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Madonna of Humility, The Blessing Christ, Two Angels, and a Donor (obverse) (c. 1380-1390)
A golden-haloed Madonna sits low on the ground, cradling her child as two angels hover above. The infant Christ raises his hand in blessing over a kneeling donor, their quiet devotion framed by rich blues and intricate gold leaf. The scene hums with quiet reverence, earthly and divine meeting in tender proximity.
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The Annunciation (1828)
A golden light spills through the window as the angel kneels, wings still trembling from flight. Mary’s hands hover between surprise and acceptance, the air thick with unspoken prophecy. The moment hangs suspended—divine interruption in an ordinary room.
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La Vierge aux anges (1900)
A luminous Virgin Mary cradles the infant Christ, surrounded by adoring angels. Their golden wings shimmer as they lean in, faces alight with reverence. The scene glows with divine warmth, every brushstroke heightening the celestial tenderness between mother and child.
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The Temptation of Christ (c. 1516-25)
Christ kneels in the barren desert, gaunt from fasting. A winged figure offers bread while shadowy demons lurk behind rocks. The air hums with tension—will he yield to hunger or hold fast? Light fractures the scene, carving sharp contrasts between divine resolve and earthly frailty.
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The Annunciation (Ca. 1525-1528)
A golden light spills through arched windows as the angel kneels, wings still trembling. Mary’s hands hover between surprise and acceptance, her blue robe pooling around her. The moment hangs—divine interruption in an ordinary room.
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The Agony in the Garden (ca. 1504)
Moonlight spills over the slumped figure in Gethsemane. His hands clutch the earth as shadows swallow the sleeping disciples. Above, an angel descends with a cup—its contents unclear. The night hums with silent tension between surrender and resolve.
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The Guardian Angel
A winged figure stands watch, draped in flowing robes, its gaze both tender and solemn. The angel’s presence feels like a whispered promise—protection unseen but unshaken. Light clings to its feathers, soft yet unyielding, as if the divine could be glimpsed in the stillness between breaths.