Salvator Mundi — The Sold God

Everything begins with the stage of a painting’s creation. But why retell once again the story of Salvator Mundi and repeat facts long known to everyone? Over two thousand years, artists have painted countless images of Christ. Yet Salvator Mundi, acquired by His Royal Highness Prince of Saudi Arabia Badr bin Abdullah bin Mohammed bin Farhan Al Saud ( بدر بن عبد الله بن محمد بن فرحان آل سعود ), is unique and allegorical. We will explain why.

More than half a millennium ago, the author was inspired by an idea that was not new even then — to paint the face of Christ. He assembled the wooden panel, sanded it, and applied gesso. The master used expensive and very costly pigments of the time (ultramarine, lapis lazuli), mixed them with oils, and created semi-transparent layers to achieve a soft sfumato. All this made his paintings vivid, radiant, and durable, even after 500 years.

It doesn’t matter who touched the brush on the panel during the work: an anonymous author, Leonardo, Da Vinci’s pupils, the Lord God, or the vandals surrounding Lucas Cook. Centuries later, Diana Dwyer-Modestini set everything in order. What matters are the consequences and the full spectrum of their effects.

Salvator Mundi

1499—1510, 45.7 cm × 65.7 cm

Salvator Mundi

Fragment 1499—1510

Salvator Mundi

Fragment 1499—1510

Salvator Mundi

Fragment 1499—1510

For a time, Salvator Mundi was attributed to the hand of Leonardo da Vinci. This is not crucial for us, since we evaluate the work from the perspective of the work itself, not its author. Bravo to Leonardo, if it is indeed his, or to the unknown creator of Salvator Mundi, and, of course, to Dianne Modestini, who restored up to 90% of the painting. Within the hierarchy of artistic dynasties, Leonardo occupies his own niche alongside other painters of the High Renaissance.

The formal global value attributed to Leonardo today is, to a large extent, the result of a masterful shaping of collective perception following the exhibition of the Mona Lisa in New York in 1963. The Mona Lisa is valuable as an echo of its time, an academic masterpiece marking artistic evolution. The Last Supper and Leonardo’s religious works represent the symbolism of Christ’s teaching and humanity’s spiritual aspirations. Other Old Masters hold their value from different perspectives.

The entire High Renaissance era is united by one quality — the depth of time and emotion matured within it. Like a well-aged cognac, like an idea, a doctrine, or dogma. Therefore, paying tribute to the craft of painting perfected by Leonardo da Vinci, we publish some of his works for those unfamiliar with them.

Leonardo da Vinci — Annunciation

1472—1476, 98 × 217 cm, Uffizi Gallery, Florence

Leonardo da Vinci — The Baptism of Christ

1472–1475, 177 × 151 cm, Uffizi Gallery, Florence

Leonardo da Vinci — Ginevra de' Benci

1474–1480, 38.8 × 36.7 cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

Leonardo da Vinci — Benois Madonna

1478—1481, 49.5 × 33 cm, Hermitage, Saint Petersburg

Leonardo da Vinci — Adoration of the Magi

1478–1482, 246 x 243 cm, Uffizi Gallery, Florence

Leonardo da Vinci — Portrait of a Musician

1483–1487, 44.7 × 32 cm, Pinacoteca Ambrosiana, Milan

Leonardo da Vinci — Virgin of the Rocks

1483–1493, 199 × 122 cm, Louvre, Paris

Leonardo da Vinci — Lady with an Ermine

1489–1491, 54.8 × 40.3 cm, National Museum in Kraków

Leonardo da Vinci — La Belle Ferronnière

1490–1498, 62 × 44 cm, Louvre, Paris

Leonardo da Vinci — The Last Supper

1495—1498, 460 × 880 cm, Santa Maria delle Grazie, Milan

Leonardo da Vinci — The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne

1501–1519, 130 × 168.4 cm, Louvre, Paris

Leonardo da Vinci — Mona Lisa or La Gioconda

1503–1516, 77 × 53 cm, Louvre, Paris

Leonardo da Vinci — La Scapigliata

1506–1508, 24.7 × 21 cm, Galleria Nazionale di Parma

Leonardo da Vinci — Saint John the Baptist

1513–1516, 69 × 57 cm, Louvre, Paris

For centuries, the face of the Savior of the World appeared among hundreds of His depictions. In 1688, the painting surfaced in the collection of the Duke of Buckingham, in 1763 it disappeared after an auction sale, and 137 years later, in 1900, it reached Frederick Cook. It is difficult to judge Sir Frederick Lucas Cook’s mastery of painting, yet it was he who decided to add the now-familiar beard and mustache to Christ’s image. In 1958, the heirs of this conservative intellectual sold the work at Sotheby's for £45. It seemed inevitable that a worn panel, repainted, unsigned, and sold for almost nothing, would sink into oblivion.

George Villiers Buckingham

2nd Duke of Buckingham (1628 - 1687)

Sir Frederick Lucas Cook, 2nd Baronet

21 November 1844 – 21 May 1920

Salvator Mundi 1900

1499—1510, 45.7 cm × 65.7 cm

Sotheby's auctions

Hollywood Comes to Bond Street as Sotheby's Invents the Gala Sale

The 21st century arrived, and Robert Simon undertook the painting’s “resurrection.” He purchased it for less than $10,000. Attribution of the work to the Renaissance genius divided experts, while its financial fate followed the cunning path of worldly values: from a £45 panel in 1958 to $10,000 in 2004 → $80 million in the hands of Yves Bouvier → $127.5 million in the collection of Dmitry Rybolovlev → $450.3 million (including commission) paid by Prince Badr bin Abdullah bin Mohammed bin Farhan Al Saud. During these 59 years, the painting encountered both countless unclean hands and calculating eyes, and also the blessed gaze of those who sincerely believe.

Salvator Mundi 2006

Salvator Mundi after cleaning

Salvator Mundi 2017

Christie's Manhattan

Salvator Mundi 2017

Salvator Mundi 2017

Christie's Auction

The hands of true artists, composers, writers — and sometimes even the destinies of ordinary people — are often guided by a higher force to shape causes and consequences, to deliver certain ideas or outcomes. Salvator Mundi and everyone connected with it serve as an example.

The paradigm of the painting is as follows: the image of the Savior of the World, symbol of Christianity, ultimately became merely an instrument of profit and deception for those very “Christians,” and ended its journey aboard the yacht Serene of Prince Badr bin Abdullah bin Mohammed bin Farhan Al Saud. The Savior’s image has been withdrawn from the world. In its place remain the prince’s money and the glory of a successful Christie’s sale. And the Mona Lisa smiles knowingly beside it. Consider the essence:

His Royal Highness Prince Badr bin Abdullah bin Mohammed bin Farhan Al Saud acquired EVERYTHING. For it was you, the Christian world, who recognized Salvator Mundi, restored its image, declared it the face of Christ — all for one purpose: to sell Christ at the highest possible price. Perhaps Providence guided the Saudi prince as he raised his paddle at Christie’s. Perhaps he would have paid a billion. But that is not the point. The consequence is this:

The Saudi prince sails on his yacht together with the face of Christ. Perhaps he speaks with it, reflects, asks silent questions, or simply gazes at the paint that absorbed centuries of time, the thoughts of the creators, and the emotions of viewers.
The world remains without its Savior. Yet it thinks only about the millions paid. This is the allegory of this great painting.

Cause-and-effect relationships follow a simple rule: whoever you worship becomes your master. With the beginning of the 21st century, the era of Christ’s teaching approaches its end — everything has its allotted time. This brief episode, the just and relentless sorting script known as the Apocalypse, will place everything in its proper order with geometric inevitability.

As the echo of applause for Bouvier and the marketers of Christie's fades, one question remains:

For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? For the Son of Man shall come in the glory of his Father with his angels; and then he shall reward every man according to his works.

— ܡܬܝ

But then again — forget it. Open the champagne. Think about upcoming deals. Find a crowd — sell them a banana taped to a wall or a pickled shark. Speak about the greatness of a canvas after a random bucket of paint has been spilled over it, and about how deeply you understand art. Print millions of reproductions of masterpieces with simulated brush texture and the smell of oil paint. Sell them under the label “what difference does it make.” Create an honest NFT collage inspired by Beeple — from five billion of your own selfies. Call it “Sons of Damnation.”

Arnolfini – Imago Mundi

Symbol of the Apocalypse in Art