Back
in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a
family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep
food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household,
a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his
trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.
Despite
their seemingly hopeless condition, two of the elder children, Albrecht
and Albert, had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for
art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially
able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.
After
many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys
finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would
go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his
brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who
won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support
the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his artwork
or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
They
tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won
the toss and went off to Nuremberg.
Albert
went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed
his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation.
Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than
those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he
was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When
the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a
festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant homecoming.
After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter,
Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to
drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that
had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words
were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn.
Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take
care of you."
All
heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where
Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered
head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over,
"No ...no ...no ...no."
Finally,
Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced
down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands
close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go
to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look, look what four years
in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger
have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering
from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a
glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment
or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, my brother ...for me it
is too late."
More
than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds
of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors,
charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum
in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are
familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being
familiar with it, you very
well may have a reproduction hanging
in your home or office.
One
day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht
Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together
and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing
simply "Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their
hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love "The
Praying Hands."
The
next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second
look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one
- no one - -ever makes it alone!
The Praying Hands by Albrecht Durer
