The Last Judgment - 5/16/26
An excerpt from some mail I sent a friend, about my visit to the scrovegni chapel in Padua, Italy. I was but a wee child when I first saw this fresco painting.
“It was a late evening, I remember that distinctly because I saw shadows of people rather than the people themselves. And at that age I was still unnerved by shadows. Very Jungian, if you ask me! Anyhow, at this late hour I was thoroughly exhausted. An American child does not have the attention span and leg strength as your average Italian babe. So my father was carrying me around into this small chapel. The building itself I do not remember, probably due to the darkness of the night. But the inside was a magical, putrid yellow color. Possibly special light bulbs to not damage the old paint. My mother remarks that we were specially air-locked in, to preserve the paintings. Whatever that means!
I can recall being cramped into this small space with many other tourists, in the dim light they seemed like dark specters. I was in my fathers arms when I saw the Last Judgment depiction, specifically Satan devouring the damned in the hell region of the piece.
We were in the far right corner of the room, exactly under Satans rule. I remember thinking Satan was eating little cherubs I had seen statues of earlier. But to my knowledge, Satan does not eat cherubs. I do remember correcting myself as I examined closer and noticed more mature features on the sinners, and realized they were nude adults. But at any rate, in my young mind I felt so much overwhelming fear in that moment. But even more, I was deeply, deeply intrigued and delighted. I was curious about what sinners were, and who satan was.
But I did not dare ask or inquire about these things. Not out of fear, but an intense yearn to keep such a secret of delight. Like a special thing to have all to myself, perhaps my first instance of individuality?
I think I had a brief connection with the “collective unconscious”, a painting made in 1300 by hands long gone that managed to invoke such feelings of pure exuberant intrigue in a preschooler in the time of ipods and the Harlem Shake.”
I have always taken interest in the strangeness of life. I believe that despite my childhood abuse, I still made meaningful attempts at being an individual at a young age. I was also enamored with the artist Mark Ryden around the same age, five or so, I hope to do a writing on his Tree Show book soon.
