The Griever

Context

Widely believed to depict a marriage between Giovanni di Nicolao di Arnolfini and his wife, Jan van Eyck’s Arnolfini Portrait (1434) has long been debated for its bizarre details. One theory that particularly interested me suggests the portrait was painted after the death of Arnolfini’s wife, supported by the contrast between his black mourning clothes and the wife’s vibrancy, the snuffed out candles on her side, and the imagery surrounding the mirror.

There are 10 religious scenes depicted, with those on Arnolfini’s side representing Christ’s life, and those on the wife’s side representing Christ’s death and resurrection. Although she appears pregnant, this is largely debunked due to contemporary fashions of the era. For this poem, I’ve drawn on these theories to reimagine the scene from the perspective of the artist tasked with capturing a ghost.

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“Look alive,” he said, as if commanding her,

and then to me he turned:

“Make her look alive.”

Fabric facade,

spring birth green

and blue of Mother Mary.

But the skin of a ghost,

the complexion of marble,

“Make her look alive.”

 

“Put her hand in mine,” the Griever ordered,

“as if in a touch of love.”

And so it was done, I painted palms

with fingers that don’t intertwine.

“Don’t forget the child,” came the reminder,

despite the absence of an infant’s cry.

Breathless lungs, pinkless cheeks,

a baby’s pulse as silent as its mother’s.

“Make them look alive.”

 

“A memory,” he insisted, but I never was sure,

when each brushstroke condemned me to lie.

And so, little seeds of truth were sown,

in mirror reflections, in Christ depictions,

the woman’s reality was shown.

My silent rebellion, 

an artistic spell on them,

but no gift for realism,

can resurrect the dead.