The Christmas Story

Merry Christmas Eve! Tonight, some of you will be going to a Christmas vigil mass and will probably hear a retelling of the birth of Jesus. It is a familiar story with some key elements - Jesus in a manger, shepherds in a field, and three kings bearing gifts to the newborn child. With these key points, the story is complete, but it was not always this way. The nativity story that we are familiar with today is actually a composite narrative of canonical and non-canonical writings. In the early years of Christianity, the Church leaders spread this hybrid tale to the masses through art, which Pope Gregory the Great described as “the Bible of the illiterate."

The Dijion Nativity by Robert Campin is an example of several nativity stories melded into one. Campin pulled from the canonical gospel of Luke, the non-canonical gospels of Pseudo-James and Pseudo-Matthew, and the popular (at the time) vision of Saint Bridget of Sweden.

Dijion Nativity, Robert Campin, c. 1420

Shepherds from Portinari Altarpiece,
 Hugo van der Goes, c. 1475

The three shepherds peering in at Jesus are from the canonical gospel of Luke. Each of the gospel writers played towards their audience. Luke wrote in Asia Minor for a mostly non-Jewish community. In an attempt to increase conversions, Luke emphasized the idea of Jesus as Savior. To highlight this belief, Luke made sure to always notice “the little people”. He meant to show that Jesus was there for everyone, even those sometimes forgotten by society. Artists also used the shepherds as a representative of the common people. Most Italian artists at this time idealized the figures in their paintings. The shepherds were left natural, sometimes even homely to relate them to the masses. 


The two women to the right of the painting come from the writings of Pseudo-James. The one kneeling is the midwife who helped with the birth of Jesus (which occurred in a cave in this version.) When she discerned that Mary was still a virgin, she ran to share her surprise with the second woman, named Salome. Salome refused to believe without proof, and is punished for her skepticism as fire begins to burn her hand. An angel tells her to bring her hand to Jesus, and in his presence she is cured. This small miracle is insinuated by the way the second woman holds her limp hand as if it had been injured.

The ox and the donkey are now a staple in any manger scene, but they actually originated from the non-canonical gospel of Pseudo-Matthew. The passage reads, "The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib. The very animals, therefore, the ox and the ass, having Him in their midst, incessantly adored Him.” While these farm animals are familiar to a modern viewer, the placement of the infant Jesus on the ground probably seems strange. Where is the manger? Where are his swaddling clothes? The Dijion Nativity like the Portinari Altarpiece, pulls some details from the vision of St. Bridget of Sweden. Her writings describe Mary's white mantel and golden hair, the ox and the ass, the singing of angels, and Jesus naked and shining on the ground. Angels play an important role in many infancy gospels (especially in the annunciation,) which explains their presence in these paintings. 

Portinari Altarpiece, Hugo van der Goes, c. 1475

 Adoration,Gentile de Fabriano, 1423

Both of these paintings are missing one of the other, key theological details of a nativity scene - the magi. The magi play a prominent role in the Gospel of Mathew and are present in Pseudo-James. Biblically, the magi (wise-men, kings, etc.) are not numbered. There could have been dozens of magi, each with an entourage of hundreds. Some artists had fun with this idea, like Gentile de Fabriano in his Adoration. The magi gave artists the opportunity to paint lavishness and opulence. 

Theology and tradition pared the magi down to three men. The number three was chosen because the Bible does mention the three gifts of frankincense, gold, and myrrh. The Church leaders decided that one gift would come from each king, and they were all named and given physical descriptions. Balthazar was the young, African king. Casper was a middle-aged, "Asian" king. And Melchior was an older, European king. The kings were from each of the three known continents as a statement that the whole world was at the feet of the savior Jesus Christ.

Adoration, Paolo Veronese, 1570

Adoration, Andrea Mantegna, 1500

In the 1400s and 1500s (the early Renaissance,) the Church was the main patron of art. The illiterate masses learned most of their theology from art. Artists had to know all the Bible stories front-to-back regardless of canon. They pulled the relevant information form each story to create iconography that could successfully teach the desired message of their religious patrons. The visual traditions they created over 500 years ago continue to influence the way we learn and remember the story of Christmas today. 

Resources:
Doot Bokelman and Prof. Kelly, "The Church and Art" (lecture, Nazareth College, Rochester, NY, Fall 2012)

Judith and Holofernes

The Return of Judith to Bethulia, Sandro Botticelli, 1472

Speaking of beheading, let's talk a little bit about Judith and Holofernes. This classic Bible story tells of a beautiful, young, Jewish widow whom was called upon by her community to entice the Assyrian general, Holofernes, to withdraw his army from their siege on Israel. 

The story was particularly popular during the Counter Reformation because it upheld chastity and virtue in the symbol of Judith. Although asked to seduce Holofernes, Judith uses her wit instead of her body to trick Holofernes. She visits his tent over a course of three nights. On the third night she gets him abundantly drunk until he passes out - think Elizabeth Swan tricking Captain Jack Sparrow to drink himself to sleep on the marooned island. While he is asleep, Judith cuts off his head and brings it back to her town as a new hero. 

Judith, Jan Sanders van Hemessen, 1540

Many early depictions of Judith only show the aftermath of the beheading. Considered to be painted from the male perspective, some paintings show her nude and even as a femme fatale even though that goes against the message of the story. Caravaggio was the first painter to deviate from this tradition. He captures the psychological moment of the killing - providing a truer illustration to the Bible story. Judith holds the sword incorrectly, like a woman who had never held a sword before, which gives an authenticity to the moment. Caravaggio is the first to show the gore of the scene, though his blood is far from realistic compared to his usual naturalism. This Italian painter was inspired by Northern traditions, including the juxtaposition of young and old to emphasize the Neo-platonic virtues of the young and beautiful. 

Judith Beheading Holofernes, Caravaggio, 1598

Artemisia Gentileschi furthers Caravaggio's realistic approach to the Judith story. Her painting is an obvious emulation of his composition and style, but with a few touches that could only be captured from a woman's perspective. In this version, Judith is a common woman with dark hair and a strong build, similar to Artemisia's own body. Her glower is more believable for the act than the questioning look of Caravaggio's ideal beauty. In Artemisia's painting, the maid is not an onlooker, but actively takes a part in the murder, helping to hold down the struggling Holofernes. Artemisia's painting was actually commissioned by a woman, but her husband said it was unseemly for a woman to kill a man, and the painting was hidden away in a back hall until after his death. 

Judith and Holofernes, Artemisia Gentileschi, 1611

Artemisia was well known for painting female subjects through a gaze different than her male counterparts. The comparisons of such paintings make for an easily researched paper. So I will leave you to continue your research on your own. 

Resources: 
Doot Bokelman, "Art History Survey II" (lecture, Nazareth College, Rochester, NY, Spring 2012).
Doot Bokelman, "17th Century Baroque Art" (lecture, Nazareth College, Rochester, NY, Spring 2014).

The Problem with Produce

Home Food Safety

I have been officially moved out of my parents’ house for a little over a year now. One of the struggles I still face in my independent life is wasting food. My boyfriend and I go to the grocery store with the best intentions of a weekly meal plan, but sometimes that produce just never gets used, and into the trash it goes – along with the money spent on it. Living with the modern convenience of a refrigerator, I find myself putting anything and everything in the fridge to keep it from spoiling. However, many fruits and vegetables actually store better outside of the fridge. There are so many rules on what goes in the fridge, what stays out, and which fruits and vegetables can’t be kept with others – I just can’t retain it all! I’m slowly learning, but until I’m certain, I’ll keep referring to some handy infographics.

When I pull a wilted cabbage from the crisper, you can bet that the last thing I am thinking is ooh, how artistic. However, Juan Sánchez Cotán was able to transform rotting produce into a swooping, energetic composition that was characteristic of the 17th-century Baroque movement.

Obviously, there were no refrigerators in Spain during the 1600s. The Spanish people kept their fruits and vegetables in basements or dark cupboards. They often hung their produce to slow the rotting process since fruits and vegetables will bruise and soften where they rest. Cotán used this practice to his advantage, hanging the fruit to create a C-shaped arc – adding needed movement to his composition.
 

Quince, Cabbage, Melon and Cucumber by Juan Sánchez Cotán ca. 1602 

According to my favorite food sources, the produce in Cotán’s painting, Quince, Cabbage, Melon, and Cucumber, would all do the best in a refrigerator. Because all he had was a dark cupboard, it’s only natural that you can see the decay on Cotán’s food – especially in the curling leaves of the cabbage and the bruised quince. In Italy, it was common practice to idealize all elements in a painting, meaning these fruits and veggies would be at peak ripeness. Caravaggio, an Italian Baroque painter, broke this tradition. Influenced by the Northern European interest in surfaces, Caravaggio became a pioneer of Naturalism in the South. He spent some time painting in Naples, which was ruled by Spain. (Let’s not mention that he was in Naples to flee arrest for murder.) The viceroy shipped Caravaggio’s paintings to Spain, and painters like Cotán quickly adopted his realistic style.

Cotán’s naturalism also played to another influence – that of St. Ignatius of Loyola. St. Ignatius wrote a book called Spiritual Exercises, which spelled out practices for daily devotion. He taught that a devotional image of art should spark the five senses to help a person visualize all aspects of a saintly life. New to Catholicism, Spain was eager to adopt the ideas of St. Ignatius and heavily patrolled for heresy (Spanish Inquisition, anyone?). Although not inherently religious, Cotán’s painting works to engage the senses. By slicing the melon, he invites the smell of a fresh cantaloupe. Can you imagine biting into that juicy slice? What about the crunch of the cucumber? Can you recall the feeling of a wilted cabbage leaf between your fingers? Do you smell the sickly sweet of the rotting quince? Take a minute to connect to the painting and see what memories pop up.


Sources:
Doot Bokelman, "Art History Survey II" (lecture, Nazareth College, Rochester, NY, Spring 2012).
Doot Bokelman, "17th Century Baroque Art" (lecture, Nazareth College, Rochester, NY, Spring 2014).

Boiled Bunnies = Art History?

On the first day of my first art history class, I learned about boiled bunnies. Ok, what I really learned was that in Europe during the late 14th Century, boys as young as 8 were sent to live with artists to work and learn as apprentices. These novice boys were assigned the task of making gesso to whitewash and smooth the wood panels used for painting. And what is gesso? A mixture of limestone and rabbit skin – or as my professor called it – bunny glue. The rabbit skin was used as a binder, similar to other animal-based glues. By boiling the limestone and rabbit skin together apprentices could create the liquid gesso. (Don’t worry; a quick Google search will give you tons of vegan gesso substitutes.)

My professor’s playful expressions kept class interesting and made important facts easier to retain. I will never forget the “boiled bunnies” lesson, and I want to make art history just as memorable for other people. Check out my About page to learn more about how this blog got its name. But, for now, here’s a recap of that first “boiled bunnies” lesson.

Our Setting

The art movement occurring in Europe during the late 14th Century was known as the International Gothic Style. At this time, the Church was the notable economic, social, and political power, and thus the main consumer of art. Altarpieces were commonly commissioned as a visual for the illiterate masses to focus on while the priest preached in Latin – the language of the educated. If you were stuck in a stuffy room and forced to listen to gibberish for hours, you’d want something to look at too. The Church used this as an opportunity to emphasize their core theologies through didactic imagery.

Dijon Altarpiece by Melchior Broederlam

The Creation of an Altarpiece

1. An 8 year-old boy is sent to live and work with a master painter. He is given one pair of shoes and two shirts for his 10 years as an apprentice.

2. His first task is to cut down a tree. The wood is put in a smokehouse for 7-10 years to cure (dry.) 

3. Dry panels are prepped with the gesso that the apprentice made from his boiled bunnies.

4. The young apprentice is sent to the apothecary for pigment stones. He grinds them into a powder and mixes them with linseed oil to make paint. Oil paint would spoil quickly, so the apprentice had to be careful to only mix what was needed for the day.

5. The master painter draws an under-drawing on the prepped panel according to the patron’s request.

6. Older apprentices paint the initial layers, which use more oil and less pigment, known as a wash or glaze. The layers are gradually built up. Each layer takes up to a week to dry.

7. The master paints the final layers and finishing touches with pigment-rich paint.

8. The altarpiece dries for a year, is varnished, and then sent to the patron. 

Final Thoughts

The artistic workshop was common well into the Renaissance. Patrons were well aware that they were paying simply for the master’s idea, while knowing he would likely never touch the painting itself. Sometimes, prices were negotiated based on how much work the master was personally going to put into the painting. 

Since this was my first lesson in art history, I simply accepted the workshop process as historical fact. But now, I can’t think about historic art workshops without connecting them to Jeff Koons. I cannot ignore that people still revere the historic painters that worked in this way, yet contemporary workshop artists, like Jeff Koons, are freely criticized for profiting off the work of their studio artists. Koons takes all the credit for his workers, but most historic workshop artists also go unnamed unless they were a favorite assistant or went on to be masters themselves. I guess the major difference is that master painters were teaching their apprentices along the way, while Koons is only the “idea man” and depends on sourcing his projects to skilled artists to see his vision come true. I am still torn on the issue, so if you have an opinion, please indulge me in a discussion below.


Sources:

Doot Bokelman, "Art History Survey II" (lecture, Nazareth College, Rochester, NY, Spring 2012).