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Do Paintings of Miracles Come More Bizarre Than This?
Deciphering Crivelli’s sublime symbolism
It must have been ten years ago when I first saw this painting, The Annunciation by Carlo Crivelli. The very first impression it made — as my eyes struggled to accustom to the pushy dynamic of the composition and the oddly caustic selection of colours, of terracotta, gold and grey-blue — was of disorientation.
It’s like being dropped into the middle of a labyrinth where your mind wonders when to turn to next. As my eyes settled, it became clear that the painting is set in a street, and that you as the viewer are wedged somehow at a crossroads, one foot along the ally and the other foot stepping into the domestic silence of a woman’s abode.
Around the image, various birds perch: a peacock sits on a first-floor loggia whilst numerous doves populate the town. Several townsfolk are scattered along different levels and up staircases.
Meanwhile, from the clouds in the sky a ray of light bubbles up and bursts forth into the street. It cuts through an aperture in a building and eventually touches the head of the woman in prayer.
At the front of the painting, an apple and a cucumber lie on the ground. They seem to have been placed there deliberately, and even overhang the edge of the image as…
