Diego Velazquez - Tumblr Posts
Paintings Lockscreens
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It's a tie between the 3rd of the Sorrowful Mysteries, The Crowning With Thorns, the 5th of the Glorious Mysteries, The Coronation, and the 4th Glorious Mystery, The Assumption. I like these three because when I say a Hail Mary, I imagine it adds a thorn to Jesus' crown, a star to Mary's Coronation, and a flower to the painting depicting Mary's Assumption. These are my favorite depictions - sadly I couldn't figure out the artist for the Sorrowful Mystery, but the Coronation painting was done by Diego Velázquez, and the Assumption by Juan de Jesus Munera Ochoa.
Hey Catholics!! Reblog with your favorite mystery of the Rosary and your favorite depiction of it!!!
My favorite mystery is the second one of the Joyful Mysteries, The Visitation. I just love the complete and absolute joy that the Virgin Mary and St Elizabeth feel when they meet (as well as St John, I mean the kid freaking jumped for joy in St Elizabeth's womb he was so happy). All that joy is just impalpable and almost unmatched.
And here is my favorite depiction of it, by Amber Knorr.
Now I would just post a picture of a grey square here, which means nothing. A grey square, like the one the TV displays when it is turned off. That's all that's left of me, a grey square. I could post a white one too, because it potentially contains everything: the angels, the poems, Eternity, beauty, the beginning, innocence, mirrors, poplars, shadows, the sea, the big and deep beds, or those old and beautiful clothes seen in Velázquez's paintings. I see myself in those paintings. But the grey square is empty, it contains nothing, and in that, I see myself as well. Like when something covers the Sun, and thereby its opposite is revealed.
In the picture: Velázquez: Infanta Margarita
Dream or memory? Can we have memories of ancient times? Or can we be reminded of other people's memories of times long gone? Images from the past that return, images that cannot be expressed, because no matter how I describe them, they do not reflect the way I feel and see these shadow images. But these images are mine, and there is no doubt about that.
An image of an old castle first comes to mind, like Versailles. A long line of rooms opening into each other, with large wing doors. It's late in the afternoon, nobody is anywhere, it's quiet. It was not by chance that I mentioned Velázquez's paintings a few days ago. I might be a 14-15-year-old girl, and I'm standing there in clothes similar to those seen in Velázquez's paintings. A strange peace reigns here, with every step something it's ringing in the in showcases, the soft sound of creaking wooden stairs and parquet floors is heard, and the rooms hide ancient secrets. I'm a little scared, but I decided to go all the way through the rooms on the southwest side. I slowly take hold of the large doorknob and slightly open one wing of the winged door. Sure, it squeaks, but there's no going back. I open it a little and peek from behind the door. The floor-to-ceiling windows are open, shadows play on the walls in the light filtering through the curtains, and the rooms are filled with a fiery glow born of the endless dance of sunlight and poplar leaves. I wrap one of my blonde locks around my fingers and peek further. There's a big mirror next to the door opposite, and to my left, opposite the windows, a big canopy bed, and I can see that someone is sleeping there. There is a small railing in front of the bed and the floor creaks. On tiptoe, cautiously, I run quickly across the room, reach the opposite door, open it quickly - it creaks - step into the other room and close the door behind me. This was fast! I am relieved. After the pink, flowery tones of the previous room, this room was blue-toned, there was no bed, and a large picture of King Louis hung on the wall. A wall clock could be heard faintly ticking. This room was also peaceful, yet the king in the picture was looking at me, and I was scared of him. I quickly ran across the room, but the opposite door was locked! Now what should I do? I went to the window and started talking to the wind, which brings and takes deep secrets, like the rustling of the forest. And the wind told me to go back to the previous room and do what I felt. So I went back and the wind coming in through the open windows caressed my skin and accompanied me to the bed. A girl was sleeping there, she must have been my age, she was very beautiful, and I felt like I wanted to lie in bed next to her. As quickly as I could, I got rid of my heavy, tight clothes and snuggled up next to her. That's when I noticed that she wasn't even sleeping. She smiled. - I saw you earlier. An angel flew through the room! She told. - The wind told me to lie next to you. I told her quietly. - The wind knows you better than you know yourself! She whispered this in my ear and kissed me. I cannot describe the indescribable peace and happiness I felt then. We were both innocent there, as innocent as the soft whispers born from the endless dance of the wind and the trees
Portrait of the Infanta Maria Theresa of Spain (c. 1653) by Diego Velázquez. Kunsthistorisches Museum.
Portrait of King Philip IV of Spain in Fraga (1644) by Diego Velázquez. The Frick Collection.