The Mendicant Orders and Italian Art in Nashville

Sanctity Pictured: The Art of the Dominican and Franciscan Orders in Renaissance Italy will be on exhibition at The Frist Center for the Visual Arts in Nashville, Tennessee until January 25, 2015:

Beginning in the early thirteenth century, Italy was transformed by two innovative new religious orders known as the Dominicans, founded by Saint Dominic of Caleruega (1170–1221; canonized 1234), and the Franciscans, founded by Saint Francis of Assisi (1181/82–1226; canonized 1228). Whereas earlier religious orders, such as the Benedictines, had cloistered themselves in rural monasteries and lived off income from their property, the Dominicans and Franciscans settled in Italy’s growing cities and lived as mendicants, or beggars, who preached to laymen and women. When Francis and Dominic met in Rome in 1216, they recognized one another as brothers and embraced.

Both orders took a vow of poverty, but soon after the deaths of their founders they were building churches that rivaled cathedrals in size and splendor throughout Italy. With financial assistance from city governments, popes, and the laity, Dominican and Franciscan churches were constructed and filled with altarpieces, crucifixes, fresco cycles, illuminated manuscripts, and liturgical objects. Art became integral to the missions of these orders. Many works are narrative scenes focusing on the Dominican and Franciscan saints whose miracles sanctified contemporary Italian life.

This exhibition is the first to highlight the significant role played by the two major mendicant orders in the great flowering of art in Italy in the period 1200 to 1550. With works drawn from libraries and museums in the United States and the Vatican, it compares and contrasts ways the Dominicans and Franciscans employed art as propaganda and as didactic tools for themselves and their lay followers.

The book accompanying the exhibition is available here.

Father John Saward on Beauty and Poverty

You might remember that I mentioned this lecture series several months ago; the first lecture took place in October:

This year’s Art of the Beautiful series opens on Saturday, October 11th at the Catholic Center at NYU. Rev. John Saward (Oxford University) will discuss The Poverty of the Church and the Beauty of the Liturgy.

The lecture will ask: “Is there a place for liturgical beauty in what Pope Francis has called ‘the Church that is poor and for the poor’?”

Now you can hear Father Saward's answer. As Father Saward was previously an Anglo-Catholic, it's appropriate to note that the Ritualist movement in the Church of England after the Oxford Movement was always aligned with great work among the poor, especially in urban areas in the nineteenth century. It is also appropriate to listen to this today while we celebrate the Feast of the Dedication of St. John Lateran in Rome and one could take this virtual tour to see the great beauty of this basilica, the seat of the Pope as the Bishop of Rome.

The Death of a Saint's Son and a Blessed's Father

On October 4, 1646, Thomas Howard, 21st Earl of Arundel and 1st Earl of Norfolk, and Earl Marshal died--also known as the "Collector Earl" for amassing a fine array of ancient marbles and Renaissance paintings. He was the son of St. Philip Howard, who died in the Tower of London after asking to see him, who had been born after Philip was imprisoned--that request being denied by Elizabeth I's government unless he renounced his Catholicism and become an Anglican (heartless!).

James I restored the family Earldom and some of the estates to Thomas in 1604. He then married a wealthy noblewoman, Alethea Talbot, in 1606. Thomas Howard evidently swore oaths of loyalty to both James I and Charles I--because he served in their governments and courts--although he returned to the Catholic Church sometime before his death. He died near Padua, Italy, having accompanied Princess Mary to Holland for her marriage to William II; he chose to remain on the Continent because of the troubles between Charles I and Parliament.

Thomas and Alethea Howard had three children, one of whom, William Howard, 1st Viscount Stafford, would be accused, because of his Catholicism, in the Popish Plot, executed on December 29, 1680 and beatified by Pope Pius XI in 1929. Howard's eldest surviving son, Henry Howard, would succeed him as the 22nd Earl of Arundell--one of his nine sons would be Philip Cardinal Howard, a Dominican and later grand almoner, in charge of charity, for Charles II's queen, Catherine of Braganza.

The portrait above is by Anthony van Dyck and is on view at The Getty Center of Los Angeles. The Getty Center makes the image available in its Open Content Program. Of the portrait, the website notes:

Depicted three-quarter length, the Earl of Arundel sits before a tapestry curtain on the left and a landscape background on the right. The long, tapering fingers of his left hand hold the gold medallion of Saint George, one of the emblems worn by the twenty-four knights who made up the most eminent and noble circle around the king. His elongated, pale face contrasts with the white ruff around his neck and the scarlet chair upon which he sits. Turned slightly towards the viewer, the expression on Arundel's face is alert but reserved.

Arundel was one of the great patrons and collectors of art in England in the early 1600s. He was best known for his collection of Venetian paintings, which included works by Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese. During a brief first visit to London around 1621, Anthony van Dyck was commissioned to paint this portrait for Arundel, who recognized the young artist's talent.

An Obscure Masterpiece

Willard Spiegelman, Hughes Professor of English at Southern Methodist University in Dallas, describes Caravaggio's masterpiece, "The Taking of Christ" for The Wall Street Journal:

Seven figures, one barely noticeable, are tightly bound within the confines of a small space. On the left, John the Evangelist turns his back on the others, his hands lifted in shock, surprise or exclamation. Next to him, Christ is dressed in red and blue garments. His eyes, hooded to the point of invisibility, look down, and he clasps his hands in resignation. Judas, having just kissed the Savior, grips Jesus with his left hand. Both men—typical of Caravaggio—have dirty nails. Their brows are furrowed. John, Jesus and Judas look like parts of one person, their three heads all in a line, with John's seemingly joined Siamese-fashion to Christ's, and Judas's mouth having just separated from the man he has sold to the enemy.

Dead center in the picture is the arresting officer, of whose face we can see only a nose and the outline of an upper lip. Otherwise, he is a study in metal. His left arm clasps Christ and his hand extends from the shiny, steel-colored armor of his arm and breastplate. His helmet completes the image. He is all exoskeleton, barely a man at all. The painter has offered an allegory of the way the State—hard, metallic and unyielding—comes to overwhelm compliant, beleaguered, passive humanity. Beside the main officer another, older, soldier reveals more flesh—nose and moustache—but in neither of these figures can we see eyes. In the rear we can make out only the outline of yet one more soldier.

This leaves us with the most mysterious figure of all, neither Roman nor Jew. Dark-headed, handsome, with eyes fully revealed and looking intently at the scene in front of him, this man holds in his right hand a lantern, which offers illumination from behind and to the right of Jesus and Judas. Who is he? The consensus among the experts is that Caravaggio has produced a self-portrait.

This is one of "Ireland's Favorite Paintings" at the National Gallery of Ireland, which displays it on indefinite loan from the Irish Jesuits.

Image Credit: Public Domain.

CIVILISATION Remade: "Challenging questions about contemporary pieties"

Earlier this month, I posted about the Kenneth Clark exhibition at Tate Britain, and about the BBC's plans to "remake" the series. I noted the problems some people have with Clark's appearance and manner and said:

What Stourton describes as distractions now I find essential to the series. It was "A Personal View" so the person, Sir Kenneth Clark had to be himself--he did not have to look like a television personality; he had to have ideas and views to present. I like the static camera and the slow pans from Clark to the background and the great close ups of the artwork, so steady and patient--the camera is giving me a chance to see what Clark sees, to learn how to look at the art, see the beauty, and appreciate the civilization that created it.

The BBC is going to "remake" the series with another art critic who will have his or her own "Personal View"--I doubt the critic would dare have such a "conservative" view of civilization or even to concentrate on western civilization. It will have to be multi-cultural and the pace will have to be fast, with quick cuts and angles. The presenter will have to be photogenic with perfect teeth (Sir Kenneth's are horrible, one can tell). I can't imagine a remake of Kenneth Clark's Civilisation: A Personal View that could replace it in my library of books, DVDs, or memories. As Clark says at the end of the series, I may be hopeful about the new version, but not joyous.

Now, History Today comments on the BBC's plans and brings up the same issues:

How often has Lord Hall paused to regret announcing that the BBC intends to remake Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation? The notion becomes more fraught with difficulty at every turn. Set aside the question as to whether a modern Civilisation is a good idea and still Hall’s problems, or rather those of his commissioning editors, multiply.

First shown in 1969 in 12 episodes, Civilisation focused exclusively on western Europe. It is inconceivable that today’s BBC could make a series that excluded the cultures of the Far East, India, Africa and Central and South America. So is one that paid little attention to women. Or indeed one that started, as Clark’s did, with the disarming statement: ‘What is civilisation? I don’t know … but I think I can recognise it when I see it.’

Early attacks on Clark were instigated by his ideological opposite John Berger and they hit home. The way that Clark has been wilfully misinterpreted is, however, also a measure of changed times and contemporary pieties. His omission of other cultures was not because he thought them inferior but because, as he admitted, he didn’t know much about them. He did not ‘suppose that anyone could be so obtuse as to think I had forgotten about the great civilisations of the pre-Christian era and the east’, but people did. It is worth noting that he hardly mentioned Spain – Velázquez, Goya et al – in the series because he thought the country’s contribution to culture too slight: ‘One asks what Spain has done to enlarge the human mind and pull mankind a few steps up the hill.’ It is also forgotten that the series had the all-important subtitle; ‘A personal view by Kenneth Clark’.

And then there's the issue of who will host the show:

Hall’s greatest problem though is who should play the Clark role. Immediately after the BBC announcement, the retiring novelist Kathy Lette unhelpfully whipped up a petition signed by the likes of Helena Kennedy, Shami Chakrabarti, Tracy Chevalier and Sandi Toksvig instructing Hall not to plump for a man. Mary Beard is their poster girl, though what attributes she would bring to a discussion of 19th-century Paris or pre-Columbian Peru was not made clear. Among other widely tipped names Neil MacGregor and Simon Schama stand out. Pick a woman and Hall will be accused of pandering to feminists, pick MacGregor and he will be demonstrating patrician tendencies; pick Schama and it will show a lack of imagination. And why no black or Indian presenter?

Could the presenter at least wear tweed in a few of the episodes?

Peter Paul Rubens and the "Counter-Reformation"

The Wall Street Journal reviews this new book on the Catholic art Peter Paul Rubens created in Flanders as part of the Catholic Church's famous effort to revive religious art in the service of reviving religious devotion and doctrine. The cover of the book is well chosen, as it presents an obviously Catholic and Marian interpretation of St. John's vision of the Woman Clothed with the Sun, fleeing the dragon that threatens to devour her and her baby, Jesus Christ (Mary, the Mother of God!). But according the WSJ reviewer, the author of The Catholic Rubens begins with Ruben's famous Deposition from the Cross in Antwerp Cathedral, because Sauerländer wants to emphasize Rubens' work in situ, not in a museum:

Today most of the significant altar paintings by Rubens (1577-1640) have been transplanted to art museums. There, scholars have concentrated on their formal qualities and more overt religious subjects. Often overlooked are the additional meanings tied to the pictures' original ecclesiastical settings.

This lacuna has now been brilliantly filled by Willibald Sauerländer in "The Catholic Rubens: Saints and Martyrs." An esteemed historian of medieval Christian art, Mr. Sauerländer follows the ways in which Rubens's pictorial inventions accorded with the doctrinal changes set in motion by the Council of Trent (1545–63). 

"The Catholic Rubens" begins with the artist's most famous altarpiece, "The Deposition" (1611-14), still at the Antwerp Cathedral. Since it serves as a model for understanding Rubens's religious genius, it is considered at length. . . .

In keeping with ecclesiastical tradition, the center panel offers a major episode from the Passion, the crucified Christ's lifeless body being taken down from the cross. Clearly working in concert with Rome's goal of the renewed veneration of holy persons, Rubens portrays differing figures beginning the process of carrying Jesus' body to the tomb. The Virgin Mary too is present, standing on the left. Rubens's innovations are seen here in the way he brings the scene toward the viewer and sets the body on a bold corner-to-corner diagonal, with the participants gathered around to receive it. 

"The Deposition" is only one of 20-some altarpieces of saints and martyrs discussed by Mr. Sauerländer in this amazing book. These include Rubens's church commissions for pictures about the Disciples, early Christians St. Paul and St. Stephen (the first martyr). His lingering caveat is that Rubens's narratives "belong to an order of terrestrial and celestial things that is deeply foreign . . . to us." To the secular world, perhaps, but the import of Rubens's "Deposition" is still familiar to many of the faithful.

 

I visited Antwerp Cathedral during a trip to Belgium when my husband went there for business. I went on a bus tour which included a stop at a diamond store! and then dropped us off at the Grand Place. Great as the Deposition is, I was most inspired by the Resurrection of Christ, with Our Lord striding forth from the tomb, with the soldiers huddling in darkness while He is radiant!

 

Christ is Risen! Truly He is Risen! Happy Third Sunday of Easter!

 

More about the book here--and remember that this Catholic Rubens was one of Charles I's favorite painters!

Alain de Botton on Velasquez

From this weekend's edition of The Wall Street Journal, Alain de Botton discusses Velasquez's painting, The Crucified Christ. According to the bio at the end of the article:

Mr. de Botton is the co-author with John Armstrong of "Art as Therapy" (Phaidon), from which this essay is adapted. From March to August 2014, Messrs. de Botton and Armstrong will rehang and recaption the works in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam according to the approach outlined in their book.

Comparing an "abstract black-and-white photo, "North Atlantic Ocean, Cliffs of Moher," by the Japanese artist Hiroshi Sugimoto" to Diego Velazquez's great masterpiece, de Botton writes:

Turning now to "Christ Crucified" by Diego Velazquez, the greatest artist of Spain's 17th-century Golden Age, we move from the mundane to the transcendent. Velazquez shows us the son of God, the King of Kings, bleeding on the cross like an ordinary stricken man. He will be dead in a few moments.

Christianity is upfront about the idea that our lives can be burdened by suffering. It takes the view that loss, self-reproach, failure, regret, sickness and sadness will always find ways of entering life. Our troubles need practical help, of course. But Christianity identifies another need as well: for our suffering to have some honor or dignity.

This picture of the Crucifixion achieves that. It shows a good—indeed, a perfect—man being humiliated, injured and ultimately killed. It is tenderly sympathetic to sorrow without being hysterical or vengeful. It invites us to contemplate the centrality of suffering in the achievement of all valuable goals. Rather than concentrate on our moments of fulfillment, it directs our attention to the times of hardship and sacrifice and says that they are the most deserving of admiration. It strengthens us a little—and offers consolation—for the hard tasks of our lives.

Constable's "Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows"--"Dangers Past"?

Richard Cork writes about John Constable's 1829 painting of "Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows" in this weekend's The Wall Street Journal:

Widely admired by John Constable's friends as his finest painting, "Salisbury Cathedral From the Meadows" has now been saved for the U.K., bought from the children of the late Barclays Bank director Lord Ashton of Hyde. The price with tax concessions amounts to £23.1 million ($35.5 million), and the rescue package includes £15.8 million from the Heritage Lottery Fund. This dramatic canvas, now on view at Tate Britain, will travel among several major museums across the U.K.

Unlike Constable's spirited little oil sketches, the Salisbury Cathedral painting is a large, carefully designed and vigorously handled canvas he worked on for several years. When exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1831, it was accompanied by a quotation from James Thomson's poem "Summer," which refers to a "danger past" before describing how "a glittering robe of joy…invests the fields and nature smiles revived." Yet the painting is far from joyful; it is one of Constable's most turbulent images. . . .

Devoted to the Anglican Church, Constable was worried about its future. So Salisbury Cathedral is not allowed to dominate this painting in a smug, triumphant way. The largest form confronting us here is the ancient tree on the left, and it seems shaken by the impact of the storm. It may even be in danger of falling into the impenetrable darkness beyond, where a small church tower and houses look threatened by the black sky.

No wonder the dog isolated in the muddy foreground stares back at this tree. It must be wondering where the storm will strike next. Lightning flashes to the left of the cathedral spire, and the man in the wooden cart looks hunched, as if bracing himself for another apocalyptic downpour. The three horses pulling his cart through the water appear burdened by their task. Directly behind the cart, a tiny cottage is being smothered by a tangle of foliage growing over its vulnerable white wall and orange roof. As for the withered stump of a willow on the far right, it is perilously close to the water's edge.

And what were the dangers faced by the Anglican Church in 1829, that Constable should depict such a great Gothic cathedral under a cloud? Catholic Emancipation, of course. Compare the 1829 image of the cathedral (at the WSJ site) to this 1825 view, in which the cathedral is much more substantial (even though the cows in the foreground are a little distracting):

Source: Wikipedia commons

 

This painting of "Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop's Grounds", features the current Bishop of Salisbury, John Fisher and his wife on the left--the bishop commissioned the painting and then requested a copy with a brighter sky behind the cathedral.

Tolkien the Artist

Per this article in The Guardian, J.R.R. Tolkien's imagination expressed itself not merely in words but in images:

The film series of JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit is unlikely to come anywhere near matching the author's own visualisation of his imaginary world. We know what director Peter Jackson thinks the landscape of Middle Earth is like, from his previous films of The Lord of the Rings, as well as pre-released images from the first instalment of The Hobbit. Jackson's use of location to make the fantastic seem real is impressive. Yet his images are ponderous compared to the ethereal drawings and paintings in which Tolkien pictured places such as Rivendell and the Shire.

Tolkien imagined his otherworld of hobbits, elves and wizards in pictures, as well as words. The Hobbit was first published in 1937. As he wrote it, in the 30s, he made beguiling pictures and designs that map and depict the landscapes through which Bilbo Baggins was to journey.

Tolkien designed the cover for that first edition of The Hobbit. It immediately promises a rich and strange world within: layers of trees in green, white and purple fold over one another towards stylised mountain peaks and the great disc of the sun. Runes are inscribed along the edges of the design. Runic writing is the script of the elves in Middle Earth – but Tolkien did not invent it. Runes were used by the Vikings to inscribe memorials and spells. The Viking connection is telling, for Tolkien's art has a Scandinavian quality. The dreamlike elegance of The Hobbit's original cover is reminiscent of modern northern European art as well as ancient Viking designs.

Read the rest here.

CUA and One Thomas More

The Catholic University of America Press has a new book on St. Thomas More coming out next month: The One Thomas More:

"Thomas More" the humanist. "Sir Thomas More" the statesman. "Saint Thomas More" the martyr. Who was Thomas More? Which characterization of him is most true? Despite these multiple images and the problems of More's true identity, Travis Curtright uncovers a continuity of interests and, through interdisciplinary contexts, presents one Thomas More.

The One Thomas More carefully studies the central humanist and polemical texts written by More to illustrate a coherent development of thought. Focusing on three major works from More's humanist phase, The Life of Pico, The History of Richard III, and Utopia, Curtright demonstrates More's idea of humanitas and his corresponding program of moderate political reform. Curtright then shows how More's later polemical theology and defense of the ecclesiastical courts were a continuation of his commitments rather than a break from them. Finally, More's prison letters are examined. His self-presentation in these letters is compared with other recent and iconic versions, such as those in Robert Bolt's Man for All Seasons and Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall. Instead of a divided mind emerging, Curtright ably shows More's integrity and consistency of thought.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Travis Curtright, is a fellow of the Center for Thomas More Studies at the University of Dallas, associate professor of literature at Ave Maria University, and coeditor of Shakespeare's Last Plays: Essays in Politics and Literature.

The CUA catalog often has fascinating titles, but since it is a university press, many of the books are priced so that only a library could afford them--and the ebook price is the same at the hardcover!

Anyway, here's some information about the cover painting: "Holbien's Studio" by John Evan Hodgson (1831-1895) from the Wolverhampton Art Gallery in the West Midlands/Staffordshire:

Summary: Oil painting of a man looking at a portrait of himself on an easel. Next to him sits a woman and another man stands beside her, also looking at the portrait. The portrait is in an ornate gold frame. In the background detailed patterned wallpaper can be seen.

Description: The German painter Hans Holbein (1497-1543) came to England in the early 1530's on recommendation of the Dutch Humanist Erasmus of Rotterdam. He was employed by the court of Henry VIII through Sir Thomas More, a friend of Erasmus. Sir Thomas More (1478-1535) was an English statesman. He was also a humanist and wrote the book 'Utopia'. Henry VIII made him a diplomat and later Lord Chancellor. More was imprisoned and executed when he refused to sign Henry's Act of Supremacy making him more important than the Pope. Hodgeson's painting shows Holbein with More in his studio. He is showing More his finished portrait. Both men look quite happy about the finished product. Hodgeson must have seen portraits of both men by Holbein.

John Evan Hodgson was a member of the Royal Academy of Arts and if you are "quite happy about the finished product" in this picture, you can see more of John Evan Hodgson's work here.

England's Saints and Relics

As a follow-up to my post on Father Alexander Lucie-Smith's article on England's forgotten saints, news about a new exhibit at the British Museum: Treasures of Heaven: saints, relics and devotion in medieval europe.

In The Catholic Herald, Archbishop Nichols encouraged Catholics to view the exhibit:

All British Catholics should try to visit the new exhibition of relics and reliquaries at the British Museum in London, Archbishop Vincent Nichols of Westminster has said.

Treasures of Heaven: saints, relics and devotion in medieval Europe opened in the historic Round Reading Room at the museum today.

“I think this is a very, very unique and remarkable exhibition. There are objects here, for example the Mandylion, the face of Christ, which will never leave the Vatican again,” the archbishop said.

“I would just urge Catholics in England and Wales and from further afield to make the effort to come to the British Museum some time between now and October to take up this very unique opportunity. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime, and it’s well worth the journey.”

An on-line acquaintance (William Bence) sent me this article from Standpoint magazine, in which the author, James Hannam, puts the status of relics and reliquaries in England into context (my emphasis added throughout):

The Protestant iconoclasm during the reigns of Henry VIII, Edward VI and Elizabeth I destroyed a substantial proportion of England's medieval inheritance. So the objects on display at the British Museum's summer show Treasures of Heaven appear alien to English sensibilities. Nonetheless, we should not forget that this was once our [English] culture too.

Henry VIII began his reign as a devotee of traditional Catholic piety, even visiting the shrine of the Virgin at Walsingham Abbey in Norfolk. Although he never embraced Protestantism, Henry would later support the suppression of the relic cults and the monasteries that housed many of them. In 1541, the king ordered that all saints' shrines should be destroyed. Their bodies were no longer to be venerated and instead buried in common graves. Soon afterwards, the remains of St Cuthbert at Durham Cathedral were extracted from their beautiful shrine.

Finding the body incorrupt 900 years after the saint had died, the king's agents hesitated [they knew incorruptibility was a sign of sanctity--they had been raised Catholic, after all]. They dumped the corpse in the cloister and sent to London for instructions. Word came back that the shrine should be levelled and the saint reburied under the floor of the cathedral in the same spot. By this time, the saint had been exposed to the elements for a few weeks and was incorrupt no longer. The bones were buried as instructed and St Cuthbert remains in his new grave to this day. . . .

The devastation of the Reformation did not end with the shrines of saints. In the reign of Edward VI almost all remaining religious art in the country was lost. A few wall paintings and painted screens survive, but of the images of Christ crucified that were mounted in the chancel of every parish church, not a single one remains. The English destroyed almost their entire artistic tradition and then suppressed their memory of it. Today, medieval alabaster sculptures hold places of honour in museums across Europe and North America, but few of us recognise them as products of the Midlands. A 15th-century example portraying St Thomas Becket's murder is included in the British Museum's show together with various Canterbury pilgrims' accoutrements.

The Treasures of Heaven exhibition is devoted to reliquaries, the bejewelled cases fashioned to hold relics within. The expense and time devoted to crafting these holy boxes gives some indication of how seriously relics were taken. Visitors expecting to see gruesome remains will be disappointed — there is hardly a bone in sight. Most of the relics are discreetly wrapped in cloth and, in any case, they are very small in comparison to the reliquaries built to house them. Instead of grisly bits of cadavers, we are treated to a very fine exhibition of medieval objets d'art. . . .

Today, the Catholic Church has an ambivalent attitude towards relics. They are tolerated as an example of popular piety but have no special theological significance. A few attract continued veneration from the faithful, but this appears quaint to Protestants brought up to treat them as papist superstition. But we should remember that it was only an accident of history [Henry VIII's lack of a legitimate male heir with Queen Katherine of Aragon] that expelled the cult of the saints from England. The strange and foreign objects in the British Museum's exhibition represent customs that were once as English as roast beef and brown ale.

(Images: The Wilton Diptych of King Richard II. Source: wikipedia. More here about the Diptych)