The Virgin of Humility

 

     Today something far removed from yesterday's towering painting. We are back to the Fitzwilliam collection and back in the pre-modern and the Gothic.  That slightly strange, to Northern eyes at least, Gothic of the Italian peninsular, where the Gothic north blends with strong and persistent Classical, Romanesque and, most important in the discussion of this painting, Byzantine traditions.

     What we are looking at here is essentially an icon set within a tabernacle - everything we see is constructed of gesso-ed, painted and gilded wood.  According to the Fitzwilliam museum it dates from after 1440; the work of Paolo Schiavo.  It is Florentine, but at some point the tabernacle turned up in Pisa.  By 1883 it is known to have been in the collection of the Pisan Giuseppe Tuscanelli.  The tabernacle is a devotional object, but not for personal, private use, but for the use of a lay devotional community - in this case a group of flagellants. In one sense it is a variant of the 'Madonna enthroned' I talked about on Wednesday; the Theotokos and the Christ child are still surrounded by a heavenly court - there are angels in the soffit of the arch, and saints on the piers 'supporting' the arch, four in all. The variation is simply that the Theotokos is seated on the ground; hence the title 'The Virgin of Humility'.  A fitting subject for such a confraternity, which is depicted in the panel below the main panel performing the funeral rite of one of its members. 

     Finally, I suppose I ought to say something about these flagellants.  All we need to know is that in the Middle Ages confraternities were very popular, loci of popular lay devotion.  Some very famous Medieval paintings, such as the Rucellai Madonna¹ by the Sienese master Duccio Di Buoninsegna, were commissioned by such confraternities.  The flagellants were simply a more 'extreme' example of such devotional life. They seem to have been a product of the later, post Black Death, Middle Ages.

1 The Rucellai Madonna was commission by the Laudesi confraternity.  They met within the 's' transept of Dominican church of Santa Maria Novella, where they had a chapel.  It has often been said that the painting - tempera on wood - was an altarpiece. I don't think that that is accepted these days. The image - which is extremely large and is essentially, like 'The Virgin of Humility' an icon, though of the 'Panakranta' type - may either have stood in the confraternity's chapel or outside in the transept. After the completion of the nave it may have been moved there, to stand either against one of the piers or upon the rood beam, what in the Italian peninsular was then referred to as the 'Iconostasis' (see: 'The Art and Science of the Church Screen in Medieval Europe', Eds: Spike Bucklow, Richard Marks, & Lucy Wrapson).  The Iconostasis in the Upper Church at Assisi not only supported (centrally) a Crucifix, but icons of St Michael and the Virgin Mary & Christ child of the 'Panakranta' type - the beam is depicted in Giotto's fresco 'The Verification of the Stigmata', also in the Upper Church. 

     When Vasari ruthlessly remodelled the interior of Santa Maria Novella during the Counter-Reformation (the amount of destruction was quite the equal to that done by Protestants in N Europe) the image was placed in the Rucellai chapel off the 's' transept. Hence its current name.  It was moved out of the church in 1937 and on to display in Uffizi in 1948 (wiki says it was moved to the Uffizi in the 19th century) and denuded of its power thereby. (Image from wiki Commons)

Virgin and Child between St John the Baptist and St Onufrius

 St John the Divine, 27th December, 2023

      During what remains of the Octave of the Nativity I thought I'd post some images of paintings that have caught my eye and are relevant to the season.  

     Today, on the feast of St John the Divine, I thought I'd share with you another photo I took on my last visit to the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge at the end of November: 'Virgin and Child between St John the Baptist and St Onufrius'.  It measures approx 150x130cms which suggests to me, at least, that it was intended for a liturgical use and setting (such as an altarpiece within a church or chapel) rather than for domestic, devotional use - an object to exist in the public, or semi-public realm not the private one, but all of this is merely supposition, for we actually know very little about this object. The name of the artist is itself unknown to us at present, though at one time it was attributed to one Cristoforo Scacco. Perhaps the identity of the artist will never now be known. The painting, which I presume is painted on wood, is attributed vaguely to the 'Neopolitan School' - that is it was painted, c1507, in the south of the Italian Peninsular, in what was then part of the Spanish Empire.  The Fitzwilliam Museum website gives its provenance - a sort of secular equivalent to a 'catena patrum'. The earliest entry dates from c 1821, when the painting was purchased for the Museo Reale in Naples from an unknown source in Gaeta, a city north of Naples in Lazio.  What stylistic or technical reasons for a 'Neopolitan' attribution are, I don't know.

     The influence of Florentine art, however, is obvious; the figures of the Theotokos and the Christ child in particular remind me of the work of Sandro Botticelli (1445-1510).  There is perhaps, also a Northern Gothic influence at play, particularly in the figure of St Onufrius.  A balance between naturalism and the graphic, between nascent Modernity and the pre-Modern as exemplified by the twisting ribbon at the head of St John the Baptist's staff. 

    The composition, however, has origins that are much older. Right back to Late Antiquity and the formation of Christian Art.  It follows a type usually referred to as the 'Panakranta' or 'Madonna Enthroned', which must, I feel, owe something to Imperial iconography. One of the earliest examples of this type or genre, comes from an icon (done in encaustic) from St Catherine's monastery in the Sinai, in which the Theotokos is sat enthroned like a Late Roman Empress, with the Christ child placed upon her lap. They are surrounded as it were by her court officials - here saints and angels.  The positions of the two saints - St John the Baptist and the Egyptian Desert Hermit St Onufrius (naked except for a prodigious beard) - echoes (in a less hieratic manner) the positions of the original saint attendants (St George & St Theodore).  I'm not at all sure this qualifies as a sacra conversazione as the dramatis personae seem caught up in their own thoughts, in addition St John the Baptist looks out of the picture to his right (our left) while pointing with is right hand to the infant Christ. It is as though he is addressing an unseen spectator. I cannot but speculate that St John's pose is related to the position of the painting in the space it was intended to occupy.

Fitzwilliam Museum

   Tuesday, having returned to the bf's the day before, we went into Cambridge and the Fitzwilliam Museum, a favourite with this blog.  This year is the bicentennial of the foundation of the museum, when university received the bequest of the late Anglo-Irish aristocrat,Viscount FitzWilliam of Merrion.  And a very generous bequest it was: the Viscount's vast collections of manuscripts and of art plus a generous amount of money to fund the construction of a suitable structure in which to house them.

   Following a competition George Basevi (1794-1845) was appointed architect.  Work commenced in 1836.  In 1845 following Basevi's death the great C R Cockerell was appointed architect.  Work of the amazingly opulent entrance hall was completed by E M Barry between 1871-75.  It is a stunning space.  In fact the Museum acts a history lesson in mid 19th century classicism - marking that shift from Greek inspired Neo-classicism to Roman riches and eventually the Italian Renaissance.
   The museum has even entered into the folklore of the city.  The stone lions that guard the entrance to the museum (I really should have taken a photo of said beasts) are supposed to come alive at the stroke of midnight (every night?) and either, (according to which version of the tale you hear), paddle down into Trumpington St to drink from the conduits running between the pavement and the street, or nip into the museum - presumably for a bit of after hours culture.
   Anyway there are four exhibitions currently on at the Fitzwilliam, and they are from the museum's collections and show what a wunderkammer the Fitzwilliam actually is.  The largest exhibition is 'Colour: Art and Science of Illuminated Manuscripts': two rooms full of the most exquisite images. There were a number of Eastern Roman, Persian and Indian works on display - my eye was particularly taken with the couple of Persian style manuscripts.  One of them made in what is now Afghanistan was sumptuous - deep borders of golden figures around a central section of jewel like intensity.  Indeed both of these manuscripts are full of figures.  No sign of any Islamic ban on the human figure.  There is, in fact, a long, long history of representational art in Islam, including sculpture, which has caused several art historians over the years to tie themselves up in all sorts of intellectual knots.  Perhaps the subject of another post.  The overwhelming majority, however, of the 150 items in the exhibition come from the Western Art tradition, and account for five hundred years of that history.  The techniques on display were staggering and possibly reached an apogee of sophistication in the late Middle Ages. One of the things I noted was the correlation made between art of the illustrator and that of the alchemist.  Sometimes in manuals on illustration colours would be referred to not by name but by the planet they symbolized.  Perhaps it was fitting then that one of the objects on display was a long vellum scroll from the end of the Middle Ages; English, it is a diagrammatic representation of the arcana of Alchemy.  The exhibition felt in some ways like an initiation into the mysteries; not only were the techniques explained, but we seeing artwork that had not been displayed to the general public before.
   The Fitwilliam has been the beneficiary of other bequests in its history and one of them, the Bruce Ingram Bequest (over a 1000 items), provided the material for 'Breughel and his Time: Landscape drawings from the Bruce Ingram Bequest'. This was an exploration of the beginnings of landscape painting in the Low Countries in the late 16th & early 17th centuries.  And very varied the work was.  I suppose what attracted me, apart from questions of technique, was the anecdotal quality of much of the work on display - the view of village and country life that these images give us.  The work is incredibly refined and delicate.  The colour palate subdued - is that due to age?     Passing from the illuminated world to this post Reformation world one did get a sense of continuity of technique and perhaps content too.  For in the background of a lot of the later illuminated manuscripts is that same sense of delight in landscape and the anecdotal.
   It was probably a sense of discontinuity that encouraged Viscount FitzWilliam's collecting, a desire to rescue from the conflagration of the French Revolution and its attempt to impose on Europe its ideology in a long series of wars.  Hints that FitzWilliam was opposed to the Revolution and more than likely the whole Enlightenment project can be seen in the third exhibition: 'An Amateur's Passion: Lord FitzWilliam's Print Collection'. The prints on display are just a tiny proportion of the 40,000 in Viscount Fitzwilliam's collection.
   Finally in the octagonal gallery, where the bf and I saw the Rampant Lions exhibition, was 'Celebrating the First 200 years: The Fitzwilliam Museum 1816- 2016'.  I don't want this to sound as though it was an anti-climax, but it was just simply a succinct telling of the museum's history.  And there is nothing wrong with that.  Happy Anniversary!

Works on Paper: Three Exhibitions at the Fitzilliam Museum, Cambridge

   To Cambridge on Friday and three concurrent exhibitions at the Fitzwilliam Museum.  (There is a fourth: 'Treasured Possessions' which the bf and I saw last month.  Some wonderful objects but a little diffuse.)  All three are about work on paper; watercolour and printmaking.  And all three are outstanding exhibitions; the works on display all taken from the Museum's own rich collection of work.  

   The largest of the three, 'Watercolour:  Elements of Nature' is a brisk exploration of the use of watercolour as a medium from the Renaissance (the most amazing miniatures) to the 20th century. (I did the exhibition in reverse, but the experience was none the worse for that.) Watercolour is often seen as the British medium, not surprisingly then the majority of work on display comes from these Isles. All the famous names are there: Turner, Girtin, De Wint, Cotman, Palmer.  The last was represented by one work: 'The Magical Apple Tree' c 1830, a work of visionary intensity, shining out like an icon.  An equally intense vision was offered to us by Ruskin who is represented here by four works. 'In the Pass of Killiekrankie' is a master work; incredibly small (I didn't realize how small)  and worked in a way that seemed to link it with the Elizabethan miniatures that open the show.  Superb.  Not enough is made of Ruskin the artist.  Poor chap only seems to be remembered these days for his sex life, or lack thereof.    

   Next to Ruskin's work Seargeant's three, sun drenched watercolours seem facile.  The only real disappointment were the watercolours by Pissarro.  They really were poor.  A little disappointed too, if I'm honest, with the Paul Nash, as I admire deeply his oils and am drawn to his ideas.
   Across the landing is the second watercolour exhibition: 'Ruskin's Turner's', that is the twenty-five Turner watercolours Ruskin bequeathed to Cambridge University to inspire the students. Lucky students, as this is another schatzkammer of good things.  It is rare opportunity to see these works together as Ruskin, concerned about the conservation of these wonders, laid down strictures about their display.  And wonders they are: small, vibrant and intense and altogether very beautiful.
   Finally 'Designed to Impress; Highlights from the Print Collection' and like 'Watercolour: Elements of Nature' a lightning journey through the history of the print form the Renaissance to the present day.  The work on display is of an equal quality to the other two exhibitions.  There is work by Durer - the famous 'Melancholia I' - Rubens, Blake, Wadsworth and Munch among others. There seems to be an emphasis on the grotesque and the strange - though that is not a negative criticism. Something uncanny, even occult. The highlights however for me were a Rubens, and, surprisingly for I didn't know he was also an artist, a work by the Royalist champion Prince Rupert of the Rhine.  A work of real quality.

   It has been a week of Turners in fact.  The bf and I were in Lincoln on Tuesday and we did a summary tour of the Usher Gallery where there are two exhibitions running: 'Lincolnshire's Great Exhibition' and 'Picture the Poet'.  In addition to works by Lowry and Stubbs there is Turner's famous watercolour of Stamford.  A second visit, I think, is required.

The Rampant Lions Press at the Fitzwilliam

   The Craxton exhibition was not alone.  By chance the bf and I discovered in the museum shop that there was a retrospective on the work of The Rampant Lion Press.  I suspect that this was more to the bf's liking.  And because I came to it fresh, rather than freighted with preconceptions and the like, it was a serendipitous delight. In a quiet self-effacing, English, sort of way. The gallery itself is a small octagon linking two larger spaces.  There were six glass cases around the room and in the centre a case containing the Kelmscott Press 'Earthly Paradise' and the Clover Hill Editions 'The Story of Cupid and Psyche' (1974).  There had been a previous exhibition of the work of The Rampant Lions Press in 1982 and this current exhibition was a brief survey of the work of the press had undertaken since then.

   The Rampant Lions Press was established between the wars by Will Carter, (1912-2001), a cousin of the designer and illustrator Reynolds Stone.  The press continued until 2008, under Will's son Sebastian who had joined his father in the 1960s.  They produced a series of beautiful books, sometimes experimental, collaborating with a number of writers and illustrated by the likes of John Piper and Michael Ayrton.  I particularly like the use of coloured papers, as above.  The Dante font illustrated below, I find, is singularly beautiful. In addition Will Carter worked with the Cambridge University Press. The exhibition also reminds us that Cambridge has and continues to be an important centre for craft and art production in Britain.

   There are a number of editions still available to buy: www.rampantlionspress.com where you can also read a much fuller history of the press.

   The exhibition continues until May 18th.

John Craxton at the Fitzwilliam

   On Sunday, with the bf, I went to the Craxton exhibition at the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge. It was a relatively small affair, and only touched upon his graphic work, which I particularly like. More of that in a future post. Outside the gallery in the lobby space was a video playing of Sir David Attenborough (just him?) talking about the artist. The space was small, crowded at times and too loud. We didn't stay to find out if anybody else appeared.
   Craxton, like many of his contemporaries, such as John Piper or Osbert Lancaster, worked in a number of disciplines – illustration, ‘fine art’, theatre design. In fact compared to a polymath such as Piper, or say Robert Harling, Craxton’s reach seems rather narrow – but that’s only relative. Luckily for them there was less specialization than there is now and I suspect that the width and indeed depth of their knowledge was greater than today too.
   Craxton was born in 1922 into a middle class family. His entry into the art world seems to have been quite precocious but due to circumstances Craxton’s formal art education, at least at a tertiary level, was quite limited. Unfit for active service he spent the War in London sharing a studio with Lucian Freud. The two men spent the time honing their drawing skills. They were also courted by luminaries of the London art scene. They were funded by Peter Watson and went drawing in Pembrokeshire with Graham Sutherland. The first work on display dates from this period. It is deeply Neo-Romantic, dark and brooding, and some of it surprisingly monumental, but essentially graphic work in ink and none the worse for that. (If the selection made for this exhibition is anything to go by the oils of that period tend to be small.) Nature is transformed into something writhing and menacing; trees, for instance, mutated into something massive and fleshy like tentacles; figures are submerged in the foliage or hide in the trunks of ancient oaks. There is his famous study of a dead hare, (Craxton and Freud drew a lot of dead animals), revealing incidentally a love for use of coloured paper – usually a mid-tone that enabled him to use both black and white media to build up volume and texture. These are my favourite works in the exhibition, although a couple of portraits done later in Greece were a revelation: small and intense, they could have been the work of a Northern Renaissance master. I suspect that like John Minton, Craxton was really a graphic artist, and that it was only through dint of hard work that he managed to ‘think big’. The ‘Pastoral for PW’, 1948, (80” x 103”), shows him struggling with scale.
   By then Craxton had visited Greece and had fallen in love with both people and landscape. He eventually settled there, semi permanently, until his death in 2009. It was to have a profound effect on his art. Not only does the work become brighter and more colourful, but his discovery of the mosaics of the Easter Roman Empire and early medieval Italy (by their nature monumental), finally gave him the language, the ability, to work on a larger, monumental, scale. I suspect the increasing use of a thick line of paint (the width of a tessera?) around each separate object or volume is a direct influence.
I wonder, in retrospect, whether Craxton had, at any one time, two vocabularies: one was employed when he was drawing from life, and I think was pretty constant and was honed in those years working with Freud – what one might consider empirical; and the other a more stylised, perhaps even self-conscious, manner of the public art in which the imagination and the intellect come into play. Sometimes that come close to each other, other times there is more distance.
   In preparing this post I’ve re-read the chapter on Craxton in Malcom Yorke’s ‘The Spirit of Place: Nine Neo-Romantic Artists and their times’ (Constable, London, 1988), and found myself in sympathy with the opinions of some of the critics. There is just something missing, particularly in the later work with their acid colours and frankly decorative quality – ‘a bit GayTimes’ commented the bf about a group of their sailors eating and drinking about a taverna table. It was hard to disagree.