“The story is that as Juanes was about to finish the work, he had an accident that nearly cost him his life. He had climbed up onto some scaffolding to examine the upper part of the painting when it gave way. It was then that the miracle occurred: The Virgin that he had just finished painting extended her arm from the canvas and caught him in the air, setting him gently on the ground.”⁸

“That’s a great story,” I admitted.

“Like all these stories, there’s a grain of truth in it. For Juan de Juanes, his paintings were like living beings who could ease the passage through to the spiritual world. They were doors, in other words. And it was probably because they enabled whoever possessed them to transcend the limits of the material world that his works were so admired and copied.”

“That’s the same thing they used to say about Fra Angelico’s work,” I noted.

“Exactly. Separated by a century, both of these men believed that their art served a transcendent purpose. And for both of them, their art was often the result of their visions. So it’s not entirely irrational to think that they might have sought to have their paintings recreate these types of experiences for their viewers. Interesting, no?”

“It’s more than that!” I exclaimed. “It’s a revelation!”

For the first time since I’d known him, Fovel actually laughed. “Yes! I couldn’t have put it better myself! Truly a revelation!”