary, and perhaps more so as we age, we are readers of our lives. We reflect on our own story, and how it fits into the larger stories that have preceded us as well as those that will follow. It is a reflection that, in time, may prepare us to depart in peace.
NOTES
- Simon Schama, Rembrandt’s Eyes (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1999), 699.
- William L. Randall and A. Elizabeth McKim, Reading Our Lives: The Poetics of Growing Old (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 6.
- Ibid., 102.
- Ibid., 262.
- Some helpful introductory resources from this perspective include Stephen Sapp, “Aging in World Religions: An Overview,” and Susan McFadden and Janet Ramsey, “Imagining the Numinous: Relationality, the Arts, and Religion in Later Life,” in A Guide to Humanistic Studies in Aging: What Does It Mean to Grow Old?, edited by Thomas R. Cole, Ruth E. Ray, and Robert Kastenbaum (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2010). For a more methodologically oriented volume covering many traditions, see James W. Ellor, ed., Methods in Religion, Spirituality and Aging (London: Routledge, 2009). Perhaps the most accessible—and inspirational—single volume is Henri J. M. Nouwen and Walter J. Gaffney, Aging: The Fulfillment of Life (New York: Image, 1976).
- The difference of this late painting from Rembrandt’s earlier work touches on an important topic in studies of aging and art, the so-called “late style” of artists as a time of distinctive achievement. I will not go into this discussion here, but a helpful overview of the issues involved can be found in Linda Hutcheon and Michael Hutcheon, “Late Style(s): The Ageism of the Singular,” Occasion: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Humanities 4 (May 31, 2012), http://occasion.stanford.edu/node/93.
CAPTIONS
- Figure 1 (not pictured online; image included in print edition): Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, Simeon and Anna in the Temple, 1628, oil on oak panel, 55.5 x 44 cm. Hamburg, Hamburger Kunstalle. Photo Credit: bpk, Berlin/Hamburger Kunsthalle/Elke Walford/Art Resource, NY.
- Figure 2: Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, Simeon’s Song of Praise, 1631, oil on panel, 60.9 x 47.9 cm. Royal Picture Gallery, Mauritshuis, The Hague. Photo Credit: Mauritshuis, The Hague.
- Figure 3: Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, An Old Woman Reading, Probably the Prophetess Hannah, 1631, oil on panel, 60 x 48 cm. Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum. Photo Credit: Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
- Figure 4: Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, Simeon in the Temple, 1669, oil on canvas, 98.5 x 79.5 cm. Nationalmuseum, Stockholm. Photo Credit: Nationalmuseum, Stockholm.
