Praying Hands
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 Albrecht Durer the Elder's children 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, 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!
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