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Premium Spanish School. Circle of Francisco Pacheco (Sanlúcar de Bar…
Spanish School. Circle of Francisco Pacheco (Sanlúcar de Bar…
Lot no. 23
Description
Spanish School. Circle of Francisco Pacheco (Sanlúcar de Barrameda, 1564 - Seville, 1644) or of Juan del Castillo (Seville, circa 1590 - circa 1655)
'Ecce Homo'
Oil on canvas.
175 x 92 cm.
Our painting is based on an engraving by the Dutch artist Lucas van Leyden (1490–1533) dated 1512, which belongs to one of his individual compositions on the Passion theme. (https://www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/P_Kk-6-94).
Our wonderful painting was possibly part of an altarpiece depicting the Passion. It should therefore be linked to the main altarpiece of the Convent of La Pasión in Seville, which has recently been studied, leading to a change in its attribution from Francisco Pacheco to Juan del Castillo.
Ecce Homo, “this is the man” or “behold the man.” We title this large-scale work with the words spoken by Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Judea, when he presented Jesus of Nazareth to the hostile crowd, to whom he usually left the final decision regarding the fate of the condemned, since he “washed his hands,” that is, evaded his responsibility (John 19:5; Matthew 27:24). The scene takes place after the flagellation of Christ tied to the column and the crowning with thorns.
The representation of the Ecce Homo in full figure, with a compassionate gaze and hands bound in front, wearing a peplum and tunic, constitutes a true icon in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century painting. The tunic or royal mantle symbolizes his alleged crime—claiming to be King of the Jews, that is, the Messiah—for which reason the Romans mockingly placed the inscription INRI at the top of Jesus’ cross.
The entire work focuses on the single figure of Christ, endowed with a captivating gaze capable of provoking a spiritual, intimate dialogue with the viewer. The figure of Christ, more illuminated, stands out against a dark background, which enhances the emotional concentration of the observer on the moving yet beautiful image.
This Spanish painting, executed with meticulous technique, recalls the Flemish painting of Antwerp (the faces of the tormentors seem drawn from scenes painted by Quentin Massys), with a battered and sorrowful man reminiscent of a Valencian painting by Juan de Juanes: sweetness and acceptance, a gaze both direct and humbly lowered; and with an architectural, stage-like composition of the Praetorium with curtains, platform, and checkered tiles characteristic of Sevillian Baroque.
Among the figures, a dog stands out in the foreground, observing the scene and humanizing it, serving as a reflection—through its fidelity—of the painter’s own emotions. Dogs, in iconography, are shown staring at their masters or sitting at their feet, as a reflection of their unconditional devotion.
The height of Jesus fills the scene and even rises above that of the Roman governor (standing on his plinth), suggesting that divine authority stood upright rather than seated—it emanated from Jesus, not from Pontius Pilate. He was the king. It is striking how the artist presents Pontius Pilate, seated sideways on his platform, head bowed, ashamed, avoiding Jesus’ gaze, literally and figuratively washing his hands of his condemnation. This moment marks the end of the Roman official’s responsibility, as he senses the magnitude of the consequences of Jesus’ execution. A child facing forward, like an acolyte and radiating a gentleness far removed from the governor’s indifference, helps him wash his hands.
We invite you to notice the painter’s mastery in giving the scene the necessary depth, so that we observers can feel it as something possible—truly as if they were on a terrace near us, though on a higher level.
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