Ascension of Christ n.d.

Editor: This is Giotto’s “Ascension of Christ," a drawing made with tempera, ink, and paper. I’m struck by the figures, they seem to simultaneously express grief and awe. What do you see in this piece? Curator: I see an echo of very ancient visual languages, resonating through Giotto’s distinctly Renaissance lens. The ascension itself, Christ rising, encircled in light, carries the visual memory of apotheosis from Roman imperial art. And below? Editor: Below are what appear to be apostles and angels looking up towards him. They seem frozen. Curator: Exactly. Notice how they are grouped, almost like a chorus in ancient Greek drama. The composition divides the earthly realm from the divine. This separation, of course, underscores Christ's transcendence, his leaving the world behind. But, also, observe the upturned faces – halos barely visible – reflecting a visual vocabulary for sanctity. Consider how we still visually represent "holy." Why do you think we are compelled to recycle images of the past? Editor: I guess these recognizable images can bring a sense of continuity to our own emotions. Like this specific depiction of Christ reminds me of countless other artistic and cultural representations. Curator: Precisely. Giotto isn't just showing the Ascension; he's using symbolic shorthands, recognizable archetypes, to tap into centuries of collective belief. He is trying to communicate profound emotional and spiritual truth. Editor: That is true. I’ve realized the ascension scene isn't just about religion; it’s about using imagery to evoke emotions associated with history, loss, and a legacy of faith. Curator: Agreed. We continue to return to these images not just to remember, but to feel, to connect, to find solace, to grapple with our deepest questions, all guided by an iconic symbolic order.