MAN: We're in the Uffizi. And we're looking at a Raphael. And this is the "Madonna
of the Goldfinch," which is a really funny title. WOMAN: It is a funny title. And John-- who we see
here on the left-- is holding out a goldfinch,
the bird, to the Christ child, who strokes its head. And the goldfinch is a symbol
of the passion of Christ, of Christ's suffering. And so we have that
idea that we often have, of the foretelling
Christ's terrible future. MAN: At the same time,
this is a painting of two children and a mother. And so it exists in
several different planes, because they're children doing
childlike things-- one showing a pet to another, one
wanting to touch it, the mother looking
down protectively. WOMAN: And even a kind of
tenderness between the mother and son-- look at the way that
Christ puts his foot on his mother's. So there's that skin-to-skin
moment of human contact there that's really lovely. But to me, Christ doesn't
look like a child having fun. He looks very much all-knowing. I suppose if you were looking
at a painting from the 1300s, Christ would look-- instead
of looking like a baby, he would look like a
little man, in order to indicate his sense of wisdom. But here I think Raphael
communicates that through the elegance
of Christ's body. Look at the way he lifts his
arm up, strokes the goldfinch, and tilts his head back. He stands in this incredibly
elegant contrapposto that no child would
ever stand in. I mean, it's such a pose. MAN: It's true. And it's a beautiful
foreshortening of his head, of his face as he leans back. But then there's a kind of
energy and child-likeness that we see in John. John seems so engaged--
look what I can show you. WOMAN: And yet it's this symbol,
this really potent symbol, of Christ's suffering. MAN: What's so interesting is
that, unlike the 1300s as you mentioned before, we don't
have the Madonna on the throne. Here, nature itself
is the throne. We have this
verdant environment, this beautiful
atmospheric perspective. And she sits on a rock. That is, divinity
is all around us. By the time we get to
the late 15th century through the early 16th century,
in the High Renaissance, nature itself has taken
on the expression of God. We don't need, in a sense,
those kingly symbols. WOMAN: Look at how
composed it is, it in a way that we don't even
notice immediately. We have a pyramid
composition, with Mary at the top, and Saint John
and Christ on either side, and that sense of real
stability and balance that's also so much a part
of the High Renaissance. MAN: Even as the figures are
so engaged with each other-- and there's real dialogue that's
taking place with them-- there is also that sense, that
High Renaissance sense, you're right, of balance, of
perfection, of the eternal. WOMAN: That interlocking of
gestures and glances-- Mary looking at down at
John, John looking at Christ, Christ looking back
at John-- all of them enclosed within the pyramid
structure of Mary's body, that unified composition
that brings everything together in this really lovely landscape. MAN: I'm intrigued by the book. Mary had been reading. She's kept her place. And of course, that reminds
us of an earlier scene in the Annunciation,
when Gabriel interrupts as she's been piously
reading the Bible. But here she's been
reading, and now she's interrupted by her charges. She's doing a little
bit of babysitting.