Back in the fifteen century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen!
In order 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, Albrect and Albert, had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent in art, but they knew full well that their father would never be finacancially be able to send either of them to Nuremburg 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 supportthe other brother at the academy,
either with sales of his work 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 Nuremburg. Albertt 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 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 the 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 Nuremburg 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 his 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 softly said, "No brother. I cannot go to nuremburg. 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 oen 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 may very well have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.
One day to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakenly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched sky ward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands", but the entite 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! |