An Advent Calendar – 14

More Shepherds

So, the Shepherds who were in the foreground yesterday are in the middle ground today – and those in the background seem even further away. Everything is relative. And further forward, we see four more shepherds. We also see the red column supporting the capital carved with the relief of Abraham and Isaac and the back of the ass. Two of the shepherds are tucked into a gap in the ruins, one of whom, in a faded pink cloak, rests his right hand on his chest and tilts his head t,hat unmistakable ‘devotion and awe’ stance which echoes that of the hidden angel on the other side of the painting.

Further forward two more shepherds come into sharper focus, and more intense colour. The careful attention to surface detail allows us to see the shape of their heads with utter clarity, every inflection of the surface, the rugged features, the stubble, the sagging of the skin, the receding hair. These are normal, down-to-earth people, wearing plain, pattern-less clothing similar to that which we saw yesterday. OK, so today there is a hint of colour – the faded pink (it could be the paint that has faded, rather than the fabric – pink paints often do), and the green. But it’s nothing flashy. Yesterday I said there were no accessories, and, yes, there are hats (one in the foreground, one in the middle), but again, nothing special, and the one in the foreground is made of straw – so a cheap, practical item, even if well made – and beautifully painted!

Again, I should ask, how do I know they are shepherds? It is simply that they are ‘poor’, relatively speaking (compared to the people we haven’t seen yet), and that they are down-to-earth. And also, the fact that they are there. Although ox and ass were added in to the biblical account, not to mention dogs, ruins and plants in this case, artists were not in the habit of adding to the ‘normal’ people who turned up (although Mary’s midwives do feature in some paintings) – the shepherds were enough. Not only that, but they are musicians, and there was a minor tradition of shepherds playing music at the Nativity.

The one in green holds a pipe, while the other, who is closer, is grasping a houlette, described as ‘a trowel-like implement used in herding sheep’, proof, if any were needed, that they are shepherds. I used to think that it was the handle of an early stringed instrument – ah well. Nevertheless, there is a small horn hanging round his neck – probably also used for herding. But the pipe is most relevant, as it was piping for which the shepherds were known. The tradition survived into the 19th Century at least, as the pfifferi, as they were called, can even be found in paintings by Turner – although they are not widely reported.

And last, but not least (for today): I know you’ve all been waiting to hear about yesterday’s ‘second thing’. The first was that the shepherds in the distance appear to be looking at the star, rather than any of the angels.

And the second? Well, Luke says that, ‘there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night’ (Luke 2:8). They were ‘in the same country’– which is why they got to Jesus first. Having said that, Luke 2:15 does go on to say,

And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.‘

That is, they didn’t leave the field until ‘angels were gone away from them’ – and we know the angels are still here. Or rather, they are here, now, in the foreground, not there… not above the field, which could be another reason why the shepherds might not be looking at them. And remember, that was 12 days ago…

When I worked more regularly at the National Gallery, I used to ask school groups why they thought the shepherds were at the back (even the ones in the ‘foreground’ of today’s detail are), and sadly, they always said, ‘because they are not very important’. It’s just not the case. They were very important. They were the first to get there. The entitled people turned up late and pushed their way to the front – it always happens. Or, to look at it another way, the shepherds had been there for 12 days already, so they didn’t mind stepping back so that someone else could get a closer look. Either way you interpret it, the shepherds come out well.

And there is one more thing, which is really the ‘second thing’: they were ‘in the same country’. They were locals, and as a result they came to represent the Jews who converted to Christianity. Those coming from distant lands – the Magi – were associated with the Gentiles, and we’ll start on them tomorrow.

An Advent Calendar – 13

‘Shepherds’ –

This is the first of two days of Shepherds. Today I’m not interested in the two in the foreground – well, the foreground of this detail, anyway, they are quite a way back in the painting. Leaning over the wooden fence, we can tell they are shepherds because they are poorly dressed, with dull, plain fabrics, no patterns, no accessories. But further back there are more shepherds, ‘keeping watch over their flock’.  They are the ones of interest today. The fence the foreground pair peer over, like the rest of the building, is in a poor state of repair, and only a few of the vertical slats have lasted above the horizontal plank to which they are attached. One, just in from the left, still has its original sharp point, which seems, probably intentionally, to be pointing to a shepherd, ‘seated on the ground’.

I am, of course, quoting from two separate sources. The second comes from the well-known Christmas carol:

While shepherds watch'd their flocks by night,
All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around.

Fair enough, but not all of these shepherds are seated on the ground. We have seen one that is, although he leans back on his left arm, his right raised to shade his eyes from the glare of the glory. This has presumably only just shone round about them, as, in the process of leaning back, his right leg, knee bent, has lifted off the ground and his foot is suspended in mid-air. There are clear signs of bright illumination on the upper sides of his legs, arms, torso and head, however minute the detail must be. So he is seated, but just to the left another shepherd stands, legs apart, leaning on a staff, and looking up – but more towards their companion on the adjacent hill, rather than up into the heavens. At the top of a small escarpment, where we can see four sheep precariously poised, is a third shepherd waving both arms in the air, with both legs bent and a flap of drapery blowing out behind. From what I can see of his face, he is looking directly upwards, his head tilted as far back as possible. The two shepherds on the ‘plain’ have more sheep with them, at the bottom of the escarpment, and two alert, upright forms, which are probably dogs. These three are the very shepherds mentioned in Luke 2:8-9:

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

I’m not entirely convinced that all three are ‘sore afraid’ – the one standing is certainly only vaguely interested, as far as I can see, but the other two look more perturbed. The sheep are also entirely indifferent. Sheep often are. I’m also not entirely convinced that it is night time – however, here the artist has a problem, as we have to be able to see what is in the foreground of the painting. Also, he has another problem, given that, in the same way that yesterday’s detail was some time in the future, this is some time in the past. The angels appeared to the shepherds on Christmas – Christmas night, to be precise – whereas we already know (I have already implied) the Wise Men have already arrived here, so most of the painting is happening on 6 January – this detail happened is 12 days ago. It may have been night then, but now it is day. Nevertheless, I think there is an uncanny sense of nocturnal illumination in the background of today’s detail, given the way that the shepherds and their flock glow against the dark landscape. This technique – putting more that one part of the story into the same painting – is known as ‘continuous narrative’ and was very common.

There are two other things to consider when reading this text, and looking at this detail. The first is that, in the context of the whole painting, none of the shepherds ‘abiding in the field’ appear to be looking at any of the nine angels flying in the sky – and certainly not the hidden angel in the ruins. Rather, they appear to be looking at the star. So let us return to this star, and see what the Golden Legend says about it (the Golden Legend is the name given to a collection of stories of the lives of the Saints which was gathered together by the Franciscan Jacopo da Voragine in the 1260s, and became one of the most important sources for artists):

And ye ought to know that there be three opinions of this star, which Remigius the doctor putteth, saying that: Some say that it was the Holy Ghost which appeared to the three kings in the form of a star, which after appeared upon the head of Jesu Christ in the likeness of a dove. Others say, like to S. John Chrysostom, that it was an angel that appeared to the shepherds, and after appeared to the kings… in form of… a star. Others say more reasonably and more veritably that it was a star new created, and made of God.

My feeling would be that the artist – or maybe even the patron – or more probably, the patron’s ecclesiastical advisor, if he wasn’t ecclesiastical himself – knew this passage well, and wanted to include all three possibilities. One: ‘it was the Holy Ghost’, later to appear as a dove. Maybe that’s why the dove appears just below the star. Two: ‘an angel… in [the] form of a star’. This would be why the shepherds are looking at it. Three: ‘a star new created’. Well, it looks like no other star, and shines more brightly than the sun, as the Legend itself goes on to say. It could be any one of these three interpretations, or, for that matter, all three. We’ll come back to the ‘second thing’ tomorrow!

An Advent Calendar – 12

‘Herod’s Men?’ –

We’re quite a long way away here, looking off into the distance where the perspective makes things appear far smaller. Well, the linear perspective does. The aerial, or atmospheric, perspective makes things appear paler. The dust and mist in the air – and the air itself – knocks the light out of line, and it doesn’t all reach us, so colours shift, intensity is muted, and nothing is quite so clear. And one of the things that is not entirely clear is what these people are up to: they are probably up to no good.

However pale they may be, and however muted, they do not look peaceable. OK, so one horse has stopped, and looks to our left in profile, its rider not even visible beyond the edge of the painting. But just next to it is a horse that is clearly over-animated. It appears in an extreme horsey-contrapposto, the weight on its left foreleg, the right foreleg lifted high, while it looks over what I can only assume is its right shoulder (apologies, my knowledge of equine anatomy is limited) against the movement of the foreleg. It could have been drawn by Michelangelo, and is in danger of pre-empting mannerism. To follow this through, the rear legs are in ‘contrapposto’ with those at the front – they would have to be, or it would fall over. Meanwhile its turbaned (?) rider waves a sword above his head. Further along the track another horse rears up, and at least three – maybe four – riders can be seen, with a number of flags (at least two) and spears (maybe three). Beyond the brow of the hill (down to the left) the cavalcade continues.

These can’t be the Kings, envisaged a while back on their way to Bethlehem, their progress would surely have been more sedate. The speed is immaterial, it is the dignity that counts, and these horsemen lack dignity, they lack control, they presage strife through their energetic, extreme, and potentially unbalanced movement. I can only assume that they are Herod’s soldiers, who are coming for Jesus. But what are they doing here? They don’t even know where he is yet, and they also don’t know that the Kings are not going to tell them where he is. The Kings don’t know that themselves yet, because (spoiler alert – but you already knew) they have only just arrived, and they haven’t had time to be ‘warned of God in a dream that they should not return to Herod’ (Matthew 2:12), so they would depart ‘into their own country another way’. No wonder, then, that we can’t see these soldiers clearly – we are looking into the future. How far into the future is not clear, either, as the bible doesn’t specify, but it could be two years. After all, this is what it says in Matthew 2:16:

Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked of the wise men, was exceeding wroth, and sent forth, and slew all the children that were in Bethlehem, and in all the coasts thereof, from two years old and under, according to the time which he had diligently inquired of the wise men.

Precisely how you interpret this is open to question, but at the very most, from the time at which the Wise Men saw the star until the point when the children were slain would have been two years. Somehow I can’t imagine Herod sitting around patiently for two whole years waiting for the wise men to come back, and given that google maps tells me it only takes two hours and eighteen minutes to walk from the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem (I know, I’m just picking a point at random) to the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem (not so random), I can’t see why he would wait more than a couple of weeks.

That’s beside the point though. After all, we don’t actually know when the Wise Men got to Bethlehem… although the Church in the West settled on 6 January (or the evening of the 5th) long ago. One early text said they got there two years after the birth – but it might have misunderstood Matthew. The point is that, unlike a Greek tragedy, a painting is not constrained by the unities of time and place, and is free to show other parts of the story. What we are looking at today is what is going to happen at some point in the future – the chronicle of innocent deaths foretold – by which time the Wise Men will have headed home another way, and the donkey will have been pressed into service for a quick escape to Egypt. And having looked at the future today, tomorrow we will see something that happened 12 – or 13 – days ago.

An Advent Calendar – 11

‘A Hidden Angel’ –

For years I told people that this person peering through a doorway – or, at least, a gap in the wall – was a self portrait (I was going to type ‘a self portrait of the artist’ – but of whom else could it be a self portrait?) I said this, because that is what I had been told, and because the high-resolution photography which enables us to get in this close was not publicly available when I started working at the National Gallery. I certainly wasn’t ‘online’ back then, and I don’t know when the Gallery launched its first website. Now, though, every painting has its own ‘zoom’ function, and you can get in far closer to see the details than public access and the paintings’ safety can allow. It’s a great thing, but it will never beat seeing them ‘in the flesh’.

There are at least three problems with the hypothesis that this is a self portrait. The first is that we do not know what the artist looked like. There are no known portraits of him. The second is that this face is just not specific enough to be a portrait (and several faces in the painting are, although no positive identifications have been forthcoming). And the third is that, above the head of this curious creature, clearly picked out however dim the half-light, is the unmistakable profile of a wing. As far as I am aware, no artists have been winged, and I can’t think of any who have shown themselves as if they were (although Orazio Gentileschi did talk about lending a pair to Caravaggio).

This is not a self portrait – it’s not even a portrait. This is an angel who has landed on earth, and has crept as close as he dares, without getting in the way or causing a stir, to peer out on the saviour-made-flesh, right hand on his chest as a sign of devotion, and of awe. And he’s looking at you – yes, you – to see your response to this miracle. All of this is hypothesis, too, mind you, as nobody really knows why he is there. There is a theory that the nine angels flying in the sky represent the nine different choirs of their hierarchy, but with a tenth down on earth this doesn’t ring true. And in any case, the nine are not distinguished in any way to separate cherub from seraph, throne from power, angel from archangel, etc. They represent a number of the heavenly host, and the number that looks right for the sky in this painting. At times, the concerns are purely aesthetic. There is meaning, but there is also art, and this is something in which we participate. Which is why the angel is looking at you.

An Advent Calendar – 10

‘The Ass’ –

Surely, I can hear you saying, surely there is biblical authority for the ass in a painting of Christ’s birth? It’s always there! How else would they have got to Bethlehem when, ‘there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed’ (Luke 2:10)? Well, it doesn’t say. OK, so the baby was laid in a manger (from the French, manger, ‘to eat’, but I think I’ve said that before), and asses eat at mangers, but that doesn’t mean that an ass was definitely there. And there’s also no mention of how they got to Egypt, apart from the fact that they went by night, and, although it is described as a ‘flight’ they were definitely not on a plane. It’s just that it’s so obvious that there was an ass at the nativity, that it makes most sense to travel with it. That, and the knowledge that that’s how they travelled back then. But there is no mention of it in the bible. So what is this, and what is it doing here?

Well, you’re right, we’re all right, it is a donkey. And yes, a donkey and an ass are exactly the same thing. And it’s here, busily minding its own business, fulfilling a prophesy from the Jewish scriptures – the Old Testament. It’s not even a prophesy really, just an observation, but early Christian theologians saw it as a prophesy. Isaiah started his book lamenting the fact that none of the people were following God’s word, even though the beasts of the field knew what was what: ‘The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib: but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider’ (Isaiah 1:3). The parallel of ‘crib’ and ‘manger’ must have been particularly compelling: no room in the inn, so he was laid in a manger, where oxen and asses were likely to eat – so what more fitting than the very creatures that Isaiah mentioned being there at the birth?

It still doesn’t quite help to make the leap to include them in the paintings. However, the bible may be a good book, the Good Book many people would say, but it wasn’t the only book, and in the same way that we tell and retell stories over and over again, the bible stories were subject to constant reinterpretation, particularly as there are so many gaps, so much that was not explained. To communicate better with the people, and to give them something that is easier to grasp, why not tell the stories with a fuller narrative? Many texts never made it into the ‘Bible’ we know today – a number of apocryphal gospels, for example. One of them, the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew, was probably written in the first half of the 7th century (although some people think it dates to the 8th, or even 9th century) and so it is a relative latecomer, drawing on two texts from the 2nd Century, the Protoevangelium and the Infancy Gospel of Luke. Nevertheless, it was around from the 9th Century at the very latest, and even if bits were added in and taken out along the way, it would have been there for the artists to read. It includes 42 chapters (probably not the reason that Douglas Adams thought that 42 was the answer to life, the universe and everything), and this is most of Chapter 14:

And on the third day after the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, the most blessed Mary went forth out of the cave, and entering a stable, placed the child in the stall, and the ox and the ass adored Him. Then was fulfilled that which was said by Isaiah the prophet, saying: The ox knows his owner, and the ass his master’s crib. The very animals, therefore, the ox and the ass, having Him in their midst, incessantly adored Him.

So there they are, the ox and the ass, and the precise reason why they were there – to fulfil ‘that which was said by Isaiah the prophet’. And there they will remain, incessantly adoring him. Incessantly. OK, so the ass has taken a break to munch on a bottle of hay, but where is the ox? Well, off to the left, emerging from a doorway, possibly where its stall is located.

I’m intrigued by this ox, having the seen the original painting for the first time in ages yesterday, as it seems to have two left horns. Either that, or the foreshortening of a left horn at this angle, and emerging from a doorway, would be rather difficult. Or there is another ox lurking out of sight… although that seems unlikely. But here it is, and there is the ass, and, given breaks for refreshment, they will be there, incessantly adoring him, in all the nativity scenes you will see. And, never happy with one single interpretation, when there could be multiple layers, the ox came to represent the Jews who converted to Christianity, while the ass represents the Gentiles. But that, I presume, is another story.

An Advent Calendar – 9

‘A Dove’ –

Not just any dove, of course, it is the Holy Spirit. And this is a remarkably rare sighting of it in the Nativity. I can’t, off the top of my head, think of another example, although apparently there are a few, particularly in paintings from Antwerp in the early 16th Century. It flies aloft, directly above the Christ Child, and has golden beams of light descending around it – these are a continuation of the glow of the star, which is just above the wooden beam which frames the top of this detail.

This leads to the suggestion that the star might, in some way, represent God the Father, given that God the Son is down on earth, and God the Holy Spirit flies in between. However, there is nothing in the bible, or in any text I am aware of, that suggests God was present in the star – so this would be a unique instance of this symbolism, and, consequently, we might assume that no one would have understood it in this way – although the light from heaven might have made it clear.

The dove does fit in remarkably well amid the panoply of wings belonging to just a few of the heavenly host, companions of the angels we saw the other day, and they in their turn fly comfortably among the ruins. I love the way in which the wing on the left echoes the curve of the bracket which supports the beam at the top of the detail, carved from a naturally curving branch, I assume. I’m also impressed by the way in which the artist has thought about the pegs which hold it in place – they are flush with the beam, unlike the equivalents on the right, which project, casting visible shadows.

The flight of the Holy Spirit looks almost heraldic, the wings lifted more or less symmetrically, its head turned to our left, and the legs projecting down in front of the fanned tail behind. It has the air of presiding over events at a suitable distance. It may well be practicing for a future Epiphany. Its first appearance as a dove occurs during the Baptism of Christ, which is recounted in all the three of the synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke. The accounts are similar in each, but I’m going to quote from Luke, as the relevant part is condensed into just one verse. Immediately after the Baptism Luke says that, ‘the Holy Ghost descended in a bodily shape like a dove upon him, and a voice came from heaven, which said, Thou art my beloved Son; in thee I am well pleased’ (Luke 3:22). In one verse of the bible (it’s two in Matthew and Mark) the whole doctrine of the Holy Trinity is embodied. It may well be worthwhile pointing out that the Baptism of Christ also counts as an Epiphany – a moment of great revelation. For the Wise Men it was seeing the Boy Born to be King. At the Baptism, it was the public revelation that Jesus was the Son of God.  Many years ago, both Epiphanies were celebrated on the same day.

This is a detail from the 10th Century Liber Sacramentorum Fulda, a ‘Book of Sacraments’, with the liturgies – and illustrations – of the feasts that should be celebrated on each day. The Adoration of the Magi is illustrated top left, and The Baptism of Christ stretches across the bottom (apologies, it is unsuitably cropped, but see below). Top right is The Wedding at Cana, Jesus’s first miracle, and so another Epiphany, which was also celebrated on 6 January. Gradually the church spread them out, so each could be the focus of a separate day. Cropped as it is, the descent of the Holy Spirit is clearly visible: the shared celebration of the Adoration of the Magi and the Baptism of Christ could, possibly, explain the presence of the Holy Spirit in this painting. Either that, or the patron was more than especially keen to get as much theology into the painting as possible.

Adoration of the Magi, Marriage at Cana and Baptism of Christ
from Liber Sacramentorum Fulda, 10th century. Seminary Library, Udine.

An Advent Calendar – 8

‘Dogs’ –

Nowhere in the bible does it mention the presence of dogs at the birth of Jesus, and, as far as I am aware, they are not mentioned in any of the apocryphal sources either – but as I haven’t read them all, I could easily be wrong. They are here as an assumption, the assumption being that wealthy people – such as kings – will travel with their dogs. This was, indeed, commonly the case. When Pope Innocent III summoned bishops to the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, he pointed out that their retinues should not include birds and hunting dogs – it was simply not appropriate. When Borso d’Este, Marquis of Ferrara, went to Rome to visit the Pope some 555 years later, he travelled with 700 men, 120 of whom were on horseback, and they took their dogs and cheetahs. But then, he wasn’t a bishop on the way to reform the church. And he came away with a promotion, returning home as the first Duke of Ferrara. The Three Kings in Gentile da Fabriano’s Strozzi Altarpiece (1423) – the main panel of which illustrates the Adoration of the Magi – do travel with dogs and cheetahs, as do the Magi in Benozzo Gozzoli’s frescoes in the chapel of the Medici Palace in Florence painted three decades later. In our painting we only have two dogs – no cheetahs – so maybe it’s not so grand. However, although I’m not a dog person by any stretch of the imagination, I am fairly sure this is not a sheep dog.

It’s probably a hunting dog, and, true to its doggy instincts, it’s having a go at a bone. It could be a symbol of Fidelity – dogs often are – but here it doesn’t need to be. It is half-way in between the two plants we saw yesterday and is included for at least two reasons – maybe three: 1) to enhance the status of the people in the painting we haven’t seen yet 2) to communicate the idea of ‘Faith’ – although I doubt this dog’s name is ‘Fido’ (Latin for ‘I trust/believe/confide in’) and 3) to tell us that the man who painted it knows about art. Why would I think no. 3) is the case? Well, because it is not his dog – it is a dog he has borrowed from somebody else – namely Martin Schongauer. Compare and contrast:

Yes, they are facing the opposite way, which is odd. It is something you would expect if the print were made from the painting, but the print dates from around 1470-75, roughly forty years before the painting, so maybe our artist is just playing a game. If he is, it is quite a sophisticated one, something along the lines of ‘This dog is taken from a print, which reverses the imagery, so when Schongauer engraved the plate, this is what he would have seen’. It’s quite a leap of the imagination. Of course, it may have been swapped round simply because it looks better in the composition this way. The other difference is that our painted dog has a bone. As with so many other things in this painting, it might be symbolic – looking forward to Easter, and Christ’s death, as Christmas inevitably does – but it might just be a dog doing what dogs do. This is the image that Schongauer’s dog comes from, an Adoration of the Magi:

Martin Schongauer, The Adoration of the Magi, 1470-75. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New YOrk.

I don’t know whether our artist wasn’t very good at dogs, or didn’t have any dogs to hand to use as models – or was just particularly keen to showcase his knowledge of the work of the men who had inspired him most – but the other dog is taken from a print as well. Compare and contrast these two:

The orientation is the same – it is just the tail that is different – and both dogs occupy similar positions in their respective images. This one is by Albrecht Dürer, and is taken from his St Eustace:

Albrecht Dürer, St Eustace, c. 1501. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

St Eustace was out hunting – or rather, the Roman general Placidus was out hunting – when he saw a crucifix between a stag’s antlers. The stag spoke to him – with Jesus’s voice – and this inspired the general to convert to Christianity, and to be baptised, taking the name of Eustace. It’s Dürer’s largest print, and was hugely influential: the inclusion of one of the dogs in our painting is just one example of that.

As well as reasons 1) – 3) above, we can add reason 4) for the inclusion of this sheepish looking dog – it allows the artist to show yet more textures and shapes to the painting, and so keeps us looking at it more, thus keeping us involved and helping to convey its message. And there are plenty more materials, textures and forms to look at before we get to Jesus.

An Advent Calendar – 7

‘The Floor’ –

Looking down, we see that the floor is in the same condition as the walls – in a chronic state of decay, and in desperate need of repair. It is part of the setting of this religious drama, and, like the rest of the scenery, it is symbolic of the old order which will make way for the new. Having said that, when it was first laid down it must have been a first-rate pavement, with square stone tiles, which were reasonably thick, in a number of different colours. Some of these were split across the diagonal, making up the square with two triangles, and in others a smaller square has been set at 45˚, with smaller triangles filling in the corners.

The tiles are chipped and cracked, some have come loose, and some seem to have gone missing altogether. It looks as though they were laid directly onto the bare earth, and plants have grown up between them, in the same way that they are growing from the tops of the walls. This one is a Field Eryngo (Eryngium campestre – thanks, as ever, to the Ecologist for the identification). As far as I know, it is not symbolic of anything in particular, but it does look rather spiky. It’s close relative, the Sea Eryngo, is also called ‘sea holly’, just to make the point – and I suspect that the spikes are related to the Fall. God warned Adam and Eve, after he had found them ashamed, and clad in fig leaves, ‘cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life; Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee’ (Genesis 3: 17-18) – so, it seems, there was nothing spiky before the fall, and this plant certainly looks prickly even if it wouldn’t do much harm.

On the other side of the painting there is White Dead-nettle (Lamium album), which again is probably not in itself symbolic. However, as it does look remarkably like a stinging nettle, it might again represent the potential dangers – or at least, inconveniences – of the natural world which resulted from the sin which Adam and Eve introduced into it – and so remind us of our need for redemption, and the Baby Jesus, who is present elsewhere in the painting.

As you can see especially clearly in this detail, it is not just the painted building that is in a state of decay: the painting itself is too. This is visible in the other detail, but it is more obvious here: some of the tiles have become transparent. What the artist appears to have done was to lay out the perspective of the floor – all the parallel lines which go towards the vanishing point, and those at right angles to them – and then to paint the tiles themselves. He may then have decided it just didn’t look enough of a mess, so he painted some more tiles on top. Over time, these have become see-through. What happens (here comes the science bit) is that the oil dries as the result of a process called concatenation: individual oil molecules bond together to form chains with other oil molecules. As they do this, the refractive index of the oil increases (the refractive index is a measure of the degree to which light is ‘bent’ as it passes from one transparent medium to another – think of a straw sticking out of a gin and tonic for example – though why you’d drink gin and tonic with a straw I don’t really know). The refractive index of some pigments – white, for example – is relatively low, and as concatenation increases the refractive index of the oil gets closer and closer to the refractive index of the pigment, so the light refracts less and less, and the paint gradually becomes transparent. It’s a sign of age, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. As a phenomenon it can be interesting, as it allows you to see where artists have changed their minds – ‘repented’ of what they had done before – but that’s just a way of explaining the Italian term for these visible changes: pentimenti. Sadly, even though Jesus has come to ‘rebuild’ the old order, returning this painting to how it looked when it was first made would presumably not be part of his brief.

An Advent Calendar – 6

‘A Relief‘ –

Today’s window opens up to reveal a relief carving, which functions as part of a frieze that continues around the corner of one of the walls. On the 3rd, one of the elements of the ruins was a very tall, round-topped arch – we can see that arch springing from the base of the frieze on the right of the detail. And yesterday, we saw a capital, which is on the other side of the tall arch from this relief – they occupy a similar position within the painting, and must, therefore, be equivalent in some way. Whereas the capital was on top of a red, highly polished, cylindrical column (of circular cross-section), this relief supports the two grey stone bases of two square, red marble columns. I’m not sure what the significance of this parallel is, but it might simply reflect the way in which buildings were constructed. Certainly, in England, cathedrals such as Salisbury and Durham have similar architectural details picked out in dark, fossiliferous limestones (rather than red) – Purbeck and Frosterley respectively, in these cases.

The relief itself, on the side facing us, shows a stylised plant – some sort of vine – and three boys dancing. In Italy they would be called putti. A putto is, quite simply, a ‘boy’, from the Latin putus (an alternative to the more familiar puer, I believe). They are not cherubs – they do not have wings – so there is nothing to suggest that this relief is supposed to be religious in and of itself. The lack of ‘religiosity’ is perhaps enhanced by the dancing itself, which is a little grotesque. Looking at them up close they really reminding me of something – a late-15th/early-16th century drawing of boys – or possibly cherubs – dancing, probably from Germany, but I can’t quite place it. If anyone has any ideas, please let me know! However, they do remind me of Erasmus Grasser’s wonderful Morris Dancers, carved for Munich Town Hall in 1480. Compare these two with today’s relief, for example (OK, I cheated a little, and flipped the one on the left – I couldn’t find a photo taken from the other side).

I must write a full blog about them one day. I’ve always liked the sound of Grasser: they tried to stop him from becoming a member of the guild, describing him as a ‘disruptive, promiscuous and disingenuous knave’. And yes, you’re right, Morris Dancing in Germany! It clearly isn’t as English as we thought it was: the word itself is derived from ‘Moorish’ after all – more cultural influence from elsewhere…

As for the vine – well, I confess that I was expecting it to look more like a grape vine when I was picking out the detail, but not because of the sacramental significance. However, having said that, the reference could be entirely relevant. Have a look at this mosaic, for example.

It can be found in Rome – or rather, just outside the city walls (but well within the 20th Century suburbs) – and it shows a grape harvest. Surely a display of Bacchic revelry? Well no, it comes from the 4th Century Mausoleum of Costanza, next to the church of St Agnes ‘outside the walls’ – and so it is an early Christian mosaic. The fact is, when Christianity was legalised in 313 and Christians were finally allowed to build public places of worship and to decorate them, they had very little experience of doing so – and based their building designs, and their decorations, on the prevalent Roman styles. So this could easily be read as a celebration of Bacchus, the God of Wine, or it could also celebrate the Blood of Christ, and, for that matter, the Christian community as being at one with Jesus (as in Christ’s statement in John 15:5, ‘I am the vine, ye are the branches’). The meaning of the mosaic could vary according to its context, if it weren’t for the fact that, in this case, its context is fixed by its location within a church. Not so with today’s detail. Like yesterday’s capital, it is there to remind us that the old order – in this case the Roman Empire – will pass away. But it can also be read as evidence that the new order – Christianity – will continue. And it may well be for this reason that the whole frieze is in such good condition, and is supporting the two square columns. For this relief, much thanks…

An Advent Calendar – 5

A Capital

Today we are looking at another column, and like the one yesterday, it might be made from Rosso di Verona, although seeing it like this, I doubt it. It’s a deeper red, for one thing, and it has dark, almost black veins in it. Not only that: it has a very high shine, and Rosso di Verona cannot be polished so finely. The light reflecting off the column appears as vertical white lines, and, apart from the degree of polish, the highlights tell us that, miraculously, the column is not worn or eroded. Despite the change and decay we see all around, it is perfectly smooth and shiny, and, judging by the way in which the artist has painted the reflections, almost perfectly cylindrical.

But that’s not what interests me today, apart from the fact that it implies that there is something special about this column: why has it survived so well? Why is our attention drawn towards it? I’m assuming the intention is, in turn, to draw our attention towards the grey capital at the top. This capital is historiated – by which I mean it is decorated with figures that are significant in some way, rather than being purely, well, decorative. Four figures are visible. Directly above the brightest highlight on the column is a kneeling person, facing to the right with their hands raised in prayer. Behind them (to our left) and directly above the less prominent highlight on the column is a standing figure with its legs far apart. One hand – the left – is on the kneeling person’s shoulder, and the other is raised in the air. A slightly curved line is carved just below the top of the capital – a sword, which the standing figure is holding. But the raised arm is grasped firmly by the hand of a third figure, round to the left, and in the shadows. This figure seems surprisingly high up, and its legs curve round underneath it, rather than touching the ground. Sketched in at the very top left you might just be able to decipher a wing: it is an angel. And then, at the base of the capital, on the far right, is a small creature. Again, it is above one of the highlights on the column, a sign that the column – and the light reflecting off it – are there to draw our attention to these figures. This is the story of Abraham and Isaac, told in the Book of Genesis, Chapter 22:1-13:

And it came to pass after these things, that God did tempt Abraham, and said unto him, Abraham: and he said, Behold, here I am. And he said, Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of. And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and saddled his ass, and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac his son, and clave the wood for the burnt offering, and rose up, and went unto the place of which God had told him. Then on the third day Abraham lifted up his eyes, and saw the place afar off. And Abraham said unto his young men, Abide ye here with the ass; and I and the lad will go yonder and worship, and come again to you. And Abraham took the wood of the burnt offering, and laid it upon Isaac his son; and he took the fire in his hand, and a knife; and they went both of them together. And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father, and said, My father: and he said, Here am I, my son. And he said, Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering? And Abraham said, My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering: so they went both of them together. And they came to the place which God had told him of; and Abraham built an altar there, and laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son. And the angel of the Lord called unto him out of heaven, and said, Abraham, Abraham: and he said, Here am I. And he said, Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou any thing unto him: for now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me. And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram caught in a thicket by his horns: and Abraham went and took the ram, and offered him up for a burnt offering in the stead of his son.

For Christians, this story, telling of Abraham’s decision to sacrifice his ‘only son Isaac’ because of his love for God, was seen as a pre-figuring God the Father’s decision to sacrifice his only begotten son, Jesus, because of his love for humankind. The interpretation gains strength from the phrase, ‘God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering’, as Jesus was greeted by John the Baptist with the words, ‘Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world’ (John 1:29). The inclusion of this relief sculpture, with Isaac kneeling in prayer, Abraham’s arm raised and ready to strike, the angel preventing him, and the ram, caught in a thicket (or so we must imagine), to the right, reminds us that Jesus, the little baby depicted at the base of the column, was born to die; that he was the Messiah prophesied in the Jewish scriptures; and that we are now at the beginning of the ‘new order’. It’s a lot of weight for a small carving to bear, but that is what makes this column so special: its weight-bearing capacity – whether that is physical or allegorical.