Magnificat, The Song of Mary

This stark image provides a counterpoint, even a contradiction, to the Magnificat. It is a self-portrait of a miscarriage, painted on a metal panel in the style of a Mexican ex voto. Such votive tablets commonly used tin sheets for economy and were painted in a primitive style. They would often depict a terrible event, and were offered up in gratitude for deliverance from it.

In Frida Kahlo’s case there has been no salvation. Instead of a crucifix hanging in the air there is an unflattering representation of the foetus whose life has been cut short. The sacred overtones of the medium nevertheless give the work the sense of a life offered up, if perhaps in reproach rather than praise. Kahlo lies exposed on the bed, offered up as a sacrifice of human experience to a clinical procedure, represented by the medical images that surround her.

While the opposite of Mary’s song of joy, this painting also illuminates the hinterland of grief that lies behind the Magnificat. It reminds us that the lowly are only lifted up because they have first been laid low. Mary’s joy is so powerful precisely because it emerges out of generations of pain.

The closest Hebrew Bible source for the Magnificat is Hannah’s prayer of praise on bearing a son after years of infertility (1 Samuel 2:1–10). In cultures where infertility is punished with derision and censure, grief is compounded by oppression, shame, resentment, and rage.  In Hannah’s case this lends an almost vengeful tone to the celebration of God’s marvellous work of reversal. Mary’s song transforms this anger into a hope that is not just for her alone or even for all women, but for all those who have suffered.

This sculpture of Mary and Elizabeth, created for the women of the Dominican convent of St Katharinenthal in the Lake Constance region of present-day Switzerland, is an image of sisterhood which reminds us that Mary’s song of praise arises in response to her encounter with Elizabeth. Because the sculpture does not, as most paintings of the scene might, provide a landscape or architectural setting for this moment, its context becomes the timeless one of relationship between two women, reflected in the circle created by their arms.

In some early versions of Luke the Magnificat is attributed to Elizabeth instead, and this work highlights their shared experience (Carroll 2012: 48). Many depictions of the Visitation contrast the youthful Mary with the elderly primigravida (first-time mother) Elizabeth. Here they look much closer in age and could even be sisters, sharing the common but marvellous experience of an unexpected but welcome pregnancy, hands clasped in mutual joy and understanding.

In many artistic representations of the Visitation Mary and Elizabeth reach out to touch each other’s bumps or shoulders. In the process their long cloaks often hide their bellies. The more open stance of the women in this sculpture invites the viewer to contemplate what they are carrying. At one time the cavities in their stomachs almost certainly contained images of Christ and John the Baptist, protected by clear rock crystals. Now it is only the rock crystals with which the women’s stomachs swell.  The absence of foetal figures leaves the viewer free to contemplate the women and the radiance of their bodies, whole and complete in themselves, covered in glory and shining with the Spirit within.

Mary in the text of Luke begins her song with two declarations of personhood and of agency—‘My soul magnifies’ and ‘my spirit rejoices’—while each subsequent line begins with a verb.

The Mary of this sculpture is similarly dynamic. No passive receptacle, she reaches out with her right hand to greet and her left to reassure—a motherly gesture. This is woman blessed and woman blessing, drawing the viewer into the circle of sisterly love.

References

Carroll, John T. 2012. Luke: A Commentary (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press)

Alison Lapper Pregnant is best known for its exhibition as a monumental 3.5-metre-high statue on the fourth plinth in London’s Trafalgar Square in 2005–07. Marc Quinn’s rendering of Lapper’s pregnant form was part of a series entitled 'The Complete Marbles'. In this series, Quinn sculpted people who have either lost limbs due to accident or who were born with a disability, using the bright white Carrara marble classically reserved for statues of heroes. The medium of white marble has long been associated with strength, purity, and durability.

Where ancient statues may be missing a limb or appendage due to the injuries of time, what these sculptures depict is whole and complete.

The sculpture is unapologetic in its depiction of both disability and pregnancy. Representing what Quinn has called ‘a different kind of heroism’, the beauty of the subject is conveyed in the smooth, luminous finish of the marble and its nobility through Lapper’s posture, with her head erect, face composed but angled slightly to one side, gazing beyond the viewer.

Lapper’s gaze can be interpreted as expressing a serenity that looks to the future with hope. An artist herself, Lapper’s own work challenges the prejudice and fear that surrounds congenital abnormalities and their causes in contemporary society. Her posture might be read as expressing not just hope for a successful pregnancy, but a defiant confidence in the reproductive process. Such an assurance is rooted in the knowledge of the beauty, strength, and power of lives that are often devalued, patronized, or pitied by others.

Mary’s expression of joy in the Magnificat can also be interpreted as an act of defiance, in a time when an unmarried mother would have no reason to celebrate. The term ‘servant’ or ‘handmaiden’ in verse 48 echoes her response to Gabriel in Luke 1:38. Her faith in God’s plan is not a passive acquiescence. It requires courage to look towards an uncertain future with hope.

References

Alison Lapper’s website, http://www.alilapper.com/about [accessed 10/4/2020]

Quinn, Mark. The Complete Marbles, 1999–2005, http://marcquinn.com/artworks/the-complete-marbles [accessed 10/4/2020]