Day 124 - Medieval sculptures



February 4, 2019

Gallery 304 is a huge room devoted to works from Western Europe (primarily France, Germany, Spain,  England, and Italy) made between 1000 and 1350. It is filled with objects large and small, from enameled coffers to ivory plaques to wood and stone sculptures to stained glass windows. I especially like the enamels, with their brilliant cobalt and turquoise pigments set in shining gold. I remember how much I responded to these objects when I visited the Musee du Moyen Age (back when it was called the Cluny), so seeing similar things in my own city is a pleasure -- and a revelation. There are several small objects-- including a reliquary casket, a pilgrim's badge, and a liturgical comb (!) -- that show scenes related to the martyrdom of Saint Thomas Becket, especially relevant to me because we are currently reading "King John" (Henry II's son) in my Shakespeare group.  I also admire a large rock crystal pitcher from southern Italy that, says the caption, shows the influence of carvings imported from Fatimid Egypt. It's a reminder of how much Southern Italy was at the center of various cultural cross-currents.

I want to write about two sculptures because they evoke such different feelings in me. The first is an enthroned Madonna and child that dates from around 1280 and comes from Germany. Perhaps  4 feet high, it is carved from oak and painted; the flesh and rose tones remain lively.  Christ sits on Mary's lap, his back supported by her left hand; against her chest, his right hand presses an apple, symbolic of his role as redeemer of mankind from Adam's sin. (Unfortunately, both his left arm and her right arm have been lost.) But what is especially notable are the small smiles that play on the lips of the two figures as they express gentle mirth and mutual delight. It makes me happy to see such a loving image. 

The second sculpture, carved from sandstone around 1175-1225,  hails from Northern Spain.  About two feet high, it shows a kneeling Spanish king. His body is clad in chain mail; a sword hangs prominently from his waist. The depiction strikes me as a bit crude:  the head is too large for the body, and while fhe figure kneels in profile, his torso and face are fully frontal. But what impresses is the solemnity of his expression. The placard informs us that the Latin Chronicles of the kings of Castile asserts,  "On our side, Christ, God, and Man. On the Moors', the Faithless, and Damned Apostle, Mohammed." It's a reminder that the Middle Ages were a time of intolerance and ethnic hatred,  forces that are still with us a thousand years later. It makes me sober and sad. Yet, at the same time, I feel a little manipulated by whoever wrote that placard; perhaps that person did not trust the work of art itself to make the point he or she wanted to hammer home.


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