The Bizarre Painting No One Fully Understands

What do we have here? A fun little get-together I see. It's so dark I can barely see anything, but it's a beautiful night with a shooting star. Amazing. What's this? Someone stepped away to rest their legs I see. Is this a pajama party? There you are. Wow, what happened to him? This piece is called Stenchik by Jan Matejko. Maybe you've seen it before as it's become a bit it's one of Matejko's most iconic works. Whether you've seen it or not, allow me to welcome you to a scene that's just as hashtag relatable as it is an absolute mess. Out of a dimly lit room appears a slumped, sulking man sitting in an ornate armchair. He's front and center in a crimson costume that appears to almost bleed into the harsh red hues that surround him. He seems to be in the room of a wealthy person's home where they're throwing a party. We can infer by his outfit that whatever he came here with the intention of doing, he's no longer in the mood. But who is this mysterious man and what is he doing at this party and why is he so sad? This is Stenchik, a 16th century court jester during the Polish Renaissance under the reign of King Sigismund the Old. This painting is also referred to as Stenchik During a Ball at the Court of Queen Bona in the face of the loss of Smolensk. I think it makes sense why they shortened it. So, Stenchik likely came to this party to entertain for royalty given the fact that he's in his work uniform. But something has clearly pulled him away from the ball. Maybe he's been partying a little too hard, needed a breather. No, this chair doesn't look like something someone would choose to relax in. Maybe it's this. There's a suspicious looking letter lying on the table next to him. And based on the long-winded title, it's probably announcing the siege of Smolensk by Russia that occurred in 1514. And with this news, we can begin piecing together the string of events that took place prior to the scene before us. One of the elites carelessly leaves the letter on the table for Stenchik to find. Stenchik happens to walk in, sees the letter, his eyes quickly scan it, and immediately he realizes the weight of its contents. He then collapses in shock in the chair beneath him, recoiling his legs, wrinkling the rug beneath him. One of his jester accessories, the Marat, sits abandoned on the floor beside him, as if he absentmindedly released it from his grasp upon finding out the shocking news. He looks so small and vulnerable sitting in this room all alone. We begin to understand the frustration in his face when we look over his shoulder at the party in the adjacent room. These are the rulers, the elites, enjoying themselves without a care in the world. For some reason, these people, who should feel the greatest responsibility in this moment, are simply able to overlook their responsibilities in the name of their own personal pleasure. A luxury Stenchik clearly doesn't have. The poor jester is left carrying the weight of the nation on his shoulders. Somehow, this guy is the only adult in the room, the only one who truly understands what this means for the future. Russia maintained control of Smolensk for nearly a century after this, and due to its location, threatened the security of the nation. To the left of the painting, we see an open window, revealing the dark night sky, which seems to be the only escape from this fiery dungeon of a room. We can make out the silhouette of the Vovel Cathedral in Krakow, and just above it is a comet in the sky. Matejko was known for connecting astronomy with God in his paintings, and believed it was the work of God's hands. This comet likely represents a bad omen. But why would a jester care so much about an event like this? He's there to entertain, after all. This isn't his burden to bear, right? Wrong. Because Stenchik was so much more than his title suggested. He was a very witty and intelligent man, known for his satire around politics and matters of the nation. It was in this way that he was able to illuminate the hypocrisies he saw occurring in the court, in a way that those in power would actually listen to him. And because he was so insightful, he knew what the loss of Smolensk meant for the future of his beloved land. Now that you know who Stenchik is, I need to come clean about something. You may need to sit down for this. This isn't actually Stenchik. Instead, it's the artist Jan Matejko posing as Stenchik. Because no one truly knows what Stenchik looks like, so Matejko substituted himself in for the jester. Oh, so Matejko painted himself because he didn't know what the jester looked like, right? Well, not exactly. Matejko was a historical painter by trade, but he was first and foremost a patriot for a nation that was really no longer a nation. He was alive in the 19th century when the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth had been divided into three parts—Russia, Prussia, and Austria. Matejko really took it upon himself to keep the Polish identity alive, and I think we can all imagine what that would have felt like. This wasn't just a historical account or a painting of Stenchik, but also a kind of weird, twisted self-portrait. Matejko created this piece in 1862 when he was only 24 years old, and although Stenchik had been gone for centuries by this time, he had gained a lot of popularity and become a real cultural icon. And this wasn't the only time he made his way into one of Matejko's paintings, but really. And I was like, why are you so obsessed with me? Why are you so obsessed with me? I can't help but think this was a therapeutic painting for Matejko. It's clear that the artist saw a lot of himself in the jester, and it's understandable why. They were both very patriotic, behind-the-scenes actors fighting for the soul of their nation. Since neither of them were elite or royalty, they affected change in the best way they knew how. For Stenchik, it was through riddles and jokes. For Matejko, it was through paint and canvas. And although who they were and what they did seems very romantic now, I would imagine, day-to-day, it felt a lot like this. As I observed and researched this painting, I found myself getting a bit frustrated. And probably not for the reasons you may think. My grievances stemmed almost entirely from this letter. As I mentioned earlier, the full title of this piece is Stenchik During a Ball at the Court of Queen Bona in the Face of the Loss of Smolensk. Okay, great. So what? Except the date on the letter reads 1533, but the loss of Smolensk took place in 1514. Not only that, Queen Bona took to the throne around 1517, a few years after the loss of Smolensk. So maybe it was just a mistake on the artist's part. Except Matejko was a notoriously meticulous history painter. This type of blatant error seems very unlikely. Could he be referring to something entirely different than what the title says? Or maybe these errors are intentional on Matejko's part. This painting was, after all, a departure from his usual style at the time. Before this painting, Matejko used his art simply to document history, whereas with Stenchik, he sought to express the moral sentiment surrounding the historical event. Could he be trying to make a point that the specific details of the event don't matter as much as the impact of it? But if this was true, then why wouldn't he just use an arbitrary date like 1788 or something random like that? I don't know, but if any of you have any ideas, please let me know. I realize that this isn't the most satisfying way to end a video, but honestly, it's kind of a mood. And hey, maybe it's all just a riddle Stenchik, I mean Matejko, left for us to solve. Thank you so much for watching, I'll see you in the next video.