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.”
Moral: 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!
