Virgin of the Rocks: Two paintings, one ripped Baby Jesus

When you think of Baby Jesus, one word springs to mind. No, not “pure,” or “cute,” or “innocent.” The word you’re thinking of is ripped. 

As we all know, Baby Jesus not only came to save the world — he came to save the world in peak physical condition. And sure, you’ve heard of the Three Wise Men, who came to see the birth of the Messiah. You probably think they brought him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, but you’d be wrong.

What they really brought was a treadmill, a Bowflex, and a wagonload of protein powder.

We may not be able to see Baby Jesus and all his rippling muscles today, but what we can see are two paintings by Leonardo da Vinci called “Virgin of the Rocks,” showing the young Christ’s bulging triceps.

Virgin of the Rocks, in double

Way back in 1483, a church in Milan hired Leonardo da Vinci to create a painting for their altarpiece, which eventually resulted in two versions of the “Virgin of the Rocks.” This sort of contract was common back in The Day — no self-respecting church could keep its doors open without some really fancy artwork. After all, if someone couldn’t read, you’re going to need some pictures to help tell the stories you keep talking about during mass.

As the story goes, Leonardo quickly finished the painting in his allotted time of around eight months, got his money, and everyone lived happily ever after.

Okay, I made that up. If you know anything about Leonardo, that should’ve been obvious. The truth is, it took him a little while. And by “a little while,” I mean around TWENTY YEARS.

You see, Leonardo was…well…some might call him lazy. I’m not calling him lazy, I’m just repeating what others have said. The real explanation is that he was incredibly easily distracted. He’d start a project, get to work, then decide he was more interested in wandering around and sketching the flow of water. 

Some have said Leonardo suffered from some form of ADHD, which would certainly explain a lot about his behavior. At the time, he was so notorious for not finishing projects that when he was hired to paint a giant fresco in Florence, Michelangelo was hired to paint the opposite wall.

Why? Just because they thought it might encourage Leonardo’s competitive instincts and he might actually finish what he’d started, instead of working on designs for a giant scaffold.

So: Twenty years, just to finish the Virgin of the Rocks. It’s kind of amazing that not only was it eventually finished, but we got two.

Da Vinci’s Di$pute

Adding to the delays (not that I’m giving Leonardo a pass, mind you) was an argument over money. He got some cash up front, then monthly payments over a couple of years. Eventually, about ten years or so after the initial contract to paint the Virgin of the Rocks, Leonardo asked the Duke of Milan to help him out by trying to get some more cash out of the church.

This part of the tale is rather murky and convoluted, but the important part is that it likely resulted in there being two versions of the same painting.

The Louvre Virgin of the Rocks is considered to be the first, and Leonardo likely sold it to someone. At least in his mind, he believed the church was trying to screw him. So at some point, he finished the painting and decided he’d find a way to get the money he felt he deserved, one way or another.

He’d later deliver the painting (or a painting, anyway) to the church, which is probably the version in London. Leonardo almost certainly painted the Louvre version alone, and may have had some help from his students on the one in London.

Both versions are obviously quite similar, and feature a couple of da Vinci hallmarks. Most notably, there’s a highly detailed landscape in the background, where you can see the outcome of one of Leonardo’s obsessions: the scientific study of how objects in the distance appear more hazy to the human eye. And, of course, his study of the flow of water is always evident in the hair of his subjects.

If you ever see a Renaissance painting with really elaborate curls in the hair, it’s probably one of Leonardo’s.

Personally, I prefer the London version. You’re welcome to feel otherwise. You’d be wrong, though.

Leonardo’s Lie

So what are these paintings showing? Well, it’s totally made up.

I’m not saying “Haha, the Bible is all fake, look how edgy I am!” What I mean is, this is an extra-Biblical story. No, I don’t think “extra-Biblical” is an actual term. Or it wasn’t, until now.

There were a number of fan fiction stories floating around at the time, and this is one of them. Of course, in the Bible, Baby Jesus flees to Egypt with Mary and Joseph in order to escape King Herod, who’d ordered the killing of all children under two — because he was not a Baby Jesus fan.

Actually, I should probably say “Mary and Joseph fled with Baby Jesus,” because Baby Jesus was a baby and was probably not calling the shots. Even though he was exceptionally ripped.

There’s also a long tradition of what’s called “apocrypha” in Christianity — stories that are every bit as old as the Bible, but didn’t make it into the actual Bible when they held board meetings and made those decisions.

As tends to be the case with stories over hundreds of years, these changed and evolved. Unlike the Bible, which is more or less static.

It’s worth pointing out that there’s no historical evidence that Herod ordered the killing of a bunch of children, so although the “Flight into Egypt” may have happened, it may also just be a story.

Now am I edgy? I guess that’s for you to decide.

So anyway, this fan fiction story being depicted involves the Archangel Uriel, who brought Baby John the Baptist to a spot on the road to Egypt so he could meet Baby Jesus and they could hang out together, trading tips on forms for deadlifting.

What we wind up with here in the Virgin of the Rocks is a traditional pyramidal composition — it was common to arrange figures like this in a painting, as it conveys a sense of stability.

At least in the London version, Baby John the Baptist is carrying a cross. If you ask me, that’s rather morbid and a bit mean of him. But then again, you can walk into any museum in the world and find a painting of John the Baptist with his head cut off, so maybe we should give him a pass when it comes to looking a bit aggressive.

Balding Babies

As much as I’d love to tell you that some of these apocryphal tales involve Baby Jesus starting a Crossfit gym, that’s simply not true. And why are you even here if not for Truth, cloaked beneath questionable and irreverent jokes?

The common explanation is that in both Medieval and Renaissance depictions of Baby Jesus, artists were reluctant to show him as an actual baby. After all, babies are chubby and uncoordinated and utterly vulnerable — and you certainly didn’t want to show Jesus looking weak.

Another way of looking at it is that people would pray to Jesus and ask him to help them out. You can’t very well pray to a baby who looks like a baby. I mean, what’s a baby going to do? He can’t find your keys or cure your diphtheria. He can’t even roll over on his own.

And in fairness to Leonardo, he was actually rather tame in how he went about illustrating him in the Virgin of the Rocks. I’ve seen paintings where Baby Jesus has a six pack. Or others where he’s balding. Come to think of it, there’s no way for me to conclude this rambling tale that could possibly compete with just showing you a picture of Balding Baby Jesus, so I’ll stick one here and we can part ways.