Day 126 - Potenza crozier
February 11, 2019
Gallery 306 is filled with late medieval treasures, many of them the gifts of J. Pierpont Morgan. The first thing I notice is one of two large multi-panel stained glass windows, and I immediately wonder which church they were wrested from -- what a loss it must have been. But I read that the different panels actually came from many different churches. They were then arranged by Met curators to form a stylistically harmonious whole -- very successfully, I think.
There are many small ivory plaques, diptychs, and triptychs, usually depicting scenes from the life of the Virgin and/or Christ, that were often made for the private devotions of wealthy patrons. I also take note of two large enamel reliquary crucifixes which are purported to contain fragments of the True Cross. And I learn about a new craft, the carving of boxwood to portray tiny, fantastically elaborate religious scenes.
So much on display is religious in nature that I'm tempted to take a break from Christianity and write instead about a carved ivory plaque that shows two mounted knights jousting while a crowd of spectators looks on. But I'm drawn instead to a crozier made in Naples of gilded silver, enamel, and "niello" (as I learn, a compound of silver, sulfur, lead, and copper). It was commissioned by the cathedral in Potenza, and its Latin inscription reads, "Anthony, Lord Bishop of Potenza, had this made in 1457." The crozier is perhaps 10 or 12 inches tall and finely worked with white and red flowers and hearts that are set against a green ground and separated from one another by a swirling vine composed of repeated S-curves along which are arrayed tiny bunches of grapes (the Eucharist!). In the center, under the crook, a bearded God the Father sits in profile on a throne, his right hand raised in blessing, his left hand holding a book against his chest. I think what especially appeals to me is the relative simplicity with which God is depicted, in contrast to the elaborate decoration of the crozier's staff.
There are many small ivory plaques, diptychs, and triptychs, usually depicting scenes from the life of the Virgin and/or Christ, that were often made for the private devotions of wealthy patrons. I also take note of two large enamel reliquary crucifixes which are purported to contain fragments of the True Cross. And I learn about a new craft, the carving of boxwood to portray tiny, fantastically elaborate religious scenes.
So much on display is religious in nature that I'm tempted to take a break from Christianity and write instead about a carved ivory plaque that shows two mounted knights jousting while a crowd of spectators looks on. But I'm drawn instead to a crozier made in Naples of gilded silver, enamel, and "niello" (as I learn, a compound of silver, sulfur, lead, and copper). It was commissioned by the cathedral in Potenza, and its Latin inscription reads, "Anthony, Lord Bishop of Potenza, had this made in 1457." The crozier is perhaps 10 or 12 inches tall and finely worked with white and red flowers and hearts that are set against a green ground and separated from one another by a swirling vine composed of repeated S-curves along which are arrayed tiny bunches of grapes (the Eucharist!). In the center, under the crook, a bearded God the Father sits in profile on a throne, his right hand raised in blessing, his left hand holding a book against his chest. I think what especially appeals to me is the relative simplicity with which God is depicted, in contrast to the elaborate decoration of the crozier's staff.
I must say that I wonder how Anthony would have held this object. The space below the top curve is so small that it's hard to imagine that a man could slip his fingers beneath it. On the other hand, the handle seems too big for someone to wrap his hand around. Then again, if he held it by the top, wouldn't the undulations along the edge dig into his palm? Form doesn't seem to follow function very well here.
Still, I guess the crozier's maker delivered what Anthony ordered, and it's a lovely object. Now we think of Basilicata as one of the very poorest parts of Italy. I wonder whether it was just as impoverished in the mid-1400s. I hope the crozier added an element of beauty to the lives of the ordinary parishioners who saw it, not just to that of the bishop.
Still, I guess the crozier's maker delivered what Anthony ordered, and it's a lovely object. Now we think of Basilicata as one of the very poorest parts of Italy. I wonder whether it was just as impoverished in the mid-1400s. I hope the crozier added an element of beauty to the lives of the ordinary parishioners who saw it, not just to that of the bishop.
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