20|AULA cd marks: the cracks. They weave an even older record of the same laws that subdue our skin. Edward Hopper: Light that says it endlessly There is an hour in the afternoon in which the plains are about to say something; they never say it or perhaps they say it endlessly and we don’t understand, or we do but as music, it can’t be translated... Jorge Luis Borges. The End. 5 We have chosen the art work Mañana en Cabo Cod [Imagen 9] by Edward Hopper, to address a special relationship between a warm light that generates strong contrasts between projected shadows and illuminated object; the image at rest and the feeling of anticipation; and also with the dimension of unnoticed observer in which the spectator participates in the work of art. These topics intend to contribute with a look at the phenomena of the biblical scenes inside the lateral niches of the Church. There are many, but we chose one to represent them: the scene of Mary praying for a crucified Jesus. The sense of light we want to convey is clearly captured by Borges in the story The End (El Fin). It’s the natural and intense light that shines contrasts and a warm tone that washes everything under the sun. A light that, because it can be found in the early morning or late afternoon hours, is pregnant with images of the endlessness of the plains; it is here that these moments can be fully appreciated. This unfathomable idea of space is close to its counterpart in time: eternity. If this would be a light tone, it would be the tone that glosses every object placed in a painting. Looking at the posture of the main character, we could state that while looking at her you lose any measure of time. If the painting were a frame in a film, it would be hard to imagine what came before or what will come after. Leaning against a desk, she projects her stare. Her absent attention informs us about the prospect of a future. She waits in repose, but is not aware of our presence. The domestic dimension provided by the image of an open window suggest that we are intruding in someone’s privacy without their consent. As we become aware of it, our attention stops focusing on ourselves and our feelings, to become embarrassed of interrupting the intimate moment of the other with our presence. From this moment, a tension arises that turns us into an accomplice of what we are observing. Understanding the calm and contemplation in which she waits an undefined future, the observer reacts accordingly waiting to decode the reason for her anticipation. We have a similar feeling in front of the scene of Mary and Jesus in the Church of Santa Maria del Mar. In this case, we are in the presence of something far from domestic. The modesty that the moment summons is the intimacy that people seek when confronted with a deep loss. The profound and universal respect felt when faced with the concept of death, makes more poignant the tension shared by the observer; even putting aside the biblical story. Not only does he want to remain unnoticed while he understands the scene, he does it out of an animal instinct of empathy. The mystery in the scene is in the posture held by Mary. Confronted with the crucifixion of his only child, she shuns from action and confines herself. Downhearted but firm. Feeling the most excruciating pain a mother can feel, we don’t see her immutable. Submitted, she rests in pain. Before it, we once again, lose track of time. We don’t observe it under the natural light of the rising or setting sun. Nonetheless, it’s an effect that evokes that feeling. The intensity of the light and the contrasts it creates on the bodies and the empty space, the height at which the supports for the luminaries are located in relation to the scene, the warm reflection of color on the material of Jesus face. These elements refer us to the light charged of immeasurables. A light that glosses Mary’s wait with eternity. ■