St. Cecilia 1938

Editor: We are looking at Konstantinos Parthenis's "St. Cecilia" from 1938. It's rendered in pastel, and its ethereal quality strikes me. It’s as if the saint is emerging from the very canvas. How do you see its construction? Curator: It's an intriguing construction. Notice the predominance of line, almost a wireframe of form. How does that structuring impact your interpretation? Editor: I suppose it gives it this unfinished feeling. Almost like the essence of Cecilia, not her definitive depiction. It’s barely-there, yet monumental in scale when you see it in person. The blue haunts certain sections of the composition, like musical refrains. Curator: Precisely. Consider how the use of line and minimal color creates a flattened picture plane. Do you observe how Parthenis seemingly rejects depth in favor of surface? Editor: It’s like he's flattening both space and form into simple planes, the halo behind her head becoming one with her neck, becoming one with the rectangular structure she seems to be playing? Curator: Note how the visible texture of the canvas acts as another layer within the composition, adding depth despite the lack of traditional perspective. The drawing becomes an extension of the materials themselves. How does this affect your viewing? Editor: The materiality highlights the medium and act of creation. That choice disrupts any straightforward reading of it being simply a religious figure. More of a contemplation on form using St. Cecilia as the inspiration, right? Curator: Precisely. The subject provides a framework, but it is the formal elements that dominate. Line, texture, and color combine to generate a pictorial space that exists independently of any narrative content. Editor: That really brings the composition and the artistic method to the forefront, creating a really self-aware work. Curator: Agreed. We see a beautiful demonstration of how form can truly shape and define content.