This little beauty is from Renaissance Italy, when those lovely chaps apparently rediscovered all the skills lost in the dark ages , when western Europe was too busy getting drunk and dying of horrid diseases, to worry about stuff like anatomy or perspective. And this is the pay off, a delightful majolica (check my web skillz out, I'm dropping linkz like it is hot; Snoop Dogg would be proud) plate showing our little saviour about to tuck into what can only be described as a seriously malformed, brussel sprout of a breast. No wonder Jesus looks less than excited, dead eyed like a Great White Shark about to devour Michael Caine, and Mary's expression is one of grim acceptance. In fact her breast reminds one of that three breasted woman out of Total Recall, on which Brian Sewell has written so eloquently.
There is something of the Theresa May about her too; the pallor of her skin and abject dress sense [why is she wearing a giant chintzie teatowel, I mean that is not on trend at all] both combine to create the undeniable insouciance of a Tory with her skirt about her ankles about to rod the nearest working class whippet with a Michael Heseltine- shaped strap on. Poor old Mary, why are you so maligned by almost all artists ever? Probably because they all listened to Radio 5 and are secretly misogynist. You really shouldn't blog after listening to Radio 5 Live phone in shows as it makes you realise that most of the UK is populated with total oiks whose views make you want to cry.
Oddly, along with the dulled eyes of a mass murderer, Jesus has the ears of a vulcan. Why the artist in question (this can be found at the Wallace Collection in dan taaaaaan London for those aroused by sprouting breasts. It also has an excellent arsenal for those interested in giant guns and ancient swords so large they took three swiss men to wield) has designed this plate to make Jesus malformed and into a distant relation of Mr. Spock god alone knows, but I think it pays a handsome dividend. Similarly, it appears that Jesus also lacks any real shoulders and instead has a neck like Mike Tyson, which like the spock ears goes strangely unreported in the Bible. Oddly, in Jesus' right hand he has a flower which is an entirely new development in our trek through history. I imagine it has a cryptic theological meaning fundamental to Christian dogma but deep down we all know that it means that little Jesus was a giant flouncing pansy as a child and given that in this depiction he appears to be quite old and is still breast feeding, which must be a bit odd given the odd nature of his conception, had some serious issues to deal with in later life and probably explains the whole messiah complex far more convincingly than the old "he is the son of God" bollocks that has so ruined Earth for the last 2011 years. Oh well, why let the truth stand in the way of a good story.
Sadly though, I don't want to be too harsh on this particular toddler Jesus as he and I share a common bond that must have been suppressed, along with his flower collecting foppery, by sinister types that make Dan Brown positively priapic. He is ginger. Ginger Jesus. Brilliant. This makes him the most famous ginger ever, rapidly surpassing Neil Kinnock and David Hopkin (and unless you supported Chelsea or Crystal Palace in the mid-1990s the second name is likely to mean bugger all). This probably explains why he had such a tough innings because as we all know everyone is always jealous of ginger haired people (that is what my Mum said to me and it must be true. Mustn't it?). So I can forgive his misshapen ears, odd neck and general crappery because me and him is kindred like brethren. Like brethren you see on the 341. Amazing stuff. I might even become a Christian. Or I might just stop writing this infernal cack and go and stroke my mungo.
