|
|
|
|
The Praying
Hands
Back in
the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family
with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for
this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession,
worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he
could find in the neighborhood. Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two
of Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream.
They both wanted to
pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would
never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the
Academy.
After many long discussions at
night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would
toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his
earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that
brother who won the toss completed
his studies, in four years, he would
support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork or,
if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday
morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg.
Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed
his brother, whose work at the
academy was almost an immediate sensation.
Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of
most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn
considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When the young artist returned
to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to
celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal,
punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at
the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of
sacrifice that had
enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing
words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now
you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of
you."
All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."
Finally, Albert rose and wiped
the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved,
and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No,
brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg.
It is too late for me. Look ... look what
four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have
been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so
badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast,
much less make delicate lines
on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush.
No, brother ...
for me it is too late."
More than 450 years have
passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and
silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings
hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like
most people, are familiar with
only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than
merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in
your home or office.
One day, to pay homage to
Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his
brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward.
He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost
immediately opened their hearts
to his great masterpiece and renamed his
tribute of love "The Praying Hands."
The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one - - ever makes it alone!
bravenet.com