Advent series: How to look at a religious painting. Part 4: Reality and illusion.

Domenico Veneziano, Annunciation,
c.1442-48, tempera on wood panel, 27 x 54 cm (10 1/2 x 21 inches),
Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge
Source:  Wikimedia (PD_Art).

Perspective
What is amazing about this painting is the central perspective and the space it creates.  Look at the receding lines of the floor decoration, of the cornices, or of the garden path.  Parallel orthogonals (lines that are at right angles to the surface of the picture) converge.

In real life, parallel lines never converge or meet.  (That's why they're called parallel.)

In painting, parallel lines do appear to meet at a point called the vanishing point.  In Domenico's painting, the vanishing point is in the middle of the closed garden door.

Enclosed garden 
The closed garden door is a symbolic door and may symbolise Mary's virginity.  The garden harkens back to the hortus conclusion (enclosed garden) motif which symbolises the Virgin Mary.

"My sister, my spouse, is a garden enclosed; a garden enclosed, a fountain sealed up."
Song of Songs, 4:12 (Old Testament, Bible)

Real space
At the same time, the garden door is a real door in real space.  And these are real rounded columns with shadows consistently attached on the left (suggesting that the light comes from the right).  And this is a real bench on which trails Mary's cloak; and the angel's foot sits on a real bit of floor.

Look at the shadow cast by the rounded doorway onto the pale pink floor.


The Gospel of Luke (New Testament, Bible)
To the left, the angel Gabriel says:  "Ave Maria gratia plena", or:

"Hail thou art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women. [...]  And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS."
(Gospel of Luke, 1:28 and 1:31)

To the right, the Virgin Mary submits and says:

"Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word."
(Gospel of Luke, 1:38)

Remember the five steps of the Annunciation which I mentioned last week?  (Disquiet; reflection; inquiry; submission; merit).  And how I said that Francesco di Vannuccio's Virgin was disquiet?  Well,  Domenico Veneziano's Virgin is no longer troubled.

Black squares
Finally, look at the extraordinary black squares on the white wall.  They are windows, covered by a grid of bars.  But they are also black shapes punched out of space.  They are flat; they suck up the light; and they suck up perspective.

The black squares are painted 'real' windows.

They are also signs of 'painting' and of the flat surface of the panel.  They stand for the enigma of all painting:  both a 'real' object in space, and an 'illusion' of 'real' space and light.

Read more:
Read the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, compared and illustrated at Gwydir Demon's site.

Have a look at the Fitzwilliam Museum's discussion of the painting and the reconstruction of the entire altarpiece (this is a fragment).

My take on the picture was inspired by Erwin Panofsky marvellous 1934 article  in the Burlington Magazine. on Jan van Eyck's Arnolfini Wedding.  A summary of Panofsky's interpretation of Van Eyck.

Check out the other parts of the advent series:

* Advent series: How to look at a religious painting.  Part 1: Context.

* Advent series:  How to look at a religious painting.  Part 2: Saints.

* Advent series:  How to look at a religious painting.  Part 3: Psychology.

Happy fourth of advent, everybody, and wishing you a peaceful Christmas.


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Advent series: How to look at a religious painting. Part 3: Psychology.

A troubled Virgin

Francesco di Vannuccio
Source:  Musei senesi

When I visited Girton in November, I couldn't believe what was hidden away inside:

   in a building

                 off a corridor

                      

                          in a room

                                in a corner:

This breathtaking little painting.

And it is little.  It's tiny!  You could hold it on a lap like an open book.  Except you can't touch, of course.  

My favourite things about this painting:

• its otherwordly grace

•  the chubby red cherubs hovering in the heavens

•  the little donors in black clothes, kneeling and praying  (they commissioned and owned this painting once upon a time)

•  the slanted eyes of the Virgin at left, her contorted pose, her mannered forefinger

•  the intricate incisions in the gold ground

•  that dour little figure at the bottom of the Assumption at right

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The Annunciation is based on Simone Martini's famous Annunciation of 1333 (in Siena):

Source of image: Madelineinflorence's blog

The Assumption is based on the Assumption with Doubting Thomas by the Ovile Master (formerly in the Ospedale della Scala in Siena).

I first encountered the five steps of the Annunciation in Michael Baxandall's Painting and Experience in Fifteenth-Century Italy.  

Baxandall quotes the Renaissance cleric Fra Roberto:

'The third mystery of the Annunciation is called Angelic Colloquy; it comprises five Laudable Conditions of the Blessed Virgin:

1.  Conturbatio -- Disquiet

2.  Cogitatio -- Reflection

3.  Interrogatio -- Inquiry

4.  Humiliatio -- Submission

5.  Meritatio -- Merit

The first laudable condition is called Conturbatio; as St Luke writes, when the Virgin heard the Angel's salutation -- "Hail, thou art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women" -- she was troubled.'

That's what we see in the delicate Annunciation at Girton:  a troubled Virgin, the angel Gabriel in profile, a momentous occasion explored with subtle drama and psychology.

If the little figure at the bottom of the Assumption (which is when Mary is brought straight up to Heaven after her death) is indeed a kind of Doubting Thomas (who didn't believe that Christ had risen from the dead and stuck his finger in Christ's side wound to find proof), then this little figure is also troubled:  "What?  She goes to Heaven, in soul and in body?  I don't believe this!"

Two small paintings that deal with human beings who are completely overwhelmed by divine forces beyond their ken.

The rest of us can but marvel.

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What:  Annunciation  and Assumption of the Virgin.  A diptych painted by Francesco di Vannucci.

When:  Around 1380.

How:  Egg tempera on wooden panel.

Where:  Girton College, Cambridge.  In the Lawrence Room.

How can I see this?  Open to the public every Thursday, 2-4 pm.

Another painting by this artist:

• The Virgin and Child in Majesty with Saint Peter and Saint John the Baptist (Wallace Collection, London)

• The Crucifixion (Bode-Museum, Berlin)

Check out the other parts of the advent series:

* Advent series: How to look at a religious painting.  Part 1: Context.

* Advent series:  How to look at a religious painting.  Part 2: Saints.

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Advent series: How to look at a religious painting. Part 2: Saints.

Simone Martini's St Geminianus, St Michael and St Augustine.

Licensed via Wikimedia Commons.

Three saints hover in an indeterminate space, on a gold ground.  Two bishops with mitres and bishops' staffs flank a winged angel in the centre.  Three angels are poised above, fitted neatly into triangular frames; they gesture with elegant hands.

Two of the saints seem to be looking out of the picture but they are not really looking at us.  Their gaze is directed beyond us, into some transcendental distance.  Who knows what they see?  Eternity?  They are not of this world, after all.

St Geminianus
At left is this bishop:  He is Saint Geminianus.  He is the patron saint of the town of San Gimignano in the hills of Tuscany (that's his name in Italian:  Gimignano).  Look at the gorgeous detail of his punched halo (decorative patterns incised into the wood), the jewels on his mitre and his gloves, the clasps of his bible, and the curls of his beard.

Licensed via Wikimedia Commons.

St Michael
Next comes the archangel Saint Michael.   There are four archangels:

•  Michael (who cast out Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden)

•  Gabriel (who is the angel of the annunciation and told Mary that she would give birth to God's son)

•  Raphael (who travelled with Tobit, Tobias's son)

•  and Uriel (who is not really well known at all).

Licensed via Wikimedia Commons.

Michael holds his attribute, the sword.  The Bible tells us, in the Book of Genesis, how God "placed cherubim at the East of the garden of Eden, and a flaming sword which turned every way".

Michael also holds scales for weighing the souls on Judgement Day.  You can see one tiny naked soul, praying.  Look also at the delicately raised fingers that grasp the scales.

St Augustine
Finally, there's Saint Augustine, the famous 4th C. / early 5th C. theologian and author of the Confessions and City of God.  (If you've read these, give them a go. I perused the Confessions a few years ago and found it a surprising page-turner.  Augustine was a young Roman lay-about who liked to party hard before he had a conversion experience and then wrote about his life with great frankness in the Confessions.)

Anyway, back to the picture!

Licensed via Wikimedia Commons.

This is Augustine, not as the wild Roman lad but as a serious and devout Christian of mature years, kitted out in bishop's garb.

The original context
Simone Martini was commissioned to make this painting for the Church of Saint Augustine in San Gimignano.  The church is still there but the painting is there no longer.

Here is the church from the outside:

Church of St Augustine in San Gimignano, Tuscany
© Sailko.  Licensed via GNU Free Documentation License.

And here is the church from the inside (imagine Simone's painting on the altar):

Italian wikimedia.

The original altarpiece
The three saints are part of a polyptych (a many-winged altarpiece).  The polyptych originally had five panels.  Three of the panels are in the Fitzwilliam.  The central panel, a Virgin and Child, is now in Cologne, and another panel of Saint Catherine is in a private collection in Florence.

Here is a reconstruction of what the altarpiece looked like when it sat on an altar in Saint Augustine's church:

Source:  Cologne museums

It's not an overwhelmingly large painting.  Perhaps it was located in a side chapel?

Source: Cologne museums  

Simone Martini, Virgin and Child, Wallraf-Richartz-Museum, Cologne.
Licensed via Wikimedia Commons.

Simone Martini, St Catherine, private collection, Florence
Source: allart.biz

All together
Here's my own recreation of what the five panels looked like all together:

What, when, where
What:  St Geminianus, St Michael and St Augustine by Simone Martini.

When:  Painted around 1319.
Medium:  Tempera paint and gold leaf on wooden panel.
Dimensions:  Around 110 cm high.  Each wing is around 38 cm wide.
(Info taken from Fitz catalogue.)

Where:  Painted in Siena, Italy.  Now displayed in the Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge.

Find out more by clicking on these sites:

• Fitzwilliam Museum site on Simone Martini  (includes detailed info and a lovely Petrarch quote)

• Fitzwilliam Museum site on signs and symbols

• Blog post on Simone Martini's famous Annunciation @ Idril's Fantasy

If you enjoyed this you may also like to read these posts on religious art:

Part 1 of the advent series (Context):  Virgin and Child by Andrea di Vanni.

Icons and Hindu religious art:  Durga Puja

Do let me know if you liked this painting in comments.  And if you've seen the other panels (in Cologne and in Florence), that would be very exciting to know!  Hope you're having a peaceful second advent Sunday.

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Advent series: How to look at a religious painting. Part 1: Context.

© Fitzwilliam Museum.  Source: Fitzwilliam Museum.

Do I have to be religious to like religious art?

It's the first Sunday of advent today, and this time of waiting for the Christian festival of Christmas made me think about Christian art.

People can tend to feel that they need to know something about art before they can enjoy it, especially if it's Old Master art and seems to be full of enigmatic symbols.  Or people feel a little odd about enjoying Christian art when they are not themselves practising Christians.

The fact is that art has been religious for most of its history.  It is only in the past 200 years or so that non-religious themes have come to dominate.  Sure, there were portraits and genre scenes of everyday life.  But religion was arguably at the heart of much of the art.

Advent series

Here are my own suggestions on how to look at a religious painting.  I have chosen four Italian Renaissance paintings, on display in Cambridge, and I will look at these over the course of the next four advent Sundays.  Each week I will focus on one particular aspect. 

My aim is not to give you lots of information but to invite you to look at these pictures with an open mind and without feeling that you need to know a lot before you can start to get something out of looking at them.  Of course, if you wish to go on and find out more for yourself -- all the better!

Today's painting

Today's painting is Andrea di Vanni's Virgin and Child, produced in Siena around 1400.  And today's focus is context.

Art in the gallery

This painting hangs in Gallery 6 of the Fitzwilliam Museum, among other Italian paintings.  It hangs on its own wall space, with a label giving the name of the artist, title and date.  The gallery is well-lit so that we can see the pictures in detail.  The walls are a neutral colour so that nothing distracts us.

©  Fitzwilliam Museum.  Source:  Fitzwilliam Museum.

Visitors wander through the gallery.  Sometimes they stop and look at a label or a picture.  More often than not, they spend more time looking at the label than they do at the picture.  People talk in quiet voices; nobody shouts, run or sings.  Lighting fires is not permitted nor is touching the pictures.

Art in church

Imagine how different this gallery setting is from the painting's original context!  14th-century altarpieces were placed in churches which were often dark.  An altarpiece vies with other sensory inputs for attention:

Candles played across the surfaces, causing the gold backgrounds to glitter. There was the smell of candle wax and incense.  There may also have been the sound of singing, of praying, of preaching, and of people responding in unison as part of the Catholic mass.  The visitor was confronted with other paintings, with stained-glass windows, with carved statues and pilasters, with mosaic floors and marbled walls.

Nun praying in St Peter's, Rome. ©  Holly Hayes.  Source:  Sacred Destinations

And of course, the visitor wasn't really a 'visitor' but a devotee.  People approached religious paintings not as art but as cult objects to be venerated.

Art in the home

Andrea di Vanni's painting is quite small (94.9 x 52.7 cm) so it was probably not used as an altarpiece.  It's more likely to have been used in a more intimate context, for example, in somebody's home or as part of a monk's cell.  But, just like larger altarpieces, this is an object that invites devotion.

Palazzo Davanzati, Florence.

Source:  lifebeyondtourism

How Virgin and Child invites devotion

•  the faces

They are shown frontally and gazing evenly outwards; their gazes don't quite hit the viewers but look beyond, into some transcendental distance:  they are not of our world.

•  the splendid gold background

Gold was expensive and it is used here to show how precious the subject of the picture is:  the baby Jesus Christ and his mother.

•  the blue of the Virgin's gown.

This was made from lapis lazuli, the most expensive pigment during the Renaissance.

•  the glorious haloes

They are made using gold leaf and then incised with what is called a punch: a metal tool for scratching intricate patterns into the wooden panel.

© Fitzwilliam Museum.  Source: Fitzwilliam Museum. 

•  the architectural frame

This too is covered in gold and moulded gesso to give it relief; it removes the depicted figures from their banal everyday surroundings.

•  the symbolic bird held by the Christ child

This is a goldfinch which can refer to the Resurrection or to the Passion or be a protector against the plague.  

•  the importance of the Virgin

Increasingly, during the 14th and 15th centuries, Mary the mother of God became important, almost as important as Christ himself; she was seen as the primary saint who could intercede between God and humans.

How Renaissance people used religious images

Here is how the 14th-century Florentine Giovanni Morelli used a religious image, the picture of a Crucifixion, to deal with the death of his young son:

"I knelt with bare knees before the figure of the crucified son of God ... I was in my nightgown, with nothing on my head, and wore a halter around the neck.  Gazing upon Him, I began my prayer by first picturing and looking at my sins ... My hear and all my senses heightened to the greatest tenderness..."

Source:  British Library.

Morelli prayed while "gazing continually at the image" until he finally stood up and "took hold of the painting with devotion and kissed it..."

(Morelli is quoted in Evelyn Welch's Art in Renaissance Italy, Oxford University Press, 1997, p.309.)

This intriguing testimony gives a small insight into how 14th-century Italians used these religious images, with what passion, devotion and physical interaction.  How different from the modern gallery-goer!

More on the context of Italian altarpieces in this National Gallery video.

So do you have to be religious...?

I don't think you do.  And if you are religious, you will (probably) not be religious in a 14th-century way.  None of us today kisses and prays to pictures in the gallery (although some of us do leave devotional objects to sculptures...)  So go forth and be undaunted!

The picture comes to us from history (and we can imagine ourselves into the historical viewer and user).  But the picture is also right there in front of our eyes.  That's the beauty of art:  both then and now, both here and far, far away.

Oh, and I'd already finished this post when I came across this interesting article in The Guardian:  Do we need faith to see religious art?

Have a lovely advent Sunday, whatever your creed may be!

What and where

Andrea di Vanni (Sienese artist), Virgin and Child, c. 1400, egg tempera  and gold on a wooden panel, 94.9 x 52.7 cm.  Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge, UK, Gallery 6.

© Fitzwilliam Museum.  Source: Fitzwilliam Museum.

If you enjoyed this post you may like Part 2 even better:

Advent series.  How to look at a religious painting:  Simone Martini's altarpiece with saints.


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