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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a
family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely 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 Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream.
They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well
that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to
Nuremberg 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 support the other brother at the academy,
either with sales of his artwork 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 Nuremberg. Albert 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 most 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 their 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 Nuremberg 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 the 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 said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to
Nuremberg. 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 pen or a brush. No,
brother ... 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 very
well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.
One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht
Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and
thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply
"Hands," but the entire 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!
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