#2 breve | Beato Angelico (attr.), Tebaide

Uffizi | Fabbriche di Storie

BEATO ANGELICO (attr.) |

Tebaide |

Uffizi, Sala 7 |

Versione breve | La narrazione è di Mohammad Aletaha, la voce di Marco Paolini |

Leggi la scheda completa dell'opera su uffizi.it

Fra Angelico (attr.) | Thebaid | Room 7

In this painting, no one is alone.

This is what struck me when I first approached the Thebaid: it should be a wasteland (the desert near Thebes, Egypt), yet it is a garden; it should be a place of solitude, yet it is filled with relationships. As Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, wrote, the desert had become “a city”.

Mashhad is the name of an Iranian holy city; here, an imposing mausoleum was built in the name of the Imam Reza. A once small village was transformed into the most important destination for pilgrims in my country, and a sanctuary built around the mausoleum, creating a city within the city. The heart of the sanctuary is always full of people, even late at night. Many stories can be heard here. Relationships are formed, even among strangers. But when the people pray, personal silence descends.

I think this painting reflects the two extremes of life: there is a space for silence and one for relationships. It is up to us to find a balance. The disorderly scene before us is only apparently so. Most episodes are taken from a collection of hagiographic texts, the Lives of the Desert Fathers, whose increasing spread through Italy determined the success of the Thebaid scenes. This success, however, was ephemeral: the Thebaids we know today, ten in total, were mainly painted in Florence over a period of just fifty years, starting in the early 15th century. Then they disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. But this was just the beginning of their journey through time: the Thebaids, more often painted on panels rather than frescoed, were uprooted from their context, at times cut and disassembled.

My friends and I were also split up. We used to go to the mountains together. In winter, we would proceed in single file, so that whoever was in front would leave footprints for the others to follow. Outside the refuge, at sunset, we would all be in a circle, laughing and eating, enjoying the natural surroundings and being together. With the Revolution and the war with Iraq, we all left or fled; all except one. For years, we lost sight of one another. Then, when each of us was settled, we were able to get back in touch. It is great to get together, like the reassembled fragments of a painting.

Frescoed Thebaid scenes, seen by many, had a narrative purpose. Those on panels, seen by few, were a support for meditation. They were probably placed in the chapter house of monastic communities, where the Lives of the Fathers would be read aloud in the evening, and then visualized by each monk in the silence of his cell.

I like to think that these monks lived through something similar to what I feel when I am fasting for Ramadan. It is a purification that trains the brain and the heart, suspends hunger and thirst. As a child, my father would take me to the mosque and we would pray with the others. Then preaching became too intolerant. I don’t like those who believe they possess the truth. For many years now, I have been praying alone.

In the Thebaid, monks have their own cell or cave, but they live together in prayer. The relationships between them are full of gestures of care. No one is in command. No one feels superior to the others.