The Eye and the Beholder: The Depiction of the Eye in Western Sculpture with Special Reference to the Period 1350-1700 and to Colour in Sculpture 1443858188, 9781443858182

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The Eye and the Beholder

The Eye and the Beholder: The Depiction of the Eye in Western Sculpture with Special Reference to the Period 1350–1700 and to Colour in Sculpture

By

Hannelore Hägele

The Eye and the Beholder: The Depiction of the Eye in Western Sculpture with Special Reference to the Period 1350–1700 and to Colour in Sculpture By Hannelore Hägele This book first published 2014 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2014 by Hannelore Hägele All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-5818-8, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-5818-2

In memory of my sister Ursula Hägele

CONTENTS List of Illustrations .................................................................................. viii Acknowledgments ................................................................................... xix Introduction .............................................................................................. xx Chapter One ................................................................................................ 1 Sculpted Eyes in Antiquity: From the Ancient Near East to the End of the Roman World Chapter Two ............................................................................................. 34 The Art and Craft of Polychromy: During the Late Middle Ages Chapter Three ........................................................................................... 61 Partial Polychromy: Eyes, Mouths and Attributes Chapter Four ............................................................................................. 90 Emotions and Expressions: Weeping and Laughing, Sleeping and Dying Chapter Five ........................................................................................... 120 The Gaze and the Glance Chapter Six ............................................................................................. 145 From the Sculpted Eye to Colour and the Glass Eye Chapter Seven......................................................................................... 174 “What the Eye Cannot See” The Problem Once More: Some Unusual Examples Chapter Eight .......................................................................................... 195 Thesis and Counter-Thesis: A Summary Glossary .................................................................................................. 210 Chronology ............................................................................................. 212 Bibliography ........................................................................................... 219 Index ....................................................................................................... 255

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Chapter One Fig. 1–1 Human skull. Originally plastered and painted with inset cowrie shells. From the Neolithic settlement at Jericho (c. 7000 BC). AN1955.565. © Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology, University of Oxford. Fig. 1–2 Eye idol from Mari, Syria (c. 3500–3300 BC). White alabaster; h. 4.8 cm. Found at Tell Braq, Temple of the Eyes, Aleppo, Syria. National Museum, Damascus. Photo: 4SY-U1-P17, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Fig. 1–3 Waste material found in Phidias’s workshop (c. 500 – c. 430 BC) during excavation. Eye shapes cut out from bronze platelets. © Olympia Museum. Fig. 1–4 Construction of an inset eye. Drawing after Denis Haynes, 1992. Fig. 1–5 Orant figure, detail of a Sumerian statue (c. 2650 BC), era of King Iku(n)-Shamagan; stealite, h. 114 cm. Found at Ishtar Temple, Mari, Syria. National Museum, Damascus. Photo: 4IK-U1-P9-1, akgimages / Erich Lessing. Fig. 1–6 Eyes of statues or a wall ornament (fifth to second millennium BC). Stone, iris painted or coloured with lapis lazuli. Found in 1975 in Ebla, Syria. National Museum, Damascus. Photo: 2-K60-S4-1, akgimages / Erich Lessing. Fig. 1–7 Profiled eyes. Drawing after E. Curtius, 1891. Fig. 1–8 Head of Hera, Greek goddess (c. 590 BC); fragment of a Spartan colossus statue from the Heraeum, Olympia. © Olympia Museum. Photo: 2-M120-J3-11, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Fig. 1–9 Goddess Artemis / marble head with traces of paint (third century BC); from Thralles (Aydin), Turkey; h. 29 cm. Inv. 126. Photo: 7-L3Z10-01-01-53, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Figs. 1–10, 11 and 12 Details of sculpted eyes in profile or close-up. Fig. 1–13 Esblepharon (painted bandage), as illustrated in A. Paré, 1614. Fig. 1–14 Head of Nofretete, queen of Egypt, consort of Akhenaten, missing one inlaid eye. Workshop piece (fourteenth century BC). © Neues Museum, Berlin.

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Fig. 1–15 Wax mask with coloured glass eyes; Roman (Cumae?). National Museum, Naples. Photo: Sopr. Ant. Napoli Neg. No. a/2090. Fig. 1–16 Head of Athena; Roman copy (time of Hadrian), after the head of Athena Promachos, Acropolis, Athens, by Phidias (c. 500 to after 438 BC). Marble; h. 96.5 cm. Found at the Villa Hadriana, Tivoli. Photo: 2-M120-M2-18-1, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Fig. 1–17 Single eye of an Antonine bust (Marcus Aurelius), with pupil carved en creuse. Plate 1–1 Statuette of a female deity or odalisque, from Babylon, Mesopotamia; Seleucid dynasty (third century BC). Alabaster with gold plating and inlaid rubies; h. 25 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris. Photo: 4IK-U1-S1, akg-image / Erich Lessing. Plate 1–2 Squatting scribe. Sculpture from Saqqara, Egypt; Old Kingdom, late Fourth / early Fifth Dynasty (c. 2600 or 2400 BC). Painted limestone, eyes inlaid with rock crystal and alabaster, framed with copper; h. 53.7 cm; w. 44 cm. E 3023. Dép. des Antiquités égyptiennes, Musée du Louvre, Paris. Photo: 2-G76-B1-8-1, agk-images / Erich Lessing. Plate 1–3 Reconstruction (cross-section) of inlaid eyes of the squatting scribe. Drawing by F. Poulain. Source unknown. Plate 1–4 Composite wedjat-eye amulet (the “sound” eye that restores life), Egypt. Third Intermediate Period (c. 1068–661 BC). Polychrome glazed composition; l. 6.7 cm. EA 29222. © The Trustees of the British Museum. Plate 1–5 Head of an Akkadian ruler, Nineveh (c. 2300–2200 BC), House of Sargon. Inflicted damage to bronze cast. © National Museum of Iraq, Bagdad. Plate 1–6 Youth holding a pomegranate and an aryballos, detail; Greek (Attic; c. 530 BC); painted marble. Inv. no. 11.185a). © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Plate 1–7 Etruscan head, painted. Bolsena, Italy (700–650 BC). © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Photo: Katie Chao. Plate 1–8 Auxerre Goddess, painted and restored (plaster cast). Cast no. 2a. © Museum of Classical Archaeology, Cambridge. Plate 1–9 Bust of the blind Homer; marble. © The Trustees of the British Museum. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 1–10 Charioteer of Delphi, detail of head (c. 470 BC); bronze with coloured insets; h. 180 cm. Found at the Temple of Apollo, Delphi. Photo: 2-G63-W1-6-8, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Plate 1–11 Pair of eyes (inlays), probably Greek (fifth century BC or later); bronze, marble, frit, quartz and obsidian; maximum 5.1 cm, d.

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3.8 cm, h. 3.8 cm. Purchase, Mr and Mrs Lewis B. Cullman Gift and Norbert Schimmel Bequest, 1991. (1991.11.3a,b). © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Plate 1–12 Meroë head / head of Augustus; bronze head with inlaid eyes. Inv. no. 1911,0901.1. © The Trustees of the British Museum. Plate 1–13 Head of youth with victory ribbon, Roman (early first century AD); original bronze, copper inlaid lips, empty eye sockets. © Staatliche Antikensammlungen, Munich. Photo: No. 305, F. Kaufmann, Reproduktionsanstalt, Munich. Plate 1–14 Portrait bust of Marcus Aurelius (Antonius), Roman emperor (161–180 AD); marble; h. 62 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris. Photo: 1IT111-H3, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Plate 1–15 Painted marble head of a female from Herculaneum. © Herculaneum Conservation Project.

Chapter Two Plate 2–1 An English Benedictine monk polychroming a small carving of the Virgin and Child (c. 1200). MS 309. © Lambeth Palace Library. Plate 2–2 “The impossibility of representation”; Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. MS. Fr. 6185 (Valerius Maximus, Faits et dits memorables, translated Simon de Hesdin), fol. 243v. © Photo: Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris. Plate 2–3 Plaster cast of a late medieval bust: man with a book. Photo: H. Zwietasch © Landesmuseum Württemberg, Stuttgart. Plate 2–4 Cast of the same bust, on which the craft of polychroming is being demonstrated. Photo: H. Zwietasch © Landesmuseum Württemberg, Stuttgart. Plate 2–5 Polychromed head of St James (section) being stripped of overlays. Sint-Jacob de Meerdere, Bergen, Belgium. Schat van de Collegiale Sint-Waldetrudiskerk; Flemish-Burgundian School (midfourteenth century); h. 101 cm. Partly freed from later polychromy. Cat. no. 4. Inv. no. KLE1026 IRPA-KIK. © Photo: Koninklijk Instituut voor het Kunstpatrimonium. Plate 2–6 Same polychromed work subjected to detailed analysis, right eye area. Inv. no. KLM 1005. IRPA-KIK. © Photo: Koninklijk Instituut voor het Kunstpatrimonium. Plate 2–7 Two magi figures (c. 1480), Neckar Swabian wood carver. Limewood, gilted and painted, worked in the round. Melchior 65 x 26.5 x 18.5 cm, Balthasar 57 x 21.5 x 18 cm. Collection Dursch, Rottweil. Photo: H. Hägele © Landesmuseum Württemberg, Stuttgart.

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Plate 2–8 Tilman Riemenschneider, group of mourners from the Passion Altarpiece (1485–90). © Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich. Photo: Walter Haberland. Plate 2–9 Virgin Mary with Christ Child and St Anne, centrepiece of triptych from the church of the Carmelites in Boppard, Koblenz, Germany (c. 1520); pinewood, polychromed and gilded. © Victoria and Albert Museum. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 2–10 Head of the Virgin Mary figure of the Boppard Altarpiece, detail. Plate 2–11 Frauenstein Schutzmantelmadonna (Virgin of Mercy), c. 1510, attributed to Gregor Erhart; Ulm. Frauenstein Sanctuary, Ramsau near Molin, Upper Austria. © Wikimedia Commons. Plate 2–12 Bust of the Virgin (c. 1390–95), Bohemia, International Gothic. Terracotta fragment with polychromy. © Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Plate 2–13 Statue of a bishop (St Celasius), detail; Salzburg Cathedral. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 2–14 Statue of a Black Virgin (twelfth century), presented in a dress of glory. © Notre-Dame of Good Hope, Dijon, France.

Chapter Three Fig. 3–1 Marian or Christmas altarpiece (1520–23); wood-visible carving by Veit Stoss; Bamberg Dom. © Wikimedia. Photo: Reinhard Kirchner. Fig. 3–2 Grisaille painting of a carved Trinity panel (1410) by Robert Campin / Master of Flémalle. © Anothek/Städel Museum, Frankfurt. Fig. 3–3 Grisaille painting of St John the Baptist’s head, detail from an outer panel of the Ghent Altarpiece (1432), by the Van Eyck brothers. Fig. 3–4 Head of Kunigunde (d. 1033), detail from the imperial tomb of Heinrich II and his wife, dedicated 1513, Bamberg Cathedral. Carved in Solnhofen stone by Tilman Riemenschneider. Photo: Traute Lehmann. Fig. 3–5 Statue of Mary Magdalene, detail, from Brussels (c. 1566); oak, wood visible. (Acq. 1850; Cl. 1851) © Musée national du Moyen Âge – RMN, France. Fig. 3–6 Obadiah, dorsal figure by Jörg Syrlin the Elder, choir stalls; Ulm Minster, Germany. Photo: H. Hägele. Fig. 3–7 Choir-stall figure with eye glasses (Baumeister?), wood carving (1477/1478) by Hans Henckel/Heinrich Yselin for the Weingarten cloister church; in museum of Schloss Berchtesgaden, Germany.WAF Inv.Nr. P III 29 © Wittelsbacher Ausgleichsfonds München.

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Plate 3–1 Figure of a female saint, detail, by unknown German sculptor. Polychrome wood sculpture (remains of polychromy) (M.231929) © Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge. Plate 3–2 Veronica image (1505), detail, by Friedrich Herlin; rear of Riemenschneider’s carved Holy Blood Altarpiece. Photo: akg-images Tilman Riemenschneider, St Jacob’s Church, Rothenburg o.d.Tauber. Plate 3–3 Mary gazing at her infant, detail, Bieselbach Altarpiece (1510); Bieselbach, Augsburg; by Daniel Mauch. Photo: Robert Hägele. Plate 3–4 Bust of Secundus, Greek philosopher, from choir stalls (1469–75); Ulm Minster, Germany. Carved in oak by Jörg Syrlin the Elder. Plate 3–5 Head of an apostle from a Last Supper scene (Holy Blood Altarpiece, 1501–04), by Tilman Riemenschneider. St Jacob’s Church, Rothenburg o.d. Tauber, Germany. Photo: Johannes Pötsch.

Chapter Four Fig. 4–1 Head of an angel (c. 1250); Cathedral of Notre-Dame (?), Paris; limestone carving; h. 24.5 cm. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (1990.132). Photo: 7-L3-Z15-04-03-49, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Fig. 4–2 Head of a shield-bearer, Hans Multscher, c. 1427; sandstone. Inv. no. 1914.3232 B. © Ulmer Museum, Ulm. Photo: Helga SchmidtGlassner, Stuttgart. Fig. 4–3 Ink drawing (section) of head of Christ, crying; Musterbuchblatt (1495), Hans Holbein the Elder. Formerly Wolfegg cat. no. 111. © Berliner Kupferstichkabinett. Fig. 4–4 Pietà group, Chapel of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows, Berlingen, province of Limburg. Source unknown. Fig. 4–5 Christ and St John group (Christus–Johannesgruppe; c. 1330) from the Lake Constance region; oak with original polychromy; 118 x 81 x 48 cm. Inv. no. E 514. © Württembergisches Landesmuseum, Stuttgart. Fig. 4–6 Carved heads of St John from two different Christ and St John groups. Fig. 4–7 Job, high-relief, dorsal figure by Jörg Syrlin the Elder, choir stalls; Ulm Minster, Germany. Inv. no. 40-A-77. © Stadtarchiv Ulm, Germany. Fig. 4–8 St John asleep (c. 1515), carving attributed to, or atelier of, Martin Hoffmann; copy after Veit Stoss; Basel. Limewood, touches of colour; h. 70 cm. Inv. no. D 275. © Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dijon, France. Photo: Hugo Martens.

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Plate 4–1 Smiling female figure on the Mauritius rotunda with the holy grave (thirteenth century); polychromed sandstone carvings; Konstanz Minster, Germany. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 4–2 “Smiling angel of Reims” (1230–33), Cathedral of NotreDame, west façade, central portal, Reims, France. Photo: Wikimedia Commons. Plate 4–3 Sternberger “Beautiful Madonna” (end of fourteenth century); Mährisch-Sternberg, Schlossmuseum. Plate 4–4 Smiling Reglindis, detail of a donor figure from the west choir; Naumburg Cathedral, Saxony-Anhalt. Master of Naumburg (third quarter of thirteenth century); polychromed stone carving. Regelindis was the daughter of Duke Boleslav of Poland, and married Margrave Hermann of Meissen in 1003. Photo: 5-N12-E1-125-1, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Plate 4–5 Virgin weeping, detail (c. 1500–10), by Veit Stoss. © Cleveland Museum of Art. Plate 4–6 Modelled tears, weeping woman from a burial scene, French. Plate 4–7 Virgin Mary’s sorrow (c. 1470), Skederic, Uppsala (SHM). © Photo: Peter Tångeberg. Plate 4–8 Two female mourners belonging to a burial scene from the Château de la Combéfa, Albigeois (c. 1490); stone carving, polychromed; Monestiè-sur-Cérou, Chapel of the St John Hospital. Commissioned by the Bishop of Albi. Photo: Peter Willis, Paris. Plate 4–9 Deposition from the Cross, detail: weeping woman. Plate 4–10 Deposition from the Cross (c. 1436/37), Rogier van der Weyden; painting on wood, 220 x 262 cm. Inv. no. 2825 (loan from the Escorial), Museo del Prado, Madrid. Photo: 2-R42-K24-1436-C, akgimages / Erich Lessing.

Chapter Five Fig. 5–1 Apollo and Daphne (1622–25), Baroque marble sculpture by Gian Lorenzo Bernini; h. 243 cm. © Galleria Borghese, Rome. Fig. 5–2 Couple (c. 1490–95) by Tullio Lombardo, from the Galleria Giorgio Franchetti alla Ca’ d’Oro, Venice. © Web Gallery of Art. Photo: Wikimedia Commons; I, Saliko. Fig. 5–3 Bacchus and Ariadne (1505–10) by Tullio Lombardo, Italy; marble; h. 56 cm, w. 71.5 cm, d. 22 cm. KK Inv. no. 7471. © Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, Kunstkammer. Fig. 5–4 Drawing representing The Mandragora as the bride of Christ. © Stiftsbibliothek, St Florian.

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Plate 5–1 Predella, Jesus Christ and the twelve disciples or apostles, unknown Master (Hans Maler?; 1505–10), oil on conifer wood. Inv. no. A.I. 1987.9250. © Ulmer Museum, Ulm, Germany. Photo: Oleg Kuchar Ulm. Plate 5–2 Middle section of painted predella. Plate 5–3 Christ with Crown of Thorns (c. 1525), oil on panel; 51.2 x 39.3 cm; Hans Schäufelein. © Germanisches Nationalmuseum Nuremberg. Plate 5–4 Dead Christ with crown of thorns, detail, from high altar (c. 1500); Protestant church at Kreuzwertheim, Main-Spessart); carved and painted, shown after restoration. © Fritz Buchenrieder. Plate 5–5 Longinus, detail of a Crucifixion group (c. 1500); workshop of Michel Erhart. Collection Dursch Rottweil. © Württembergisches Landesmuseum, Stuttgart. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 5–6 Longinus pointing to his opened eye, detail. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 5–7 Green Man, carved and painted roof boss (1415), John Watlington with Brice the Dutchman; east cloister range, Norwich Cathedral. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 5–8 A mocking soldier from a Crucifixion scene, detail (c. 1420– 30); Rostock. © Kulturhistorisches Museum, Rostock. Plate 5–9 Gregorian Mass, painting on wood by an unknown Master (1491); eyes disfigured during the iconoclastic period; h. 101, w. 76 cm. Inv. no. GE-0 181-2. © Stadtmuseum, Münster. Plate 5–10 The Dormition and the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, detail from centre shrine; Lady Altar, St Mary’s Church, Cracow (1477– 89) by Veit Stoss; painted wood. Photo: 2-R42-B10-1477-2 akg-images / Erich Lessing. Plate 5–11 Bust of King Henry VII (1509–11), made in London, Pietro Torrigiano; painted terracotta. Inv. no. A. 49–1935. © Trustees of the Victoria and Albert Museum. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 5–12 Face of King Henry VII bust. © Trustees of the Victoria and Albert Museum. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 5–13 The Cheaters (c. 1635), Georges de La Tour; detail of painting; oil on canvas, 106 x 146 cm; Musée du Louvre, Paris. Photo: 2S65-A1-1640-B, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Plate 5–14 St Francis of Assisi (1650s), polychromed statue by Pedro de Mena; sacristy, Toledo Cathedral. Photo: 2-R43-F1-1663-B, akgimages / Erich Lessing.

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Chapter Six Fig. 6–1 Detail of a Christ face, panel painting (fourteenth century), Ganthem, Gotland (SHM); clear irises, eyelids emphasized. 1986. © Photo: Peter Tångeberg, Fig. 6–2 Detail (head) of a crucifix; calligraphic eyes, large black pupils encircled with a thin blue band, polychromy (probably c. 1300); Lojsta, Gotland. © Photo: Peter Tångeberg. Fig. 6–3 Detail (head) of a Madonna figure (early fourteenth century); Hallingeberg, Sweden; grey irises and thin black contours for eyes. © Photo: Peter Tångeberg. Plate 6–1 Map by Carleton S. Coon, based on the Martin-Schultz colour chart (Martin scale). Source: Wikipedia. Plate 6–2 St Botvid with fish, from a winged altarpiece (c. 1470–80); Salem, Stockholm (SHM). © Photo: Peter Tångeberg. Plate 6–3 Carved and painted Madonna of Viklau, Gotland (SHM; c. 1170). © Photo: Peter Tångeberg. Plate 6–4 Crucifix of Hemse, Gotland (c. 1170); sweeping dark-brown lines mark the half-closed lids of the dying Christ; irises pale blue, pupils black. © Photo: Peter Tångeberg. Plate 6–5 Veronica image, painting on parchment (1248–49), for the manuscript Chronica Majora by Matthew Paris, Parker Library. © The Master and Fellows of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. Plate 6–6 Dangolsheim Madonna by Nicolaus Gerhaert van Leyden; detail showing Madonna and Child group (carved c. 1460–65), probably for the Carthusian church in Strasbourg; walnut with original polychromy. © Skulpturensammlung. Inv. no. 7055. Bode-Museum, Berlin. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 6–7 Small terracotta head, with heterochromic inlaid glass eyes (one blue, one green); San Vincenzo al Volturno, Campobasso. Source unknown. Plate 6–8 Petrus Christus, A Goldsmith in his Shop (St Eligius?), detail (backdrop; 1449); oil on oak panel. Robert Lehman Collection (1975.1.110). © The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Plate 6–9 St John of God, terracotta with glass eyes, Granada (c. 1650– 1700), circle of José Riueñol; h. 16.5 cm; w. 12.5 cm. Inv. no. 176-1864. © Victoria and Albert Museum. Photo: H. Hägele. Plate 6–10 St John of God (rear view). Plate 6–11 Coloured woodcut showing man with spectacles reading a book. Reproduced in various editions of Bartisch’s Ophthalmodouleia (1583).

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Plate 6–12 Mater Dolorosa (c. 1670) by Pedro Roldán, Seville. © Skulpturensammlung und Museen für Byzantinische Kunst, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Photo: Antje Voigt.

Chapter Seven Fig. 7–1 Biberach Crucifix (c. 1220), and enlarged detail: head, prior to removal of second, late Gothic, polychromy; Sankt Jakobuskirche, Biberach, Augsburg. © Fritz Buchenrieder. Fig. 7–2 Werl Altarpiece (1438), right wing with St Barbara, detail of a Trinity group, Robert Campin; oil on wood. Museo del Prado, Madrid. Fig. 7–3 Coronation of the Virgin, 15th century. Alabaster with polychromy and gilding. 40 x 27.3 cm (13 x 20 1/2 in.). Gift of the Antiquarian Society, 1912.1654. © Art Institute Chicago. Fig. 7–4 Symbolic painting of a hand holding a triangle within which is shown an eye; Chapel of Franz-Xaver in Bieselbach, Augsburg. Fig. 7–5 The Eye of God by Jacob Böhme, print. One of a series of similar symbolic illustrations for his book Theosophische Wercke, Amsterdam, 1682. Fig. 7–6 Italian medal, with all-seeing eye; obverse: portrait of Leon Battista Alberti (c. 1450). The painter-architect-theoretician Alberti explained his device of the winged eye thus: “seeing all things and distinguishing each separate one”. Photo: 7-L3-Z30-01-08-58, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Fig. 7–7 Forstenrieder Crucifix, detail (c. 1200), oak with original polychromy restored; Roman Catholic Church of Heiligkreuz, Forstenried, Munich; 175 x 170 cm. © Photo: Fritz Buchenrieder. Fig. 7–8 Effigy of Pope Adrian V, detail; early work by Arnolfo di Cambio (1245–1302); San Francesco, Viterbo. Source unknown. Fig. 7–9 Oval impression of bearded man with articulated eyelashes; Greek inscription. Source unknown. Fig. 7–10 Death mask (?) of a male with a pronounced fringe of lashes. Source unknown. Fig. 7–11 Pièta (1498–99), detail, head of the dead Christ, eyes shown without eyelashes; marble; Michelangelo Buonarroti; St Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City. Fig. 7–12 A genuine skull. Plate 7–1 Wall painting of triune God (c. 1400); St Peter’s Church (Kappenbachkapelle), Basel. Photo: Elisabeth Hammer.

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Plate 7–2 Three-faced statue (Holy Trinity); south Germany (?) (seventeenth century); limewood with remains of old polychromy; 134 x 55 x 40 cm. © Erzbischöfliches Diözesanmuseum, Cologne. Plate 7–3 Vanitas group (c. 1470–80): three ages, carved by Michel Erhart and Jörg Syrlin the Elder; limewood, original polychromy; h. 46.5, w. 19 cm. Inv. no. KK1. © Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna. Plate 7–4 Vanitas group, detail, young woman. Plate 7–5 Vanitas group, detail, old woman. Plate 7–6 Niccolo da Uzzano, coloured terracotta bust (detail), workshop of Donato di Niccolo di Betto Bardi (1386–1466) known as Donatello, h. 46 cm. Inv. No. 179, Florence, Museo Nazionale del Bargello. Photo: akg-images / Eric Lessing. Plate 7–7 Biberach Crucifix, detail, with original polychromy being freed from the eye; Sankt Jakobuskirche, Biberach, Augsburg. Plate 7–8 Head of the Biberach Crucifix (c. 1220), with overpainting removed; Munich, Bayerisches Landesamt für Denkmalpflege, Bildarchiv, Restaurierungswerkstätten Photo: Fritz Buchenrieder. Plate 7–9 Dying Christ on cross, detail from the (Friedrich) Herlin Altarpiece (1466); Rothenburg o.d. Tauber; painted/polychromed by Herlin; carvings by an “unknown Swabian Master”, a follower of Nicolaus Gerhaert. Photo: Johannes Pötsch. Plate 7–10 Female saint, detail of slanting eye, from a Passion altarpiece (1485–90) by Tilman Riemenschneider. © Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich. Photo: Walter Haberland. Plate 7–11 Adam, detail from the Ghent Altarpiece (1425–29), painted by Jan van Eyck; St Bavo’s Cathedral, Ghent. Plate 7–12 Self-portrait by Albrecht Dürer, at the age of 28; detail, eyes showing reflection of window (1500); oil on wood panel. © Alte Pinakothek, Munich. Plate 7–13 Angel Gabriel, detail from the carved Annunciation group (1518) by Veit Stoss, carved for the church of St Lorenz, Nuremberg. Plate 7–14 Self-portrait by Nicolaus Gerhaert (1467); red sandstone. Musée de l’Oeuvre de Notre-Dame, Strasbourg, France. Photo: 7-L3-Z4003-07-22, akg-images / Erich Lessing. Plate 7–15 Christian Allegory (c. 1520), Jan Provost (c. 1470–1529); painting on wood; 50.5 x 40 cm. Musée du Louvre, Paris. Photo: 2-R42Y40-1510, akg-images / Erich Lessing.

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Chapter Eight Fig. 8–1 Dresdner Skizzenbuch (1507–28); drawing of figures by Albrecht Dürer; bottom section of leaf, 125 (101b); Mscr. Dresd.R.147.f., f.101v. Photo: SLUB/Dresdner Digitalisierungszentrum. © Sächsische Landes – Staats – und Universitätsbibliothek, Dresden (SLUB). Fig. 8–2 Leonardo’s drawing of the eye as a camera obscura (c. 1490); MS D, fol.3v, Bibliothèque de l’Institut de France, Paris. Fig. 8–3 Development of the human eye from birth to mature age, after W. Reitsch, 1928. Fig. 8–4 Modern analytical drawing showing five aspects of the eye. Engraving reproduced in F.J. Glass, 1929. Fig. 8–5 Aspectival drawings of the eye by Odourelo Fialetti (1608). Sheet reprinted in Jaap Bolten, 1985. Fig. 8–6 Volckamersche Memorial, central group of a Last Supper stone relief (1499) by Veit Stoss; h. 485 x w. 200 cm. St Sebald’s Church, Nuremberg (No. 33453). © Hirmer Fotoarchiv – ARTOTHEK. Fig. 8–7 Pilsen Madonna, polychrome statue from the workshop of The Master of the Crucifixion Group of St Bartholomaeus in Pilsen (c. or after 1450). Loaned by the bishopric of Pilsen to the National Gallery, Prague; photographed before (upward gaze) and after restoration. Photos: National Gallery, Prague / O. Palán. Fig. 8–8 Plaster cast of an eye for teaching purposes as reproduced in Eduard Lanteri © Photo: Courtesy of the University Library Cambridge. Plate 8–1 Dissected face and neck (head turned to the right; 1746), by Jacques-Fabien Gautier-Dagoty. Coloured engraving. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris, print collection. Plate 8–2 Coloured woodcut showing female with yellow cataract. Reproduced in various editions of Bartisch’s Ophthalmodouleia (1583). Plate 8–3 Eye surgery; coloured print in Bartisch’s Ophthalmodouleia (1583). Plate 8–4 Bust of King Louis XIV, Chateau de Versailles et de Trianon, Versailles, France (1665); white marble; h. 80 cm; Gian Lorenzo Bernini. Photo: Wikipedia Commons.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. (Psalm 121:1)

The completion of any major piece of work involves the help and goodwill of others; this is certainly the case here. I owe a special debt of gratitude to my two supervisors, the late Dr John Gage and Professor Jean Michel Massing, who each in turn guided me through a crucial phase of my doctoral research. Their confidence in my project was also reflected in the awards I received through the Cambridge European Trust, the Kettle’s Yard Travel Fund and the Faculty of Architecture and History of Art’s special fund that made it possible for me to travel abroad. Also thanks go to Mr Brian Sewell, who encouraged me to continue my studies, and to the late Mrs Brenda Skene. Dr Dominique Collon’s support and enduring friendship never failed. Due to the generosity of my sister, Ursula Hägele, I was able to focus entirely on my work. Sadly, she never saw the end result. Repeatedly, practical help came when most needed. Mr Andrew Challen, Mr Myke Clifford, Dr Victoria George, Mr Bruce Godfrey, Mrs Margaret Herbertson, Dr Julian Luxford and Dr Ursula Seibold-Bultmann were all drawn into the maelstrom of producing this book, and so were the staff of the University Library at Cambridge and the staff and fellow students at the Department of History of Art. I am especially grateful to Wolfson College for having accepted me as a Junior Member. Finally, during the preparation of this book for publication I had the invaluable help of my editor, Mrs Jenny Knight – thank you. Also, thanks go to CSP for the final stage of production of this book.

INTRODUCTION Subtract the mind and the eye is open to no purpose.1

The present work on the sculpted eye grew out of an earlier study based on my interest in a much wider research area, colour in sculpture. Although novel to me, the topic had been studied by scholars who come from a different branch of knowledge. Two important earlier studies concerning the sculpted eye are of significance here. The first, by Hugo Magnus, looked at how the Greeks gradually overcame the archaic and minimal style and began to represent the carved eye in an idealized form. Primarily interested in the shape and position of the eye, Magnus came to the subject as a qualified practitioner and historian of ophthalmology2 who had a great interest in and profound knowledge of Greek sculpture. His professional insight into the precise physiological nature of the eye gave him a vantage point which he aptly applied to his historical study.3 Similarly, the work of the Egyptologist Alfred Lucas, who was keenly interested in the material aspects of Egyptian art, led him to enquire into the eyes of sculpted figures, but focusing on inlaid eyes. He was responsible for their stylistic classification, judging the eye by how well it was represented and the quality of craftsmanship involved. As with other specific aspects of sculpture, including polychromy, the stylistic and cultural importance of the sculpted eye was little explored in studies other than those related to these two ancient cultures. Indeed, while the craft aspect of Greek inlaid eyes still preoccupied scholars during the late twentieth century,4 this concern had never carried over to the same extent into either medieval or Renaissance studies of sculpture. The reason for this is that in medieval sculpture inlaid eyes were comparatively rare and hence seldom required special attention, unlike those of Egyptian, 1

Meister Eckhart, ed. C. de B. Evans (London 1924–31), 1:288. Richey L. Waugh (1998), p. 481. In his translator’s afterword to Hugo Magnus’s Ophthalmology of the Ancients, Waugh wrote: “to this translator it seems that Magnus should be considered as: The Neglected Historian of Ancient Ophthalmology”. 3 Hugo Magnus (1892), Vols. 17–20. 4 Denys Haynes (1992). 2

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xxi

Greek or Roman origin. During the Middle Ages sculptures were mostly polychromed, and this included the eyes – they were prepared and painted as part of the figure or bust. Since the Renaissance sculptors have concentrated on other methods of portraying the eye, but these have yet to be examined fully.5 The basic fact remains: whether inlaid, carved or modelled, the sculpted eye has many stylistic variants designed to fulfil quite specific criteria. The study of a detail such as the eye will shed light not only on style but also on matters of cultural, religious and social import. Various scholars whose field of research is in these areas have already opened up the topic to a degree that suggests there is far more to this subject than there might appear to be. For example, literature and folklore have both led scholars to examine the visual organ from just these vantage points. Dagobert Frey, being neither the first nor the last, studied in depth the Evil Eye, a phenomenon that covered a vast geographical and cultural terrain. Gudrun Schleusener-Eichholz, on the other hand, focused on German and Latin medieval writings and analysed material relating particularly to the eye in the Middle Ages. The study of the sculpted eye requires the researcher6 to take a closer look at his model, the natural eye. He does not expect the represented eye to conform in every detail to the living organ but hopes to find out what the sculptor considered important – that is, which features he emphasized or which he left out, and even whether he aimed at conveying a close resemblance to the natural eye in spite of the material’s inherent limitations. Some grounding in the physiological and mechanical aspects of the eye is therefore of help when trying to assess the visual material presented. As Hugo Magnus demonstrated, it takes a prepared eye and mind to compare and discover what is unique to each style; and from Alfred Lucas we learn that sculptors sometimes give hardly a second thought to how the eye appears in reality while producing images that follow specific artistic conventions. The reason for my excursions into other fields, for example the natural sciences, is that during the period when the body of sculpture under discussion was created, there was, parallel to it, an ongoing philosophical and scientific striving towards a better understanding of the natural eye, and also towards relating vision to universal principles. Against this background of enquiry, many a sculptor of the fifteenth century tried to find a new solution to a problem largely of his own making. The approach to the coloured three-dimensional image 5

G.W.F. Hegel (1835), pp. 148–149. Hegel commented on the absence of the glance in Neoclassical sculpture. 6 I shall adopt throughout this book the masculine gender except where the context dictates otherwise.

xxii

Introduction

had begun to change. The abandoning of colour application as a legitimate, life-enhancing finish to sculpture forced sculptors to question the importance of eye expression to their work, also whether a shift from predominantly wooden carvings to white marble and bronze images allowed them to depict realistically the colourful and mobile eye so characteristic and fundamental to animated beings. The present topic requires a multi-disciplinary approach and it is within this framework of reference that my own enquiry into the nature and role of the sculpted eye will take place. I intend to include, where appropriate, examples from the fields of natural history and philosophy, and also to point to recent discoveries about the natural eye. I shall use this knowledge as a matrix against which the sculpted representation of the eye may be seen and discussed. Regarding the role of the beholder, he is to be understood as the sculptor, the intended viewer of his work or the art historian who comes to it as a critic, aesthete or historian. The study of the represented eye in all its aspects often depends on how accessible information is to the researcher, who requires far better viewing of examples than is often possible. In this respect I shall rely largely on the finds made available by conservators in published reports on figurative works and their eyes. Some of these will reveal or confirm aspects of the represented eye that are crucial to my topic.

CHAPTER ONE SCULPTED EYES IN ANTIQUITY: FROM THE ANCIENT NEAR EAST TO THE END OF THE ROMAN WORLD the iris, on the other hand, continues from the pupil to the white. And here has colour, called by name black, red-coloured, blue-grey, or glossy,1

One of the most characteristic features of the natural eye is its colouring. And so, the materials that even the earliest sculptors were choosing for the eyes of their cult images resembled its colour value. In sculptural terms the full chromaticity of the eye is often reduced to show perhaps no more than the contrast between its darker and lighter parts, yet colour plays a major role in effecting its life-enhancing appearance. How important the eye was in relationship to the ancient image, and within its cultural context, became of great interest to nineteenth-century scholarship. Archaeological finds made it possible for them to compare the eyes of statues not only with examples taken from many localities and periods, but also with what the ancients professed to have known about the eye: its physiology and diseases, and some related myths and beliefs. In our own time insight into the subject increases as conservation studies probe the materials technology of the past and as textual research reveals more and more of the hidden intentions and reasons for shaping and colouring the eye. As most new studies stem and branch out from an existing body of knowledge, often receiving its due only in the form of footnotes, I decided to bring into the main part of my study some material that lies well outside my chosen period, radiating out from the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. By so doing I shall be able to present a rich backdrop against which to contrast the findings related to an equally interesting yet quite different approach to presenting eyes in sculpture. Both the ancient and the late-medieval sculptor came to terms – each in his own way – with one of 1

Galen, See “On the Naming of the Parts of the Body”, in Greek Medicine …, ed. and transl. Arthur J. Brock, London, Dent & Sons, 1929.

2

Chapter One

the most demanding aspects of physiology: the eye and its surroundings. While the art historian may be in a position to compare the works of one period with those of another, it would be wrong to assume that the medieval craftsman had any first-hand experience of the ancient images to which I shall be referring. Besides, observational and manual competences are not the only deciding factors by which the approaches to making eyes will have to be judged. The eye as an icon is deeply embedded in the psyche and symbolism of mankind, and interpretable in so many different ways that what to us may appear a crude or childish expression may have once been the representation of a most powerful symbol. There are many ways of fashioning the eye, yet we find that, as with the figure as a whole, there are styles that belong solely to an age or a people. It is their choice of material, their invention, their skill which they developed. However, across culture and time the living eye is approached with the same understanding and concern wherever we care to look: health and diseases, its shape and colouring, its ability to express emotions or to impress its distinctive features upon the viewer’s mind – all these are part of a common experience which gradually developed into the branch of science we now call ophthalmology. In the present chapter we learn about the physiology of the eye from observations made by both ancient and modern eye doctors. While focusing primarily on the eye, it touches on something much larger. Indeed, the need for the present research into sculpted eyes arose when I studied colour in sculpture.2 Polychromy itself is a very complex subject with many aspects, of which the eye is just one but which in the present context is given the depth and space it deserves while mindful of two questions: how and what does the eye contribute to colour in sculpture? Shells, crystal, bitumen, ivory, marble, enamel, silver, gold, bronze, lapis lazuli and other precious stones, red and green pigments and kohl – these were the materials traditionally used for the inlays and the painting of eyes. Some of the oldest known human representations, which were discovered at Jericho, the most ancient of cities, had been fitted with elongated, closed cowrie shells. Their serrated edges suggest shut eyes with eyelashes running parallel across the middle of the concealed orbs. In Jordan, at ’Ain Ghazal, a group of figures which date back to around 6500 BC was found in burial grounds.3 The inlays correspond with the dark and light parts of the eye; indeed, colour had already become an important feature, for a thin, finishing layer of plaster, tinted with (red) oxide pigment, was applied to the modelled surfaces of 2

Hannelore Hägele (2013). Ashmolean Museum, Oxford; exh. no. 1955.565-PPNB: portrait skull with cowrie inlays.

3

Sculpted Eyes in Antiquity

3

the humanoid shapes and smoothed over, while a black paste (bitumen perhaps) was used for the eyes. Fabric for headdresses may have provided additional colour.4 The oblong shell, its shape analogous to the closed eye, the combination of black asphalt with white, and also the reddened plaster, show how significant to the early people facial expression was and how great its impact on the viewer was too. Also, they thought that applying green paint to the eye (the least natural colour in relation to the human physique) was a potent protection against any evil influence, whether carried by flies or by glances.5 We catch a glimpse of how one might (or how they did) relate especially to the eye. Medicine and religion, superstition, visions and the dread of darkness all tied in with the crafting and representing of the sculpted eye and its function as part of a cult object.

Fig. 1–1 Human skull. Originally plastered and painted with inset cowrie shells. From the Neolithic settlement at Jericho (c. 7000 BC).

4

The woven pattern of a fabric is imprinted on the head. See museum cat. A Cave in the Desert (1985). One exhibit, a fragment showing an eye from a statue, is first painted red-brown, then a green band is added.

5

4

Chapter One

The array of materials which the prehistoric image-makers used was by no means always locally available or accessible to all the users across place and time. Much cost and effort may have gone into acquiring some of these substances on which a high value was placed because of their often cultic significance. This raises a fundamental question, namely: how important was the matching of the depicted with the natural eye? Were the colour substances selected because they came closest to representing realistically the living eye, or was one or other colour chosen to symbolize something more abstract or supernatural, despite – or perhaps because of – the fact that it gave the eyes a strange or an unreal appearance? *** The most striking feature of a cache of orant figures found at Tell Asmar in Syria in spring 1934, dating back to the first half of the third millennium BC, is their overlarge inlaid eyes composed of several materials.6 They all stare ahead into the distance or space. The statues have a group resemblance and they appear to have been made to represent the same idea for the same purpose; some have long, wavy hair, beards, and eyebrows which are also inlaid and meet together at the bridge of the nose. The eye sockets were hollowed out to take the cut shapes of the eyeballs. The whites of the eyes were recessed in the centre to take the often overlarge discs of polished lapis lazuli. The individual parts were then stuck together with a mastic, similar to bitumen, much used not only as an adhesive but also as a black paint. With it hair and beards were painted, as were the dark lines surrounding the eyes and suggesting either eyelashes or the kohl applied to the eyes of people as a protective and perhaps also as a cosmetic measure.7 These orant figures and the many variants of lunette or mask-shaped eye votives all point to a cult linked to the eye which prevailed in ancient times. It had socio-religious significance to the peoples not only of ancient Mesopotamia but also to those in the Aegean. At Tell Braq in the Khabur valley in eastern Syria a temple once dedicated to the eye goddess Ishtar was discovered where dozens of votive objects based on the eye motif were found.8 Another find related to the eye cult is particularly interesting, for the partially gilded alabaster figurine of the goddess has red ruby-inlaid eyes. 6

Some of these are now in the Baghdad Museum, Iraq, and some in the Oriental Institute, Chicago. 7 Black kohl and also green paste of malachite were applied to the eyes. 8 See M.E.L. Mallowan (1947), pp. 150ff. and plates XXV, XXVI, LI.

Sculpted Eyes in Antiquity

5

Fig. 1–2 Eye idol from Mari, Syria (c. 3500–3300 BC). White alabaster; h. 4.8 cm. Found at Tell Braq, Temple of the Eyes, Aleppo, Syria.

Why was so much attention paid to the eyes? The reason is twofold: firstly, to protect the visual organ. The eye is prone to disease and loss of vision, something as much feared then as it is today. Secondly, out of ignorance a belief – mere superstition perhaps – takes hold of such fears and distorts them out of recognition. This probably happened with the widespread fear of the Evil Eye: the belief that by merely staring at somebody a mishap may be induced in the person exposed to the stare.10 As a means of protecting the eyes it was customary to paint them with either a green11 or black lotion. This salve was meant to ward off any evil spirit, and may well have done so if it kept any disease-carrying insects at bay. The reasoning behind the fear that the eye may be the seat of some strange power does not seem bizarre when considering how, for instance, the power of hypnosis or unkind looks can disturb the psyche of a human being; how a loving glance strengthens a relationship; and belief in an unseen seeing god who keeps one’s actions under surveillance.

10

The Evil Eye was also known in northern Europe. See Frey (1953) and Ulmer (1994). 11 Gorin (1982), chapter 1, mentions as a popular remedy for sick eyes: a mixture of tanner’s verdigris, copper and yellow sulphide of arsenic, which was made into a paste. The Egyptian Ebers Papyrus describes a green salve for the cure of various eye diseases.

6

Chapter One

The maker of the red ruby-eyed Babylonian goddess Ishtar12 gave the beholder an experience of something of the intrinsic power which resides in the object. Or perhaps that power is simply the emotion drawn out from the subject as he encounters in the dark interior of a temple a mysterious glimmer due to the polished stones.13 While red is an unlikely colour for healthy eyes, in the statuette the colour was used symbolically, as was probably the blue colour of the lapis stone in the orant figures. Another issue is of course the development of early craftsmanship. What were the sculptors able to do and how did they choose to employ such skills as they had acquired? There can be no doubt that the eye represents a challenge at all levels of craftsmanship, regardless of the tradition a sculptor is following or the style he is working in. The overriding principle when making an image may, however, not have depended solely on an individual’s knowledge and skill – essential to matching the natural eye – but in how the eyes he made had to be seen within the context in which the representation was placed and used for their designated purpose. A closer look at four quite different cult images will prime us for a wider discussion on eyes, for which some nineteenthcentury scholars have prepared the ground. Quite different from the Ishtar figurine are the inlaid eyes of the Egyptian Seated Scribe from Saqqara, also in the Musée du Louvre.14 This Fourth Dynasty figure (2620–2500 BC) was described by the archaeologist James D. Breckenridge as “an outstanding example of lifelike naturalism”. Indeed, the scribe looks convincingly real at first glance, although his unblinking eyes and motionless posture momentarily deceive the beholder. Scientists at the Laboratoire de Recherche des Musées de France (LRMF) had the opportunity to examine the inlaid eyes and noted that their essential features compare well with those of the human eye. The sculptor chose for the orbital segment a piece of white marble (magnesite) and ground it into an almond shape, then hollowed it out and bored through its centre an aperture that he closed from the rear with a crystal lens cut from a piece of quartz. This he polished until convex in shape, but left the material slightly thicker in the middle for the pupil. In fact, he not only varied the thickness of the lens adroitly but he also effected iridial colouring by keeping the underside of the lens matt. This he did by engraving radial lines which break the incoming light as it penetrates the polished surface. A fine layer of bitumen or resin, in which 12

Musée du Louvre. See Klinger’s bust Elsa Asenijeff (c. 1900), Neue Pinakothek, Munich, which offers this experience. 14 See Didier Dubrana, Science & Vie, no. 972, September 1998, p. 51. 13

Sculpted Eyes in Antiquity

7

the rim of the lens is embedded, further influences and enhances the colour aspect. With the same proficiency inlaid eyes were made for other early dynastic tomb figures15 which exemplify a high degree of craftsmanship and understanding of the visual organ and the psychological impact of the gaze. But by any standard these fabricated eyes are exceptional. In ancient Egypt, as in Mesopotamia, the eye was regarded as a source of good and evil. Medicine and witchcraft went hand in hand. Eye surgery was confidently performed, yet the priestly craft of dispelling or invoking powers was essential to the Egyptian, whether alive or dead. Horus, the red-eyed god,16 the Wedjat eye17 (a much displayed symbol) and the custom of painting the eyes18 all point to a dominant cult that focuses on the eye. However, in statuary the eye was never singled out as the only source of colour; the statue itself was invariably polychromed. Yet the practice of emphasizing or exchanging the eye colour for one which is far from natural to it, as is the case with gold or red, or for intense blue, or by applying green eye paint,19 leaves us in no doubt about the importance of the eye with regard to colour in sculpture. While the inlaying of eyes is one approach to adding colour to sculpture, the other method is, of course, the painting in colour of the main features of the eye – specifically the pupil, the iris, two bold lines for eyelashes, and the eyebrows – to complete or emphasize the sculpted forms. Sometimes, as on Cycladic idols, the flat unmodelled face was given such detail only in paint, for which any pigment available, such as red ochre or black, was used. However, most of the paint marks disappeared during the course of time and the only indications of the former brushwork are their possible ghost patterns. The paint, while it lasted, protected the surface underneath from the corroding influence of the burial grounds.20 It is by what has been lost and was found again, although often spoiled and perhaps out of its former context, that it has become possible to piece together the history of artefacts and their provenance as well as in some 15

Prince Rahotep and Princess Nofret; Meidum (Fourth Dynasty, 2613–2494 BC); Cairo Museum, Egypt. 16 Red symbolized anger. Horus was angered by his adversary, Seth who damaged his eye; hence the symbol of the red Horus eye. See Hermann Kees (1943). 17 British Museum, London, c. 1000–700 BC; EA 29222. 18 Painting the eyes of statues is still a ceremonial practice in present-day India. 19 There are biblical references to eye-paint (e.g. 2 Kings 9:30). Jezebel painted her eyes to be attractive to Jehu. Old Testament references to eye-painting are associated with women of evil character. 20 Hendrix (1997/98). Some of these “paint ghosts” are visible only under special lighting conditions.

8

Chapter One

instances their severed parts. By reassembling or reconstructing a damaged piece of sculpture, or by examining under controlled laboratory conditions the material technology of a find, we now know so much more about the making of sculpture in ancient times. Some of the earlier assumptions that, for instance, in classical Greece colour and sculpture were mutually exclusive, have been overturned by nineteenth-century scholarship which debated and addressed the question of colour in sculpture. However, some extremely important finds, such as the two fifth-century BC bronze figures from Riace and the discovery of the former workshop of Phidias (c. 500 – c. 430 BC) had yet to be made, and it was owing to these and other more recent recoveries that we also know more about how inlaid eyes in bronzes were made. Publications, mostly in specialized journals, tracked the developments in this field, offering the student some insight into the sophisticated techniques employed by the early craftsmen and, not least, by the modern conservation departments where the myth of ancient skills is being taken apart. The visitor to museums, however, is often looking at hollow-eyed bronze heads which, like the mask, have no eyes on which to fasten the gaze. The physical presence of the statue speaks of nearness, yet at the emotional level one feels apart, for the distant past stares out of the hollows, undefined and unresponsive.

Fig. 1–3 Waste material found in Phidias’s workshop (c. 500 – c. 430 BC) during excavation. Eye shapes cut out from bronze platelets.

Fig. 1–4 Construction of an inset eye.

Sculpted Eyes in Antiquity

9

*** While no ophthalmologist can put a violated eye back in place, there are a few eye surgeons whose professional interest touches on the historical aspect of the eye in medicine and are thus able to put something back that seemed lost. One German eye surgeon, Dr Hugo Magnus, applied his specialist knowledge to the formation and historical development of the sculpted eye in Greek antiquity. In the remainder of this chapter we turn to what has been written about the created eye during the height of the debate concerning colour in sculpture and the continued interest in the topic of eyes in the twenty-first century. The literature which feeds on the myth also tends to feed some of it back into the history, for where does a myth end and history begin? It was said of the legendary Daedalus (by Diodorus Siculus) that he was the first to represent the eye open, for “the artists before his time had carved their statues with the eyes closed and the arms and hands hanging and attached to the sides”.21 This seems at first a puzzling remark in the light of what is known about early figurative sculpture. The large open eyes with their full gaze are a characteristic feature found in several early cultures. (We may discount the inlaid cowrie shells, for the legend refers to the technique of carving.) But in dismissing the myth, what is being missed? Surely the myth is not referring to closed eyes, as when the subject is sleeping or dead, for this would have required the sculptor to be trained in an artistic tradition that made a realistic rendering its objective. What therefore may be gleaned from the passage is that eyes were once only partly carved and then detailed with the help of paint. This was a crude fashion by mid-firstcentury BC standards, when the myth was propagated and very likely served as an object lesson in artistic progress. Daedalus was lauded for breaking the mould, for carving a plausible eye without having had to rely on paint, and thereby he opened the eyes of the beholder to nature through the imitative process of art. The visionary and the interpreter, these are the eye-openers who help others to see more clearly by passing their own understanding on to them.

21

The Greek Diodorus Siculus (mid-first century BC) referred to Daedalus in his extant work The Library. Roger Lipsey (1980) quoted it (p. 49.) See also Plato, Meno 97 D, in Scholia Platonica, transl. W.C. Greene (1938).

10

Chapter One

Fig. 1–5 Orant figure, detail of a Sumerian statue (c. 2650 BC), era of King Iku(n)Shamagan; stealite, h. 114 cm. Found at Ishtar Temple, Mari, Syria.

Fig. 1–6 Eyes of statues or a wall ornament (fifth to second millennium BC). Stone, iris painted or coloured with lapis lazuli. Found in 1975 in Ebla, Syria.

Hugo Magnus had such an understanding of the natural and the sculpted eye, which he communicated through lectures and publications more than a century ago. Two of his texts on which I want to draw here are Die Anatomie des Auges bei den Griechen und Römern, published in 1878, and Die Darstellung des Auges in der antiken Plastik, which was printed in 1892, shortly after the archaeologist Alexander Conze had presented his lecture on the representation of the human eye in antique sculpture.22 The Anatomie des Auges provides an overview of what was known about the eye in antiquity, from before the time of Herophilus (c. 330 – c. 22

See Alexander Conze (1892).

Sculpted Eyes in Antiquity

11

260 BC), then through Galen’s contribution, and on to the period after Galen (second century AD). As one would expect, the discussion of the anatomy of the eye relies on a physiological description. The terminology is reflected by what was known or assumed. Some of the ideas seem extraordinary to us. Still, they throw some light on ancient concepts about the physical world and in particular about the constitution and function of the visual organ. It is some of these ideas that will interest us here. The earliest studies of the eye were based on those of animals. It was held that these rather general observations were nevertheless applicable to the human eye.23 While the outer parts of the eye were thus known (in a fashion) and named, its inner parts were largely unknown. A further problem was added by the poets of the period, who frequently used the ocular terminology in a metaphorical sense.24 For instance, the eyeball was sometimes referred to as kore, a term also occasionally used to describe just the pupil; furthermore, kore also denotes a girl or doll.25 What is of interest here is how the iris was regarded. As we learn from Aristotle (384– 322 BC), the pre-Socratic philosopher Empedocles (490–430 BC)26 had already remarked on the geographical distribution of eye colour, for the southern peoples have on the whole dark eyes, while those living in northern countries tend to have a lighter eye colour “which is due to an inner fire that is missing in the dark eye”. The fifth-century BC scholar also reflected on why the eye is coloured, and came to the conclusion that the lighter eye contains less water than the darker one. Furthermore, he commented on the four different colour nuances: black, red coloured, bluegrey, white or glossy,27 each having a special physiological function and value. The eye colour of a new-born child is always light because, according to Aristotle, the child’s constitution is still weak; the greying hair of an ageing person is a sign of decreasing strength and hence the two 23 Aristotle (1961), Vol. 1, pp. 39–41; p. 41 says that “the white of the eye is very much the same in all animals, but the black as it is called shows differences”. 24 See Hugo Magnus (1998). 25 The Greek word kore is interesting, for two of its several meanings give us a mental picture of how the ancient Greeks thought and connected ideas. The more familiar one is kore, the maiden or girl, as given to statues of dressed, standing females. The other meaning is the pupil of the eye. Latin distinguishes between the two: puella, the maiden, and pupilla, the pupil. However, the Latin word pupa, meaning a puppet or doll, helps us to see the connection. The Greek kore, being the earlier designation, refers to the reflection of a small image (doll) in the eye (pupil). See also Plato, Alc. I.133 A, and Robert Kugelmann (1983), p. 59. 26 Aristotle. Problemata, chapter 14, and De generatione animalium, Book 5, chapter 1. 27 ȝİȜĮȞȖȜĮȣțȠȞȤĮȡȠʌȠȞʌȣȡȡȠȞȜİȣțȠȦDVZHOODVȠȞȠȝĮȟȘȠȣȠȚ

12

Chapter One

are analogous and expressed through their respective colour value. Magnus, in a footnote, suggests that the term melas was applied as a terminus technicus for the iris, but that in fact the darkest iris is never black but of a dark brown colour.28 The second-century BC physician Galen is of particular interest to us. Without going into the medical detail of his description of the eye, there are several points worth noting which Magnus, for his own reasons, relegated to the footnotes in his Anatomie des Auges.29 The term “iris”, he explains, was introduced by Rufus (Ephisius Medicus), who flourished around AD 100, but only Galen used that word for the sclera30 alone. He also thought, with Oribasius and others, that seven disc-shaped layers, each one of a different thickness and colour,31 made up the iris. Magnus wryly comments that their comparison of the iris with a rainbow suggests a poor sense and understanding of colour during that period. However, Galen’s remarks about the lens are quite revealing about how colour was thought of. While he had a good idea about its shape by likening it to the skin of an onion, he thought that the lens had to be a body, similar to glass or crystal, without any blood vessels. The lens, in his view, was the basic “organ” sensitive to light and colour. In order that the lens could let through all the existing external colours, it had itself to be colourless. However, the quality of its own substance could only be retained if the lens were nourished with colourless nutrients in order not to lose its optical capability.32 Yet the “colour” given to this crystalline body by Galen, according to Magnus, was that of a “dirty grey-white like when much black is mixed into white”. We shall see how this preoccupies the medieval natural historian also.33 The anatomical studies on which Galen based his knowledge of the eye relate not directly to the human eye but to the eyes of animals; here he followed Aristotle. His contribution to ophthalmology was nevertheless of great significance, although not everything he said about the eye stands up 28

Hugo Magnus (1878), p. 17, n. 1; Hugo Magnus (1998), Vol. 1, p. 49. Ibid., p. 53, n. 1: Galen: De usu partium Book 10, chapter 2; see also the introduction and chapter 10 of Definitiones med. 41. 30 The white of the eye, Aristotle stated, is very much the same in all animals, but what is called black shows differences. In some animals it is really black, in others quite blue, in some greyish-blue, in some yellow or greenish. See translator’s note, Aristotle (1961), p. 41. 31 Galen did not specify which the colours were, but may have adhered to the seven hues referred to by Aristotle, which would have included black and white. 32 Hugo Magnus (1898), p. 58, n. 2. 33 See below, chapter 6, p. 1, with particular reference to Theophilus’s De Diversis Artibus. 29

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to close scientific examination. For instance, he thought that the eyelashes had an optical function. Their purpose was to regulate the direction of the light beams, and if they were absent, or misdirected the light because of their form, the individual was unable to see straight or into the distance. However, he recognized that the main reason for having eyelashes was that they prevented foreign bodies from entering the eye.34 Another claim by Galen was that the upper and lower eyelids differ in size. He believed the upper lid to be larger than the lower one. The size of the eye – that is, whether there was a notable difference between the eyes of the two sexes – remained an open question until Magnus’s own time, when the results of a study showed that there is no real difference unless it points to an anomaly such as the eyes of a blind person, which tend to be smaller than healthy ones and also turn upwards towards the light.35 Hugo Magnus refers to this pathological difference in size in a particularly well-conceived bust of the Greek poet Homer that he saw in Sanssouci (Potsdam).36 The other instance when the size of eyes appears abnormally yet attractively large is in new-born infants. There the lid opening is disproportionately large when compared with that of an adult.37 I want to remain with Magnus but move on to his work on the representation of the eye in antiquity, Die Darstellung, written in 1892. The first part looks at the relationship between the anatomy of the eye and the expression given to it in the sculpted image. In the other five parts he follows through the historical development of Greek sculpture. In each section he introduces the general characteristics of the eye of that period, and that is followed by an exposition of what is specific to each episode. Only some of the material will be of particular interest to us as more recent finds and investigations provide better examples. Hugo Magnus was appreciative of a paper given by the archaeologist Alexander Conze on the same subject only a few months earlier in Berlin,38 and I also want to incorporate some of Conze’s ideas, which seem to define the sculpted Greek eye more clearly.

34

Hugo Magnus (1878), p. 49, n. 1. W. Waldeyer (1892). This is a response to Ernst Curtius’s contribution on 4 June 1891. Waldeyer established that there is no marked difference in eye size between the two sexes. 36 Hugo Magnus (1892), p. 5, n *. 37 Ibid., p. 6. 38 Alexander Conze (1892), pp. 48ff. See below, n. 53. 35

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Fig. 1–7 Profiled eyes. Drawing after E. Curtius, 1891.

Fig. 1–8 Head of Hera, Greek goddess (c. 590 BC); fragment of a Spartan colossus statue from the Heraeum, Olympia.

Fig. 1–9 Goddess Artemis / marble head with traces of paint (third century BC); from Thralles (Aydin), Turkey.

Sculpted Eyes in Antiquity

15

The anatomical parts which hold the visual organ in place – that is, the bone structure of the eye cavity, the eyelids and the muscles (orbicularis oculi) and skin surrounding the eye – are all as important to the expression of a face as they are to the eye itself. Indeed, a hollow-eyed portrait is not necessarily less expressive than one which is complete with eyes, despite its mask-like appearance. The shape and position of the eyelids, their relationship to the eyeball and how they together relate to the brow and the cheekbone are what make for stylistic variations – or typifies the archaic, classical or Hellenistic eye, distinct as they are from the sculpted versions of the Romans.39 Magnus, therefore, discusses how the eyelids affect the opening and size of the visible eye and thus also the gaze which, as with large eyes, may appear soft and gentle. He mentions the eyes of ruminants, and likens the large female eye to that of a gazelle.40 And of course, when the emotions come into play the eyelids always have a role. The earliest renderings of the eye are typecasts: the almond-shaped female eye and the round male eye. Magnus cross-checked sculpted eyes with painted eyes on black-figure vases where he, too, found that males were given eyes which are basically round, with a black dot in the centre. There, in no instance, are eyelashes or lid folds added, nor are profiled eyes represented.41

Figs. 1–10, 1–11 and 1–12 Details of sculpted eyes in profile or close-up.

39

But what may be singled out as a characteristic of the eye, of whichever period, it is the modelling and not the life model that is being referred to in the first instance. The closer we get to the human model, the closer we also get to that individual’s characteristic but “de-stylized” features. 40 Calling it Gazellenauge. 41 However, a fine example of a carved gem of the late fifth century shows the bearded face of a man in profile. The upper lid of the eye has some long lashes. The gem bears the name Dexamenos. This naturalistic portrayal may have come from Chios in Ionia. (Francis Bartless Donation, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston).

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In modelling or carving, the edge of the lid appears abrupt and harsh when no eyelashes are depicted. Magnus discusses the problem of representing or omitting eyelashes. As an example he mentions the Hera Farnese statue, where the sculptor resorted to emphasizing the edges of the lids by widening them sufficiently to provide a ledge for the painting in of eyelashes.42 Without paint these exaggerated rims seem pathological yet, as Magnus observed, this is a characteristic feature of all periods.43After all, the colour imitation of the eye in antiquity is common enough, he concludes, and therefore one may well expect some colouring along the edges of the eyelids to heighten the expression. But what seems to work on open eyes does not always work on closed ones. The result is often something that looks disagreeable. He refers to the sleeping Barbarini Faun in Munich and the sleeping Ariadne; in both instances he thought the allusion to eyelashes out of place. Another issue, which Magnus discussed at some length, is how Greek sculptors dealt with the colour of the iris and with any light reflection on the eye. He asked a pertinent question after remarking on the fact that (ordinarily) sculpture cannot do justice to the colour and light of the eye: should the sculptor look for some means by which he will be able to compensate for his technical shortcomings? He thought what really mattered was that the artist concentrated on the expression of the eye, even if he could not imitate the light and colour effects. He quotes the eighteenth-century German writer Johann Gottfried Herder, who was derisory about colour in sculpture, and his taste for a pure monochrome image is reflected in the following passage summing up the thinking of an entire period, Neoclassicism: Some statues have eyeballs. To make it agreeable, they need only be hinted, and most of the best ones have none. It was [due to] the bad taste of the previous centuries that they were enriched with inlaid glass and silver, instead of making them beautiful. Likewise it was during the youth of art, which still produced wooden monuments, that the statues were painted. In times when beauty was [appreciated] there was neither a need for dresses nor colours, nor for eyes of silver; art stood naked, like Venus, and this was her ornament and her riches.44

42

Hugo Magnus (1892), p. 15. Eyelashes were important to the Greeks; see Galen. Also there are examples of bronze statues on which fabricated metal eyelashes are still in place. See The Charioteer (c. 470 BC), a life-size bronze discovered in 1896 at Delphi (Delphi Museum nos. 3484, 3450). 44 J.G. Herder (1778), Vol. 13, p. 48. 43

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However, Magnus questioned Herder’s ideal of beauty on the grounds that it lacked expression, but he agreed that there is no particular need to show the eyeballs in details as long as there are the soft parts that surround them for mimicking and expressing the inner state of a person. He admitted that he personally preferred the smooth eyes of the Venus of Melos to the so-called Venus of Capua’s simulated irises, but thought it right that the artist should, under certain conditions, explore all possible means of rendering the effects of light and colour of the eye, for it is by reference to the iris and pupil that the gaze of a portrait can be expressed and its direction and connection be read. So, how and by what means is the artist to render the colouring which is natural to the eye, Magnus then asked. In the first instance by simply painting in the relevant areas, as was done by the artists of the archaic period. For example, they coloured in the eyes, hair and lips of the figures of the Aeginetes, as may be seen from the pigments still remaining on those statues. He reserved judgement on whether polychromy had much aesthetic appeal, but thought it served its purpose.45 He also noted that there were other means open to the artist: coloured inlays of all kinds were often crafted and grafted into marble, ivory or bronze figures in order to imitate the reflection of light on the cornea and the colour of the globe, iris and pupil. The eyebrow may be another dominant feature in a face or portrait. However, in archaic Greece it was never given the same prominence as it was in ancient Egypt and, notably, in Mesopotamia where the wide, inlaid eyebrows often met and merged at the bridge of the nose and thus were festooned across the entire brow as either a black or dark blue ribbon. While the profile of the sculpted eye is clearly an important aspect of a facial representation, and the archaeologist Ernst Curtius and also Hugo Magnus discuss the development of the eye in this respect, at this stage I want to comment only on some characteristics which are found to be repeated during many an early phase of sculpture-making, whatever its cultural background. During the archaic period the eyes sit close under the curved eyebrows, which do not yet cast any deep shadow, but let the light glide downwards, from the brow, over the lid and the eyeball and on to the smooth and roundish cheek. The eyeballs tend to protrude between the upper and lower lids, which appear to hold and squash the globe into almost an oblong shape, wide enough in the middle for it to include a fully painted-in round disc for the iris and pupil, the target of any glance it may receive. No folds or muscles, no tear sacs, fill the space between the lower lid and the cheek. When seen in profile, the eye is placed forwards, with 45 See Hugo Magnus (1892), p. 31, where he alludes to the grand debate about polychromy lasting throughout the nineteenth century.

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the ridge of the brow almost level with the eyeball. The line gently recedes, except for the lower lid, its rim breaking the smooth flow before it continues to describe a soft dip and then an upward slope indicating the cheek. Clearly both the eye and its surrounds went through many phases of development before at last a properly placed and realistically shaped eye helped to advance the art of portraiture. Even basic physiognomical types had to wait for a Praxiteles (fourth century BC), whose eyes of male figures, for example, resembled the pronounced and high-arched eye of a lion,46 expressive because of the contrast created between light and dark. However, what is of particular interest to us is the colour aspect. We are occasionally surprised at seeing figures with red eyes, although blue, black and ochre – even green – eyes have all been noted on archaic figures.47 48 We may recall that the red eye of the Egyptian god Horus had symbolic significance. The Greeks were less tied to colour symbolism, yet they nevertheless adhered to a colour scheme which tended to override, if necessary, the more natural colouring of eyes or hair. The underlying principles were governed by readability from a distance and the overall compositional structure and pattern of design, factors owing to the positioning of sculptural programmes within a larger architectural complex. The bright saturated colours of red and blue, ochre, yellow and green, with which the temples were decorated, suited the Mediterranean light and the bold decor which had to be seen from afar. Very little of this former splendour may still be seen. On close examination the works remaining sometimes reveal that the archaic sculptor incised the patterns on dresses or rings for the irises before they were painted in. Each colour was kept distinct by off-setting it with another. Now, of course, much of the pigmentation is lost, although the reds tended to leave an occasional ghost pattern.49 The eyes of archaic figures look straight ahead. There is not yet any variation in the direction of their gaze. While the almond-shaped eyes of maidens or goddesses appear calm, the round and wide-open eyes of sphinxes and gorgons were intended to scare. On these apotropaic images, and especially on the hideous masks of the gorgoneions (amulets featuring a gorgon’s head), it is the eye that gives a fearsome look. They were intended to stare out at the onlooker and especially to ward off the terrible gaze of the much feared Evil Eye; also they were believed to hold 46

See E. Curtius (1891), pp. 691–693. Maxime Collignon (1895). 48 Elaine Walter Karydi (1986), p. 31. 49 See for example the “Lady of Auxerre”, a limestone statuette from 650–625 BC. 47

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prophylactic powers. Belief, or superstition, about the Evil Eye was widespread in antiquity, and still lingers on where there is ignorance. Frederick Elworthy, who in 1895 published the first major study concerning the Evil Eye, thought that this superstition may have had its origin in certain malformations of the eye and mentions as authorities in these matters Herodotus, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Pliny the Elder and Plutarch, all well-known classical writers. Elworthy writes as follows: By extension the disastrous effects may have been later attributed to eyes in which no such defect was noticeable, and in time to people whose eyes were of a colour different from those of most people. Thus, in Mediterranean countries the evil eye was often a blue or other lightcoloured one, while in the north of Europe it was associated with dark eyes.50

The eyes of apotropaic figures were thought to be effective because they are unnatural and contrary to what seems normal – and do not reflect what was known about the visual organ at the time. The ophthalmological knowledge that the ancients had did not cancel ingrained superstitious beliefs about the eye, either then or later.51 The stare of such eyes was intended to signal one thing only, which set their limit on how and what they could express. With the sculpted images representing mythological and heroic figures it was different; there, moods varied, unspoken thoughts had somehow to be stated. The classical, and later the Hellenistic, sculptors explored how to make the eye lustrous, to give it that spark that comes from within, and create depth of character with their materials and tools – which had not much changed from those of their predecessors, although many other things had. Here I want to enlarge on a couple of points made by Alexander Conze a few months prior to Magnus publishing his paper in 1892.52 As an archaeologist and curator Conze had been in a position to examine many antique statues that were in the repositories of the Berlin museums, of which some were clearly copies. He analysed the shape of the carved eye, taking note of how the upper eyelid related to the lower one and how any variation of their relationship to either the brow or the eyeball affected the 50

See Frederick Elworthy (1970), introduction, p. x. May this also explain why Matthew Paris reduced the dark irises of his Veronica images? See chapter 6, p. 155. 51 During the sixteenth century the same mix-up of scientific knowledge and superstition occurred; see Georg Bartisch, a sixteenth-century German ophthalmologist. 52 Berlin, 1892, 14 January.

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appearance. He was particularly interested in how the form and colour of the eye were handled by the sculptor in view of nature having provided a model. He first dwelled on the fact that the natural eye had lustre, which the sculptor imitated by highly polishing suitable materials which he then used as inlays for his bronze casts and for marble carvings. The reflection caused by the deep polish certainly animated the eyes, but only superficially as the gaze and any other form of expression had not yet received close attention. This was attained later by employing another method of shaping the eye. By undercutting and cutting more deeply into the white marble with the help of the drill, light and shade were allowed to interact; thus the portrait livened up, catching the mood intended. It was not just the fact that the sculptor became bolder in cutting into the surface of the form in order to gain the illusion of colour that achieved this; more importantly, he began to heed the motion of the gaze and carefully to fix its direction by placing the pupil along its path in relationship to an external object. The direct gaze could now be avoided; regarding colour, less was needed as the contrast between light and shade was used with such effect. The other significant change in the representation of the human eye, on which Conze dwelled,53 follows from what has just been described. The softer parts surrounding the eye were modelled more realistically, with dips and hollows that produced many gradations of shade. The ideal had changed from representing non-expressive eyes in stereotypical faces to those showing what was going on outwardly and inwardly without necessarily resorting to pigments or inlays to present the colour of the eye. The Romans completed the art of portraiture; the best examples of that had become genuine character studies.54 The absence of colour elsewhere raised questions, and other scholars pursued the problem. It had become apparent that not all so-called classical statues were sculpted by the Greeks, nor were they made during the classical period; many were Roman copies, or adaptations of Greek originals, whether of marble or bronze, or painted or with coloured inlays. The German scholar Georg Lippold discussed for instance the problem of dating in connection with the way the eyes and hair of copies were treated,55 and the art historian Margarete Bieber devoted a whole chapter to the “Problems and Research in Copies (1889–1970)”.56 I do not wish to dwell on this complex issue here, however relevant it may seem, but one 53

Alexander Conze (1892), p. 51. Ann Kuttner (1991), p. 18. 55 See Georg Lippold (1923), pp. 86–93. 56 See Margarete Bieber (1977). 54

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of the problems Lippold addressed was the colour aspect when copying from one medium into another. Greek bronzes often had inlaid eyes, with metal eyelashes,57 whereas Roman marble copies had sculpted eyes, which were perhaps engraved or inlaid, painted in or left blank, according to taste or the style of the current phase of Roman portraiture. *** Before turning to some technical case studies relating to the several variants of Greek and Roman eyes, a short summary of Alfred Lucas’s work on Egyptian inlaid eyes must first be given. The study was originally published as part of his research under the title Ancient Egyptian Materials and Industries. A contributor to the History of Ophthalmology, the pathologist Rowland P. Wilson, put this information into the context of his own branch of science.58 Indeed, the title of his article, “Artificial Eyes in Ancient Egypt”, highlights the difference between the two possible applications of an eye made for a cavity. He, as is customary in his profession, referred to artificial eyes; but most art historians would term them “inlaid eyes”.59 The quality of some early Egyptian eyes has led ophthalmologists to speculate about whether the ancient Egyptians replaced a lost eye with a prosthesis of the kind statues and mummies were given, but finds of esblephari (ocular prosthetics) suggest otherwise.60 Lucas, a materials scientist, classified and assessed the inlaid eyes by other criteria; he looked at whether all the visible parts of the eye were taken into account and what degree of craftsmanship was applied. He grouped inlaid eyes into six categories according to their features. Those in class I are the most proficiently made eyes and are exemplified by the eyes given to the Seated Scribe in the Musée du Louvre, mentioned above.

57

See also Carol Mattusch (1988), pp. 183–185. From the measurements of the eyelash plates the sizes of the related figures have been estimated. She writes (p. 184): “Six eyelashes from the Olympia excavations, measuring 2.7, 4.9, 6.0 and 7.5 centimeters, once belonged to statues that, if standing, may have been about 1.10, 2.00, 2.50, and 3.15 meters tall.” 58 See Rowland P. Wilson (1972), Vol. 5, esp. p. 325, who includes the sclera in the list of essential features of the natural eye. 59 The medical profession probably preferred to use “artificial” rather than “inlaid” to distinguish between the natural eye and the replacement for it; the word “inlaid” is a purely technical term. 60 The cavity of the lost eye was more likely to be concealed with a painted bandage (esblépharon) which was held in place with a wire, as was described and illustrated by A. Paré in 1614, reproduced in Robert Coulomb (1905), p. 18.

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Fig. 1–13 Esblepharon (painted bandage), as illustrated in A. Paré, 1614.

Fig. 1–14 Head of Nofretete, queen of Egypt, consort of Akhenaten, missing one inlaid eye. Workshop piece (fourteenth century BC).

The visible parts of the human eye are eyelids, eyelashes, eyeball, cornea, iris, pupil, canthus (the angle between the upper and lower eyelids – each eye has two) and the caruncle61 (the small red swelling at the inner angle of the eyelids). It is remarkable that such a well-observed and crafted eye is known from early times: the Fourth Dynasty (2500 BC) to the Thirteenth Dynasty (1800 BC). In fact, the first-class inlaid eye belongs to the earlier rather than the latter part of the Egyptian dynastic period. Lucas writes, “it is an admirable imitation of the natural eye, of which it reproduces all the essential features (eyelids, eyeball, cornea, iris, pupil, caruncle) and is very much better than the eyes made at any other period, or by any other ancient people”. The eyes of the painted statues of Prince Rahotep and Princess Nofret do indeed look very convincing. Although they have no eyelashes as such, the eyeballs are framed with dark, narrow surrounds. Made generally of metal (copper or silver), they are very occasionally made of faience or blackened limestone. For the eyeball the sculptor prepared a wedge-shaped piece of polished opaque quartz with a rounded front. The use of crystalline limestone is rare. Into the middle of its front he drilled a shallow circular depression to receive the cornea, which he fixed in place with an adhesive: resin. Lucas describes the iris as follows: 61

Also known as the lachrymal gland.

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there is no separate iris but the effect of a brown iris is produced by a disc of dark brown resin placed behind the cornea, as dimly seen through the matt surface at the back of the cornea, but when the resin is in absolute and intimate contact with the cornea, the colour, as seen from the front, is brown.62

The pupil Lucas described as a “small circular recess drilled in the middle of the back of the cornea and filled with a plug of very dark brown or black resin, or sometimes a circular black spot painted on the resin behind the cornea; occasionally the pupil is absent”. And of the caruncle, we learn that it is: a small red patch painted on the inner canthus, but sometimes on both the inner and outer canthi. That the Egyptians, who were usually such faithful copyists of nature, should have made the mistake of putting two caruncles, instead of only one, is extraordinary. Occasionally the caruncle is absent.

The inlaid eyes that Lucas designated as class II belong to the largest group; they occur most often from the Fifth Dynasty to Roman times. This type of eye is less elaborate and has eyelids, eyeball, pupil and caruncle, and occasionally eyelashes. The quality of the sculpted eye depends greatly on the nature of the materials used, which vary considerably at different periods; preferences for one kind of material over another are apparent. During the New Kingdom (Eighteenth to Twentieth Dynasty) a new trend in the making of eyes set in. Firstly, there was no separate iris. Resin, blackened limestone or another black material, and glass were often used instead of polished obsidian for the dark centre. Glass was probably preferred because it gave a good lustre to the inlaid eye, which however lacked fine anatomical details. In ancient Egypt the manufacture of inlaid eyes followed a wellthought-through procedure, as discovered from workshop wastes collected by archaeologists. A cylindrical mould for making the metal frame of the eye was found,63 which suggests that a tried and tested method was adhered to. The attention to detail in preparation for casting becomes apparent on looking at the way in which gold was applied to the cast. If a gold inlay was wanted for the eye, it was modelled with the pupils raised and the sclera depressed, allowing for a copper platelet to be inserted over 62

Alfred Lucas (1962), p. 98. Roemer- und Pelizaeus Museum, Hildesheim; inv. no. 3243. See also Günther Roeder (1937), p. 38ff; ill. 96 (p. 384) is of a reconstruction of a pair of eyes (from the head of a king with a war crown at Hildesheim) and shows how the gold leaf covering the eyeball is tucked into the groove of the eye socket of the bronze cast. 63

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which the gold foil was laid. To hold the loose pieces in place, a groove for the edge of the metal foils to be pushed into was run along the rim of the eye. As we shall see, the Greeks too became experts in the making and assembling of eyes. With all the experience that had gone into the creation of convincingly real-looking eyes, we may ask why their gaze and expression never varies, for it remains constant until the Egyptians came under the influence of the Romans. No Egyptian statue is ever shown with the eyes closed or showing any emotion. They are calm, reassuring eyes. What difference would it make if we saw them blank, as in many a classical figure? We need only look at the colourful bust of Nofretete, a workshop piece for copying, which is a complete portrait of the queen when seen in profile from one side only. The other eye is hollow, its inlay lost. The difference that makes is mostly in our perception; instead of seeing her as a representation of an idealized woman, we see an object, a damaged bust. A monochrome cast of such an image would perhaps make the beholder feel less deprived because in its damaged state it lacks an eye, with all its colour. *** Spurred on by major new finds, several studies have been made in recent times which relate to Greek bronze statuary.64 Some eye inlays were examined especially closely and technical data were obtained. One feature of the eye that stands out is the eyelashes. A dense fringe of lashes curl forwards from the upper lid of the Delphinian Charioteer, an early classical statue, and fewer and shorter cilia line the lower lid.65 The eyelashes soften his gaze – he seems to be pondering. Another fifthcentury BC bronze figure, of the sea god Poseidon, emerged from the past but the god is deprived of his eyes.66 Eye losses of this kind are not surprising, considering how the inlays were made and fitted. When the workshop of the classical sculptor Phidias was found at Olympia and the site excavated, sifting through the waste products found there yielded some valuable clues about how the inlaid eyes of statues were made. Some small bronze plates had a round disc – or a half-disc – cut out from which lids with eyelashes could be made. Several of these showed a row of parallel cuts which during the next step of production would be hammered into long curved lashes. The archaeologists Peter C. 64

The earlier big bronzes (sphyrelata) were hammered out of metal sheets. The eye was made of obsidian. 66 Isolated eye inlays have been found and some well-preserved pairs of eyes have been acquired for collections. 65

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Bol67 and Denys Haynes68 included illustrations in their books of the techniques involved and of the individual parts needed for making inlaid eyes. The inlays often detached themselves and their parts were sometimes found scattered. Bol initiated the reconstruction and fitting of a pair of eyes. From what he wrote we may appreciate the skill that was required: To fit the eyes exactly, and at the same time to make sure that the gaze is correct, is difficult and laborious. While reconstructing the Hellenistic head of a boy at Olympia69 an experienced sculptor could not do this without using mastic. Indeed, in antiquity, in less carefully worked heads a gap sometimes remained between the eyeball and its setting. A goldsmith employed on the reconstruction of an ancient bronze group handled the job better, but grinding the marble pieces, then fitting the eyeballs with their eyelash-plates, and [finally] inserting the gold-ringed iris and the pupil took her an entire week per eye.70

From Bol we have learned how long it takes to make an eye. Haynes71 enlarges on the chromatic variations of inlays and how the ancient craftsman achieved these: [he] carved a tapering plug of oval section in ivory or marble or other stone and rounded off the thicker end to form the white, in which he sank a circular cavity to contain the iris and pupil. The iris, which was often surrounded by a narrow ring of a darker paste or stone or of metal, was usually made from a transparent brown paste, but pastes of other colours occur, as well as materials other than paste. To represent the pupil a hole was made in the centre of the iris, which was either left empty to create a deep shadow, or filled with a dark stone, this, too being sometimes ringed by metal. The lachrymal gland was indicated either by enclosing the inner corner of the white within an incised line and tinting it pink, or by cutting it away to form a small recess which was filled with pink plaster after the fitting of the eyelashes. These were formed by the indented front edges of two thin plates, usually hammered copper or bronze but sometimes cast, of which one was fitted on top of the eye-plug, the other beneath it, both being returned round it at the back, where they were often joined to each other by overlapping projections. In some cases an adhesive was used to stick the plates to the plug.

67

P. Bol (1985), p. 150. D. Haynes, The Technique of Greek Bronze Statuary, 1992, p. 107. 69 Both the original and the reconstruction with the fitted eyes are at the Museum of Olympia. 70 Peter Bol (1985), p. 151. (Engl. transl. HH) 71 Denys Haynes (1992), p. 106. 68

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The sculptor was after effect. Bronze figures were therefore given inlays other than eyes. Copper-red lips,72 nipples (if a nude figure),73 gilded or silver hair bands or attributes – all these were part of a colour scheme intended to offset the polished bronze of the statue, if not entirely gilded. But polychromy was not only applied to metal sculpture. Chryselephantine (gold and ivory) and white marble figures were also enhanced with extra colour. This always included the eyes. Even as late as the Hellenistic period, the carved marble image was painted, although the colouring became more natural. In the Musée du Louvre in Paris an Alexandrian female head has painted eyes as well as long eyelashes.74 Her identity is uncertain. *** Roman portraiture will be the last category on this investigative journey through antiquity. Again, an important find – made in 1852 – points our way. The art historian Julius von Schlosser referred in his essay on the history of wax portraits75 to two heads of wax which had pupils (sic) of coloured glass.76 They were discovered in a grave at Cumae in Italy which also contained two headless skeletons. The find was significant, for it gave a lead into a problematic area of study for which very little evidence is available. Wax does not last except in very special circumstances.77 Were the wax portraits part of a funerary ritual was the question at the time. Von Schlosser, in his essay, provided the literary background, with Pliny the Elder as his main source.78 The ancient author mentions a long tradition of making an effigy, a life-like image of the

72

And silver teeth. The two Riace figures A and B also had silvery teeth. 74 See Patrick Reuterswärd, p. 177, ill. 26. Alexandrian image, perhaps Arsinoë II, Louvre MND 2048. 75 “Geschichte der Portraitbildnerei in Wachs (Ein Versuch)”, in Jb. d. kunsthist. Samml., Vol. 29, 1911, 171-258. 76 See also Helga von Heintze (1974), p. 82 and pl. 3 showing the wax heads (Naples, Nat.-Mus. Foto Sopr. Ant. Napoli Neg. No. a/2090). 77 Julius von Schlosser mentions O. Jahn (Archäologischen Zeitung, 1867, p. 85) and the controversy in the literature over the wax heads. 78 Historia Naturalis, xxxv, p. 153. Pliny mentions that the Greek Lysistratos of Sicyon, the brother of Lysippus, was the first to make a plaster cast from a living face. From the mould he produced a wax replica, made some final corrections, and thus obtained a true likeness, whereas previously the aim was to make the face as handsome as possible. 73

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deceased person, to represent him during his funeral. The dead person was identified with the image.

Fig. 1–15 Wax mask with coloured glass eyes; Roman (Cumae?).

This was part of the ancestry cult practised by the Romans. In the houses of grand families the atrium was a portrait gallery with the heads of all the deceased members of the family on display. On funeral occasions ancestral portraits were carried by the mourners during the procession.79 Plaster casts may at some point have been used, probably serving as the moulds from which the wax images were made.80 The use of wax for making images of whatever kind (portraits, flowers, fruit, votive figures) had already made Greek Alexandria, and of course Rome, important centres for the cerarii or sigillarii,81 professional wax modellers.82 On account of the wax effigies another trade did well: the oculariarius, described by another historian of ophthalmology, G. van

79 Von Schlosser sees a direct link between the Roman custom of making veristic portraits and the Renaissance terracotta busts which were usually painted to achieve a striking likeness of the person. 80 See Heinrich Drerup (1980), who studied the development of the death mask and the ancestral images of the Romans. 81 Reinhard Büll (1960) mentions in this context the Roman comic playwright Titus Plautus (c. 254–184 BC, Miles III, 1, 2). 82 The portrait was not part of the Greek repertoire, however. In Hellenistic Greece the veristic image – the warts and all type of bust – was frowned upon for being contrary to the idealized form which the Greeks held in high esteem.

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Duyse,83 as “a craftsman specializing in the making of artificial eyes”. A reference to this profession – statuarum oculorum repositor – has been found in two ancient inscriptions.84 It must have been a flourishing trade since not only Roman funerary images but also Egyptian ones in the form of mummies required artificial eyes. Did the Romans specialize in making glass eyes, as other finds in Roman colonies (such as Germanica) may suggest,85 86 or were they trained to make both glass and composite eyes of the types seen in Greek and Egyptian statues? The marble portrait bust is a more permanent image of the deceased or honoured person than its wax version, but it seems to have lost nothing of the straight and untarnished quality impressed into the other medium. The individual is seen as he or she may have appeared in a mirror, reflecting a truthful if not always flattering image. However, the official portrait, the trade mark of a statesman, was to some extend idealized. Caesar Augustus’s many sculpted heads made before and after his death show him as an individual as much as a symbol of statesmanship. This may be said of each new ruler, whose portrait became a blend of icon and personal image, although none was more mindful of his gaze than Emperor Augustus, as recorded by the Roman historian Suetonius in his De Vita Caesarum.87 The bronze head of Augustus (c. 27–25 BC) from Meroë, Sudan,88 with its still startling inlaid eyes, supports this impression. 83

G. van Duyse (1919), p. 272, n. 2, defines “oculariarius” as an “ouvrier dont l’état était de faire des yeux artificiels en verre, en argent et en pierres précieuses aux statues de marbre”. 84 Ibid., p. 273. The first was found in the Villa Strozzi at Florence and reads: “M. RAPILIUS. SERAPIO. HIC AB. ARA. MARMOR(EA) OCULOS. REPOSUIT. STATUIS QUA. AD. VIXIT. BENE”; the other, at Rome, referred to a “faber oculariarius celebre, Caius Licinius Patroclus”: “DIS. MANIBUS L. LICINIO. L. F. STATORIANO C. LICINIUS. LL. PATROCLUS PAPER. OCULARIARIUS FRAT. CARISS. F.” Robert Coulomb refers to Mouton de Gruyter (1601), DCXLV, 1. 85 Heinrich Drerup (1980), p. 99, n. 43: many more glass eyes were seen lying in the grave which, however, were not picked up because the workers thought them to be simple loose dolls’ eyes. Drerup quotes Mitt. S.von Schnurbein (1979), who wrote: “Man hat aber offenbar nicht alle Stücke [eyes] aufgehoben, da Grabungsarbeiter mir berichteten, sie hätten solche Augen weggeworfen in der Meinung, es handele sich um Puppen-Augen!” (i.e. modern dolls’ eyes – HH). 86 Specifically at Haltern, Westfalen and Xanten in Germany; Mitt. S. v. Schnurbein (1979) refers to finds in Haltern; see pp. 97–98; H. Dragendorff (1903). 87 Suetonius, The Lives of the Caesars, 79. Engl. transl. J.C. Rolfe, 1970, p. 245, where he said that Augustus had clear, bright eyes and wished to give the impression that within them resided a kind of divine power. He was pleased

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As we look into the eyes of the Roman portrait we perceive that even in verism there are levels of truth. A head of Emperor Caligula (37–41 AD) still shows the delicate colouring once given to the eyes;89 the eyelashes were painted in black, the irises are brown-yellow and the pupils black. Traces of red remain on the mouth. The description of the Prima Porta statue of Emperor Augustus when first seen after it was excavated in 1863 reveals how impressive it was: the entire figure was polychromed. Unfortunately most of the pigments disintegrated soon after their exposure to the atmosphere. The colour scheme of the statue was reported in the Amelung Vatican catalogue of 1902 but two earlier accounts90 also exist, differing here and there from the Amelung. The irises were described as reddish, yellowish or brown-yellow.

Fig. 1–16 Head of Athena; Roman copy (time of Hadrian), after the head of Athena Promachos, Acropolis, Athens, by Phidias (c. 500 to after 438 BC). Marble.

Fig. 1–17 Single eye of an Antonine bust (Marcus Aurelius), with pupil carved en creuse.

whenever somebody at whom he looked fixedly lowered his gaze as if blinded by sunlight. 88 The Meroë Head, Brit. Mus., inv. no. GR 1911.9-1.1. Inset eyes of glass (paste?) and stone. 89 The colouring of the right eye has now much faded. The bust is in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptothek in Copenhagen. 90 Heinz Kähler (1959) cites 1863 and 1868 and Walther Amelung’s 1902 record.

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The Greek philosopher Philostratus Flavius (third century AD)91 bemoaned the fact that the sculptor scarcely catches all the different types of radiance belonging to the eyes, although painting knows the “bright eye”, the “grey eye” and the “dark eye”. The Antonine image, and more particularly the Hadrianic image,92 changed the viewer’s perception of portraiture once again. As described above,93 sculptors introduced a novel method, using the drill for the pupil of the eye and thus “obviating the use of colour or inlay”,94 which instead led to stronger colorism. The art historian Donald Strong writes: The marking of the pupil and iris by engraving the outline of the former and hollowing out the highlight of the latter, a technique used much earlier in other media, especially in terracotta, appears in monumental stone portraits for the first time during Hadrian’s reign. It marks an essential change in sculpture, freeing it partly from the dominance of colour. Details which formerly had been augmented with paint – eyebrows, hair – and whose sculptured form had been played down are now more strongly indicated. … The carver from now on will rely more on sculptural effects to achieve expression, a tendency which culminates in the often brutal technique of some of the portraits of emperors of the third century.95

Not all colour was however abandoned in sculpture. The Romans had a great liking for coloured stones and used them effectively by combining ones of different hues. These polylithic images, colourful as they were, required no paint. “The first and most enduring requirement of Roman portraiture was that it should appear to hold the life spark”, wrote art historian Ann Kuttner,96 who agrees with Plotinus (c. 204–270 AD) when she comments as follows: the sense of unity of the portrait’s dissimilar parts should convey the living energy of the soul. From the Hellenistic period onwards, emphasis was put on the eyes, which according to ancient thought were not so much passive windows into the soul but its active ministers emitting sight to make contact with the world. In the early second century, during the reign of Hadrian, the eyeballs of stone portraits were carved to catch the glint of light on the “moving” eye. This detail also lets us see the direction of the gaze. In Late Roman portraits, the subject either gazes out and upwards to 91

J.J. Pollitt (1983), p. 220, “Eikones I, proem”. e.g. bust of Hadrian at Athens, National Museum. 93 See Conze on the use of the drill, above page 10. 94 James D. Breckenridge (1968), p. 220. 95 Donald Strong (1976), chapter 8, p. 1. 96 See Ann Kuttner (1991), p. 18. 92

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commune with a higher reality or stares with a still face, the eyes positioned sharply to the side.

Indeed, not only were the eyeballs of marble portraits cut into but bronze casts also changed in that respect; instead of having inlaid eyes they, too, were modelled and cast. Due to a change in technique colour became redundant, polychromy lost its cause.97 *** Before leaving the discussion of early representations of eyes, what are the proposed tenets of my thesis and how do they relate to the natural and sculpted eye in antiquity? Firstly, representational images are invariably shown with eyes, although a figure need not be extraneously coloured. Often the uniform colouring of the material makes the sculpted image appear monochrome. Whenever a piece of sculpture is made up of two or more materials it is likely to be referred to as “polychrome”, although not necessarily perceived as chromatic. As natural eyes are coloured and also reflect light, colour and light are two essential features to be considered when sculpting eyes. If these two properties of the natural eye cannot be shown in the image, the sculpted eye is not fully representational – nor for that matter is the figure. The eyes of a statue may be coloured and sparkle, but if the colour scheme does not agree with what is natural, it may have a strong symbolic meaning (like the red Horus eye). The sculpted eyes of a monochrome statue may nevertheless appear natural without added colour. An illusion of life may be created by maximizing the surface play of light. This may be achieved in several ways: by contrasting polished and matt areas within the eye; by cutting into or by undercutting to effect a strong light and shade interaction; or by making the eyes have a glance which suggests some kind of inward or outward engagement, and this depends on where the pupils are placed in relationship to their normal position. When a statue is polychromed except for its eyes, that suggests that it is either unfinished or damaged, or that some other concept is at play for the beholder to note and then to look for the intended meaning. The reverse situation is for the eyes to be coloured but not the figure as such. 97

See also Götz Lahusen and Edilberto Formigli (1993), especially p. 670. The coauthors were not sure why in both materials this change from the chromatic to the monochrome eye occurred when it did. However, they pointed out that by making the eyes part of the cast there must have been a considerable gain in time and expenditure, although at the expense of quality, a fact deplored by Pliny.

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Then it is the gaze that is underscored and presented as being particularly meaningful. When the eyes blend in, as they do normally in polychrome representations, nothing is being expressed that could not be gleaned from looking at the statue as a whole. Secondly, there is a strong cultural link with how the eyes are represented. In ancient times the eyes were often singled out to convey their importance (a) as physical but very vulnerable organs; (b) as the source of seeing, knowing or being known (by superhuman power); and (c) as being instrumental in a religio-magic setting (e.g. ruby eyes). Inlaid eyes dominated in cult statues. The materials employed suggest a wellorganized economy, featuring import and trade which supported the socioreligious structure. This in turn had an impact on the craft skills which were developed. The strong central power of such a structure found particular relevance in the eye and its perception (as it did in Egypt). The eye was at the centre. Thirdly, necessity and an interest in curing the diseased natural eye had from earliest times placed the visual organ in a special category. As the source of light and as a channel of knowledge the eye was studied98 and cures attempted, some by surgical means, others by applying ointments. The seeing of colour was attributed to the iris, itself believed to have been made up of different coloured layers or skins. With regard to the development of the sculpted eye, Egypt and Greece with Rome provide two distinct patterns. In Egypt the urge for and capability to make class I eyes comes very much at the beginning of the long history. The Egyptians were not interested in the glancing eye; their religious traditions prevented them from “deviating” from a strictly observed canon. The Greeks, and later the Romans, guarded other principles: the Greeks an aesthetic ideal, the Romans truthfulness to nature – thus occasionally the subject gazes out of the corner of the eye. The gaze is tied up with the shift of the eye which is seen because of the pupil’s changing position. In polychrome sculpture it is difficult to emphasize the eye through colour, unless an unnatural one is chosen; here it is the shape of the eye, the exaggerated size, that imparts extra meaning (as in orant figures and the eyes of gorgons). The overlap of interest in ophthalmology and ancient sculpted eyes is a nineteenth-century phenomenon, and it has proved useful in classifying the carved Greek eye and noting its development as a shape. Egyptian inlaid eyes were classed solely by how complex or simple their construction was. Investigations relating to widespread superstitions such as the Evil Eye, or to belief in an eye goddess, take the researcher across a vast geographical 98

Relying to some extent on experiments on animal eyes.

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area and through much of mankind’s history. Some of the notions propagated manifested themselves directly in the visual objects made, as for instance the wild eyes of the depicted Gorgon. The value of studying the ancients’ approach to the natural and the sculpted eye lies in appreciating the similarities, and of course also the many differences, in their techniques and the outcome of their putting them into practice. In the following chapter the art and craft of polychromy is our focus; that will provide the setting for discussing the eye as depicted on medieval images. The third and subsequent chapters are concerned with specific problems relating to the eye.

CHAPTER TWO THE ART AND CRAFT OF POLYCHROMY: DURING THE LATE MIDDLE AGES We are what we desire and what we look at.1

A glance through the literature on polychromy shows that interest in the subject is widening. Much of this attention is due to the urgent need to conserve and reassess polychromed sculptures. Barely 10 per cent of what was once produced survived the perils of time, only to be exposed to new dangers – including atmospheric pollution and heated interiors.2 Caring for works of art has become a professional commitment that goes beyond the restorer’s craft. The closely scrutinized art object reveals another, almost invisible dimension: knowledge locked up in the cultural material of the past. Conservation reports often give a first realistic insight into the condition of such works but, perhaps more importantly, they provide some hard-core evidence about this or that aspect that the naked eye could not possibly have seen. This enables the art historian to look at likely links and how far the findings concur with what is already known about the object’s historical or topographical context. Publications on colour in sculpture since the nineteenth century are concerned with two major aspects: historical and technical. There is also a cultural reading of polychromy because of the finds from Egypt and Greece.3 Parallel to these forages into the ancient past, a growing interest in things medieval led to a revival of the Gothic style. Neo-Gothic statues, some with their bright untarnished colours, are an idealization of historic medieval sculpture. By the mid-twentieth century, the polychromy of the Baroque period received more of the scholarly attention it deserves, often because an opportunity arose to examine the sculpted work while it was 1

Plotinus, The Enneads (Third Tractate, 8). The loss varies from country to country. Phillip Lindley of Leicester University suggested in a lecture entitled “The Medieval Sculptor” (given in Cambridge on 14 August 2000) that 95–98 per cent of all English sculpture has been destroyed. 3 Of course, the Far East, Mesoamerica and Africa produced their polychrome sculpture, but they are not immediately relevant to our discussion. 2

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being cleaned and restored. The universal adoption of the term “polychromy” for multi-colour takes us full circle to where in modern times the preoccupation with polychromy4 began, in ancient Greece and Rome. Patrik Reuterwärd’s Studien zur Polychromie der Plastik: Griechenland und Rom (1960) is still a valuable introduction to the polychromy of ancient Greece and Rome, and has an annotated bibliography which offers an overview of the topic. Ten years later, Agnes Ballestrem5 published an updated and extended bibliography in which she directs the reader to other periods. She included many technical reports published by conservators; by the time she wrote many of the subject’s multi-disciplinary and multi-cultural aspects had been exposed. The newer bibliographies appended to studies on polychromy also reflect this approach. Besides, many authors writing on Egyptian, Greek or medieval sculpture include a now standard section on polychromy. The medieval period attracted scholarly attention – although more slowly – resulting in a number of timely and useful essays or introductions to medieval art, and some of these focus entirely on polychrome sculpture. But because it is such a vast and diverse subject, there is usually a personal choice involved. Scholars either opted for a particular class of sculpture (tombs, altarpieces and so forth) or began by researching a country or a region, or simply followed up a pressing issue at a given time which then evolved into a larger project. Hence, the information we have on colour in sculpture is still very piecemeal and has a bias towards particular issues. The bulk of the emerging data and analyses are still to be found in various journals. I want to mention here just a few of the older titles before discussing some of the more topical aspects which emerged more recently. *** In 1817 an Englishman, C.A. Stothard, published his enlarged illustrated double-volume The Monumental Effigies of Great Britain.6 His enquiry coincided with the antiquarians’ pursuit of colour in architecture

4

The Germans have their own word for polychromy. The etymology of “Fassung” relates to a particular craft aspect: the multi-coloured, gem-studded reliquary image. 5 Agnes Ballestrem, “Sculpture Polychrome – Bibliographie” in Studies in Conservation 15, 1970, 253–271. 6 Reprinted in one volume (1832) with an introduction and descriptions by Alfred John Kempe, FSA.

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and sculpture, but – as the sub-title7 and his choice of topic indicate – Stothard’s objective was principally to record as faithfully as possible what the effigies once looked like, including their colour.8 His etchings are based on his own sketches done during his travels. Each sheet shows one large design of the tomb and a separate, enlarged detail of the surface pattern and its colour scheme. He was meticulous in his descriptions of the tombs. For instance, plate II shows the effigy of King John, who died in 1216 and was buried in the choir of Worcester Cathedral. Stothard writes: The effigy of John carved in grey marble, which forms the superstructure of his present tomb, was originally the lid of the stone coffin, that contained his remains. He is represented as wearing a dalmatic of crimson lined with green, the neck and cuffs edged with a gold and jewelled border; his tunic is yellow, or cloth of gold; he is girt with a belt; on his hands are jewelled gloves, a ring on the middle finger of his right hand, which supports a sceptre, while his left grasps a sword. He wears red hose, golden spurs, his feet have on them black shoes, and rest upon a lion. The greater part of these details will be recognised as the ensigns of royalty.

Although at this stage we learn little about the pigments used, or about the method of application or the persons to whom either the carving or the painting may be attributed, Stothard succeeded in what he set out to do: he left an invaluable historic record. We need only compare his coloured plates with the extant polychrome sculptures to which they relate, for instance the five colour reconstructions of the royal tombs at Fontevrault in France,9 to agree that it was worthwhile to preserve the memory of these former riches. England has lost more of its medieval sculptures than any other country in Europe. Spain, on the other hand, has had an unbroken tradition of polychroming its religious carved images, many of which were exported to her colonies in South America.10 Yet the earliest major study of Spanish polychromy comes nearly a century after Stothard’s. In 1908 Marcel Dieulafoy’s illustrated book was published, bearing the title La

7

The subtitle reads, “Selected from our Cathedrals and Churches, for the Purpose of Bringing together and Preserving correct Representations of the Best Historical Illustrations Extant, from the Norman Conquest to the Reign of Henry VIII”. 8 In any case, the medievalist had no urge to prove what was so apparent. 9 Abbaye Royale de Fontevrault, the burial place of the Plantagenet English kings and queens. 10 Hispanic art in South America, see Suzanne L. Stratton, 1993.

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statuaire polychrome en Espagne du XII au XVe siécle.11 Dieulafoy wrote in French – in fact, most books and articles on medieval polychromy were until recently published in a language other than English. The Germans took a great interest in this new research area and hence provided a major contribution towards it. They viewed the development of polychromy mainly from a German perspective, with the emphasis on wood carvings and altarpieces. In 1923 Hubert Wilm focused on the wooden statue, and his book Die gotische Holzfigur. Ihr Wesen und Ihre Entstehung still offers a good introduction to the polychrome wood figure and the techniques employed by its makers. During the same year another publication familiarized the reader with fifteenth-century workshop practices and the conditions under which the artist had to work. Künstler und Werkstatt der Spätgotik, by Hans Huth,12 is a modest volume when compared with earlier works, yet it is most informative. In an appendix Huth gathered together many transcribed documents, mostly contracts, statutes, guild regulations, and similar texts, which to the scholar have become an invaluable font of information. Eric Vandamme, who wrote in Dutch about Flemish polychromy,13 also included important source material in the form of collated texts and illustrations. In particular, the half-dozen miniature paintings of the statue painter at work illuminate the subject as no other printed document does, although there are other methods of showing what went on in the medieval workshop. The photographic record has become indispensable when presenting research material. Peter Tångeberg, with 11 Ballestrem described it as an important study of the evolution of Spanish polychrome sculpture, which gives some insight into the distribution of labour and the techniques of polychromy. 12 Based on his dissertation of 1922. About the choice of his topic Huth wrote in no. 6 of his Anmerkungen (end notes): “Ad. Goldschmidt stellte 1915 als Aufgabe zur Erlangung des Grimmpreises 1916/18 das Thema: Das Zusammenwirken von Maler und Bildhauer an den plastischen Arbeiten der Spätgotik in Deutschland (1380 bis 1520). Es liefen jedoch keine Bearbeitungen ein. Dagegen stellte sich der Verfasser das genannte Thema für seine Dissertationschrift”. In other words, the subject had not attracted much interest at that stage. Even more remarkable is the fact that one of the more influential art historians of the time, Wilhelm Vöge, a close associate and friend of Goldschmidt, who researched and wrote widely on German medieval sculpture, never referred to polychromy, a rather regrettable omission. 13 Erik Vandamme (1982). See the introduction, where he expressed regret that hitherto very little research on polychromy in Belgium had been done. This shortcoming was addressed in 1996 with the exhibition on polychromy in the Bijlokemuseum, Ghent. See the exhibition catalogue Goud, Brokaat en Glacis. SOS Polychromieen. 3 February – 31 March 1996.

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his knowledge of the art topography of Sweden, takes us not only to the north, but also behind the scenes. Many of the works of art he discusses have been examined under laboratory conditions while being restored, which provided the opportunity to take photographs and samples for scientific analysis. These findings served as a basis for Tångeberg’s book, to which I want to return in due course.14 Leaving aside for the moment the many articles that have appeared in journals, one entry in the Reallexikon zur Deutschen Kunstgeschichte15 must be mentioned here. In “Fassung von Bildwerken” the two co-authors Thomas Brachert and Friedrich Kobler gave a first general overview of polychromy, from antiquity to modern times. This is an excellent introduction in German to colour in sculpture and is exemplary in its approach. The lengthy article, in three parts, begins with a short definition before focusing on Fassung as a craft. The many technical aspects of polychroming are then explained. The article is illustrated in monochrome, and concludes with an extended bibliography in which over half of the citations refer to individual works of art. As colour has its own entries in the Reallexikon,16 none of the relevant colour references has been included. There are also English art dictionaries that give useful résumées of polychromy, its application and styles. Polychromy as a term is universally recognized and used, yet in the Reallexikon the word Fassung was preferred to Polychromie. Fassung (noun) – and fassen (verb) – may be traced back to the early fifteenth century.17 Its meaning is instructive, for it points to an activity, a craft, instead of to what is perceived: namely colours. The verb fassen denotes the technical process of preparing and finishing a carved image, and hence the painted or gilded finish is known by the term Fassung. There may be another reason why fassen became synonymous with malen (to paint). In precious metalwork jewels have to be mounted (einfassen). Many medieval reliquaries were studded with pearls and coloured stones18 or, if made of metal, were perhaps also enamelled; either way, mountings or

14

See below, chapter 6. RDK (1977), Vol. 7. See also The Grove Dictionary of Art, and the Penguin Dictionary of Art and Artists by Peter and Linda Murray. 16 See RDK (1977), entries under “Farbe”, “Farbmittel”; “Farbe”, “liturgisch”; and “Farbenlehre”. 17 Fassen was used as an alternative to malen (to paint); see RDK (1977), Vol. 3, pp. 743–826. 18 e.g. St Foy, Abbey of Conques-en-Ronergue (ninth to tenth century). 15

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Fassung(en) had to be prepared.19 Also, when making a silver or gold bust for housing a relic, a wooden version had first to be carved on which the metal casing was formed or gefasst.20 Towards the end of the fifteenth century, some sculptors decided to keep their wood carvings “wood-visible” – that is, unpainted except for some pigmented glazing. The preparation for the Fassung lost its significance; in fact, it had become redundant once the sculptor himself put the finishing touches to his work by carving in the finer details and by avoiding blemishes in the material or those made through careless work which needed covering up. Craft and skill go together; art is what stands out and leaves standard practices behind. An innovative master seeks new solutions to old problems, inventing schemes or types that his followers try to emulate. This is also the case in medieval polychromy with its diverse requirements and successive styles. But when we come to judge the aesthetic merit of this or that style, the latest cannot always be said to be better if compared with an earlier one; each category (stone or wood) or style (Romanesque or late Gothic) sets its own standard, and a particularly well-conceived and executed figure of an earlier period may satisfy because within its class it stands out as a visually pleasing object and surpasses later, less well-conceived or executed pieces. Other factors come into play: polychromy is either seen as linked to a form of decorative art commonly described as “folk art” and labelled “primitive”, or it is recognized and valued for its contribution to “high” art. Polychromy is no less a matter of taste that is viewed subjectively; what is liked at one time, for all the right reasons, during another period may be decried as oldfashioned or tasteless. This see-saw attitude is a trait of the history of polychromy, the high Middle Ages being one of its peak moments. During the Middle Ages it was the painter who colour-finished statues and reliefs as the technical requirements were in principle the same as for painting a panel picture. When seen from the art historian’s perspective, polychromed medieval sculptures pose some distinct problems. A piece of sculpture may still have its original polychromy, or it may have been repainted, sometimes more than once. In the latter case, the colouring we find is often in a style different from that of the period when the work was

19

A third usage of Fassung is the idea of composure; a polychromed image is (technically) composed. 20 After the wood carving served its purpose as a model it was often polychromed and displayed as a substitute for the precious reliquary which was shown publicly only on feast days.

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made.21 Polychromy is similar to a dress that may be updated to suit the prevailing taste.22 But this raises the question: which style of finish, if there are several, should be recovered or retained? We must, at least for the moment, bypass this particular issue and concentrate on how the polychromer transformed the “raw” piece by his polished performance as he tried to make the piece of sculpture look less like wood or stone and more decorative or life-like.23 What are the stylistic features of polychromy? During the second half of the twelfth century the techniques employed were still uncomplicated; the homogeneous pigments were placed next to or on top of other layers without any attempt to mix the luminous colours. By around 1200 colour was used emphatically. During the thirteenth and the beginning of the fourteenth century, more detail was painted in on the larger, single colour fields. Thus, the monochrome areas were broken up as patterns and different shades of colour were added. The lavish application of gold and other metallic leaf developed into another important type of polychromy, which existed side by side with the more chromatic version. There are also regional stylistic differences in polychromy across Europe. For example, north of the Alps it developed into a rich finish, often in imitation of brocades or embroideries; whereas in Italy a colourful but simpler style was sometimes retained.24 Also, the traffic of ideas and skills between the Netherlands and Spain is reflected in the technical vocabulary adopted in both countries during the late Middle Ages: stoffeeren (Dutch)25 and

21

During the Baroque period, Gothic polychrome carvings were frequently repainted to fit in with the newer colour scheme. 22 The frames in particular were sometimes sacrificed to stylistic changes in order to fit in with a newly created environment, whereas the carvings received minor alterations (crowns, attributes), although here it was a new colour scheme that gave the work a new appearance. Baroque colours, if compared with a medieval palette, are much lighter, sometimes pastel-like. 23 Standing figures were carved in a bench vice, its pin leaving a hole at the head of the log/statue into which the painter afterwards fixed a dowel for holding the carving during painting. Just before finishing the job the dowel was levelled off. A dowel-filled hole indicates therefore that the work was (originally) polychromed. See Arnulf von Ulmann (1984), p. 53. 24 In northern painting imitation of brocades and patterned fabrics was part of the Master of Flemalle’s and Jan van Eyck’s repertoire. See the Ghent Altarpiece (1425–32), in particular the hangings behind God the Father and the robes of the angels. In Italy we look to Gentile da Fabriano’s Madonna of Humility (1423). 25 In Dutch stoffeeren, meaning among other things aankleeden (German einkleiden) – to dress. See entry in WDT (1940).

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estofer (verb, Spanish)26 reveal a preoccupation with the materials of dress, which was studied in every detail when copying. Other stylistic differences are more of a notional kind as not enough evidence has been gathered yet for the art historian to be more affirmative. Thus, in 1990, Manfred Koller still asked tentatively whether around 1400 a distinct style of polychromy existed.27 Masters and their workshops certainly have quite distinctive individual styles, and there remain ever tantalizing questions about the contribution made by assistants, and whether a master’s own formative style may be traced back to another major workshop to which he was apprenticed, or passed through while a journeyman. A style is acquired through training and experience. This takes us to the workshop and its methods, bearing in mind that the medieval guilds to which craftsmen belonged were regulated by everyday necessities and by the inevitability of Realpolitik. Guilds varied, sometimes considerably, in the way they organized themselves and conducted their affairs. This could affect the individual craftsman and influence the running of his business and his professional advancement.28 And how did he conduct his business? The extant miniature pictures mentioned above show us several things about the polychromer at work that permit us to compare what we may observe here with what we learn from other sources. A thirteenth-century 26 Synonymous with preparar; estofa is translated as “material” with emphasis on quality. But see entry in the Diccionario Critico Etimologico Castellano e Hispanico (1954–57), Vol. 2, where estofar, estoffer, estofado and estoffé are explained: “garni de bourre ou d’stoupe”: “estofar ouvrager d’or bruni et fillolure”. Several dictionary entries refer to the German word Stoff (m), meaning “material” or “fabric”. Dressing statues and emulating dress and above all the quality of material is what the Spaniards focused on; hence the term estoffer. 27 Manfred Koller (1990), “Gibt es einen Fassungsstil um 1400?” See Hubert Wilm (1940), p. 55, who wrote: “Während der Frühgotik und auch noch das ganze 14. Jahrhundert hindurch wurden viele Skulpturen mit der sogenannten ‘idealen Fassung’ geschmückt: Die Gewänder und Haare waren vergoldet, die Fleischteile zeigten eine elfenbein-farbene Blässe und hatten nur an den Wangen und Lippen einen Hauch von Rosa. Die Art der Fassung entsprach vor allem den abstrakten Idealen in der Plastik des 14. Jahrhunderts”. (“During the early Gothic period, and also still through the entire fourteenth century, many sculptures were completed with a so-called ‘ideal polychromy’. The robes and hair were gilded, the flesh was given an ivory-like pale shade, only cheeks and lips were given a delicate pink finish. This kind of polychromy related to the abstract ideal in sculpture of the fourteenth century”. Translated: HH) 28 For example, Nuremberg saw no need for guilds at a time when Strasbourg and Ulm had them; this would considerably influence the affairs of the town for representatives of guilds were voted on to their respective councils.

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English manuscript29 shows as its title page a seated monk colouring a Virgin and Child carving which is placed in front of him on the table. In his left hand he holds a dish with his paint, in his right he has a brush and is using the paint on the figure. In royal and monastic scriptoria monks were traditionally engaged as scribes and illuminators. Monasteries during the Middle Ages kept up many craft traditions to meet their own needs – which included the carving and goldsmithing of objects such as elaborate book-covers and devotional images. Ivory carvings were often fully or partially polychromed. The German monk Theophilus Presbyter30 wrote a handbook, the De diversis artibus,31 which is the fullest account of the working methods of artists from the medieval period, and was most probably intended for fellow monks engaged in the various crafts. Next, the first32 of the two images from Valerius Maximus’s manuscript depicts the painter at the moment of applying paint to a statue in the round while being watched by an apprentice. The polychromer uses a palette that suggests he is filling in some detail, with most of the job already done. On the table are paint dishes and a flat box on which his brushes are arranged. There is a calm and concentrated look about both him and the boy. But this is not so in the second illumination, of the Faits et dits memorables,33 where the polychromer is visibly distracted by his two visitors and the comments perhaps uttered, for he drops his brush as he jerks round in dismay, gazing back at the finished statue. At his feet on the trestle table, which he uses as a raised platform, are two dishes with the main colours, red and blue, and a spatula-shaped palette. His job, the painting of two figures that are already placed on top of their marble pillars, is nearly complete. The female figure appears already finished, while he was about to add more red paint to the other statue when interrupted.34 Another 29

No. 209, Lambeth Palace Library, London. First half of the twelfth century. 31 Theophilus Presybter (1961–86). 32 See Erik Vandamme (1982); photographic reproduction no. 6 relates to the sixteenth-century illuminated manuscript of Valerius Maximus (Breslau Stadtbibliothek) showing a painter at work. 33 See also Paul Binski (1991). 34 The caption to this illustration in Paul Binski’s book refers to an “Athenian painter ... [who attempted] with difficulty to represent the gods”. Binski, of course, based his caption on the text for which the illumination was made. The medieval painter, however, chose a contemporary setting; thus the two representations of “foreign gods” look more like statues of saints commonly seen in the days the manuscript was produced. The painter and his two critics are dressed in fifteenthcentury garb. Nothing in the picture suggests a bygone age. The Greek gods, in ‘contemporary’ disguise, impress upon the reader of Faits et dits memorables that 30

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interesting example, dating back to 1401 and from Boccaccio’s De claris mulieribus, is the representation of a seated woman, Thamar, who is applying paint to a panel. On a small table behind her are her colours, all kept separately in shells that were ideal for holding small quantities of prepared pigments. Next to these are her brushes, neatly arranged in a drawer. She is shown with an assistant who prepares the colours she needs for her painting. On a slab he is grinding a blue pigment used on the mantle of the Virgin. Another woman painter, engaged as a polychromer, is the subject of a miniature painting from an earlier French manuscript;35 she, like the monk, completes a Virgin and Child group. The viewer learns several things from these illuminations: firstly, the group of people involved in polychroming (a monk, a woman, a colourman, a master and his apprentice, the painter’s assistant, and patrons or critics). Some of these were never mentioned in contracts – for instance the woman, the monk and the critic (the latter not yet known by any such professional description, although he existed),36 whereas the woman, if of the household of a painter, probably played a much greater part in his trade than she may have been credited with.37 Secondly, the work shown in progress refers in each instance to the application of polychromy. The miniatures do not reveal any of the preparatory stages involved; we do however learn that pigments had to be ground and prepared. Thirdly, the pictures do not reveal the materials of the carvings – whether stone, alabaster, ivory, oak or limewood. Fourthly, the representations depicted in the miniature paintings may give the impression that colour was applied only to small-scale work of limited subject matter. The fifth point concerns the clothes of people and statues. To these we must return at a later stage, for they deserve full discussion. The diverse materials that were used by the medieval sculptor made different demands on the painter. For instance, alabaster and ivory needed very little beyond what had already been done in the sculptor’s workshop statues of saints are no different from those of foreign gods as they serve a similar purpose. Also overtly critical of erecting polychrome statues in places of worship is another fifteenth-century French manuscript illustrating Giovanni Boccaccio’s La Teseide (Saga of Theseus) (National Library, Vienna, MS 2617). There, people are shown on their knees worshipping such idols. 35 Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale. Ms. fr. 12420, fol. 92v. 36 Conrad Rudolph, The “Things of Greater Importance”. Bernard of Clairvaux’s Apologia and the medieval attitude toward art, 1990, see especially pp. 10–12 (“On Paintings and Sculptures and Silver and Gold in Monasteries”). 37 Younger widows tended to marry someone connected to the trade of their former husbands, sometimes giving young assistants the basis for a good career. Tilman Riemenschneider settled down by marrying a widow who owned a workshop.

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regarding the preparation of the carved surface. The pigments or the gold leaf were usually applied directly on to the polished surface, allowing the material’s own colouring to become part of the colour scheme; in fact, such works were frequently only partially polychromed. Next, the method of painting stone sculptures depended on where the work was to be sited, whether indoors or outdoors, where it was fully exposed to the climate. Alabaster, in spite of its stone-like quality, is never used for exterior decoration as it would soon disintegrate through the absorption of moisture. As for stone, if the carving was intended for an outdoor position it had first to be given an oil-based coating over which the colouring or gilding was applied. Even so, some of the polychromed stone images are on record as having been repainted again and again. Hans Huth mentions Nuremberg’s Schöner Brunnen, which was completed in 1396 but repainted every half-century or so.38 Around the same time, in Dijon, another fountain was lavishly polychromed. The once vibrant colours of Claus Sluter’s Well of Moses have long since faded or been rubbed off, and thus its polychromy is but a shadow of what it once was: an acclaimed work of art by the painter Melchior Broederlam, who presented Sluter’s major work in the best possible light.39 *** Wood carvings were, until towards the end of the fifteenth century, made with a polychrome finish or gilding in mind. There were several good reasons for this: wood often has a less homogeneous appearance than stone; there are unsightly faults, such as knots of branches, or clefts if badly seasoned. Then, the larger the carving, the more likely it was that the sculptor had to piece together smaller units, like the arms or the head to the body, which can disrupt the visual flow across the whole piece. Wood requires seasoning; if used too early it can seriously flaw the work by splitting or splintering;40 the only remedy then will be the “dressing” of the figure’s cracks with linen pieces or strips glued over the weakened area. While curing any such blemishes, the carving had sometimes to be amended. In fact, it was not an uncommon practice for the “preparer” to go over the carving after the gesso had been applied in order to improve the more detailed work, such as facial features. The several layers of 38

In 1447, 1490, 1540, 1587 and so on, and again in the mid-1990s. Since the eighteenth century The Well of Moses has been inside a pavilion that was erected to protect it from further deterioration. 40 For that reason figures in the round were often hollowed out at the back, which facilitated the seasoning process and stabilized the movement of the wood. 39

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ground chalk helped to even out irregularities in carving and provided the smooth surface needed either to paint or apply the gilding. In a rare instance a patron stated in the contract that the sculptor should not waste his effort on the details as this was left to the polychromer. However the sculptor, and provider of the “raw material” for the painter, was not always content to show his work in disguise, although from the painter’s point of view it was the latter who transformed something wooden and dead and made it into an image – indeed, brought it to life with his colours. The process was very laborious. Each layer of chalk had to be rubbed down with a Schachtelhalm41 or a piece of dried fish skin; he could begin to paint only on a well-prepared surface, but even that process had several stages. Once the pigments were applied, he finally added glazes if and where wanted to give the colour depth or luminosity. Of course, there were variations in the methods employed, depending on the historical period, local tradition and current experiments and innovative practices – for example, wax appliqué was used sometimes to imitate brocaded dress materials.

The painter’s qualifications The painter’s training was long and arduous and began while he was still a boy. He was apprenticed into the trade under a master who, following the regulations of the guild to which he belonged, also employed other assistants. The master had, as a rule, to be a citizen of the town where he had his workshop; in some places the guilds allowed only locally raised masters to set up a workshop. But a guild or a council in many towns knew when to overlook such strictures – that is, when it was in a town’s interests to secure the services of a gifted craftsman. Hans Multscher, a native of Reichenhofen, was encouraged to settle in Ulm, was freed of any tax burden, and soon built up a large workshop with a good reputation – attracting commissions from as far as the Tyrol. The apprentice, at the end of his years in training, had to move on and become a journeyman. The Wanderjahre, the years of being on the move, were seen as beneficial to his trade. It was an extended period of training while working in other workshops as an assistant and getting acquainted with different practices. If able, he completed his training by submitting to his guild the required masterpiece(s), which was judged with regard to quality and his competence. For instance, at Strasbourg the guild 41 Shave-grass (Equisetum hiemale); in England it was known as scouring rush or pewterwort – it was used for polishing pewter utensils in particular.

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regulations laid down that the aspiring master painter cum polychromer should submit three pieces of work: (1) a painting in oil of a Marian image; (2) a crucifix in tempera; (3) a Virgin or “any other image which wears a dress and is carved, which he shall paint, apply a bolus [pronieren], do the gilding thereon over which to paint the glazes and add any other embellishment. It has to be about one ell high.”42 After these formative years the young painter was expected to get married and establish a household of his own if he wanted to set up a workshop, train apprentices and employ assistants, one perhaps experienced as a Vergolder (gilder), another competent at carving.

Contracts Although sculptors usually ran their own workshops, the labour involved in large wooden altarpieces required close collaboration between all parties concerned: the painter, the sculptor and the joiner who had to produce the structural framework. But it was often the painter who provided the designs for the altarpiece at the time of drawing up the contract.43 These were not measured drawings but sketched or fleshed-out ideas with the occasional note of which colour to use for this or that item. The choice of colour and, more importantly, which colours were permitted, was frequently specified in a contract, and also by the guilds with their strict rules concerning all aspects of their trade. For instance, the regulations of 1480 of the painters’ guild of Tournai laid down the quality of each material and named every shade deemed suitable for painting. Hans Huth remarked that in general the colour scale mentioned in the Tournai document agrees with the one in use in Germany, although the colour names often point to a different source of supply.44 42

See Huth, under “Anmerkungen”, no.18: “Die Strassburger Zunftordnung von 1516 verlangte als Meisterstücke der Maler: 1. ein Marienbild in Ölfarben. 2. ein Kruzifix von Leimfarbe. 3. ein Marienbild oder sunst ein jungs byld mit gewant das gesnyten ist, soll er fassen, pronieren, vergulden mit lasieren und an der zierung, Elen hoch ungevärlich.” (The Strasbourg guild regulations of 1516 required from the painter the [submission of the] following masterpieces: 1. A Marian image painted in oil. 2. A crucifix painted in distemper. 3. A carving of Mary or of any young robed saint; it is to be painted, also decorated in gild and glazed. [The work] should be about 1 ell [yard] high.) Translated HH. 43 Jörg Syrlin the Elder, a joiner and wood carver, provided the design for the main Ulm altarpiece, now lost, but the drawing is still extant and an exhibit at the WLM, Stuttgart. 44 Hans Huth, 1923, p. 97, n.109: “Eine genaue Feststellung, welche Farben in Tournai verwandt werden durften, gibt eine sehr strenge Vorschrift aus dem Jahre

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This may suggest overregulating, if not interfering, with the normal practice of a craft, but two reasons for specifying the use of colour may be identified. Firstly, the guilds were the regulatory body, there to safe-guard the interests of a trade – such as the purchasing and selling – as much as the interests of their members. As a corporation they set the standard and made sure the competition was fair in every respect. No inferior materials, no tampering with expensive substances, no shoddy workmanship was acceptable. Of course, gold could, and sometimes was, simulated and lapis lazuli, the dearest pigment of all, substituted for by a less expensive shade by a master who had no scruples, but any malpractice brought the trade into disrepute and in the long run harmed its members. The second reason why contracts detailed the quality of gold or pigments shows perhaps a patron’s own concern that the art object should 1480. Im allgemeinen stimmt die Farbenskala mit der in Deutschland gebrauchten überein, nur wären die Herkunftsbezeichnungen meist zu ändern, ‘Zunftord. v. Tournai 1480: Item, que d’ores en avant il ne soit personne aucune qui puist ouvrer de painture, en nulle manière que ce soit ou puist estre, ne des couleurs, ostieux et estophes appartenans ausdits paintres cy-apres déclarés c’st assavoir pour lesdits hostieulx, brusses, trinques revelz, grateuses, et tous autres ostieux appartenans audit mestier; ne aussi estophes comme fin or, or partit, or clinquant, argent foellé de bateur piau de tainte de toutes couleurs, ne de toutes autres estophes dont on use à présent audit mestier, ne aussi des couleurs, comme blanc de plonc, chéruse, blanc et noir commun, et azur de liège, vermeillon mynne, roze sinopre, lac graynne florée, inde, lecquemous, foel, vert de gris, vert de montaigne, vert de vesie, vert de glay, machuot orprennient okere brun d’austrice, rouge commun, bolarmenicq, ne de toutes autres coulleurs lesquelles se destemprent à olle ou vernis à colle, ou gomme, ou choses semblables’” (Pinchart, “Rapport”, in Bull. de l’Acad, R. Bruxelles, 1881, Ser. 3. II, S. 341.) “An exact stipulation which colours were allowed to be used in Tournai, provides an insight into the strict regulation of the year 1480. In general the colour scale concurs with that used in Germany, only the names of the (colour) extractions had often to be changed.” Guild regulations of Tournai 1480: “Item. That henceforth no person whosoever may work in paint in whatever manner, or colours, tools or fabrics belonging to the painters cited hereafter namely for the aforesaid tools, brushes small and large, scrapers, and any other tools belonging to the said trade; nor also materials such as pure gold leaf, alloyed gold, clinking gold, silver foil beaten out, or dying clothlets of all colours, nor of any other stuffs that are used at present in the said profession, nor colours, like white lead, ceruse, common white and black, and Liège blue, vermilion, minium, rose, sinoper, lac, grain, madder, brazil, blue (azur), blue ashes, woad, indigo, litmus, folium, verdigris, malachite, sap green, terre verte, massicot, orpiment, ochre, Austrian brown, common red, Armenian bole, nor of any other colours that can be tempered with oils, or glue, or gum, or similar things … “ Translated HH.

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be made truly precious. The ideas of beauty and preciousness go together as it was believed that the numinous quality of a holy subject could be expressed through the quality of materials. But from a practical point of view, the painter needed to know how much his patron was prepared to pay for costly materials. The selection of shades depended also on the subject matter of a holy image, and there the painter was guided by a colour code. The usage and meaning of each colour was, like the jewel in the rock, embedded in biblical texts and commentaries and became, through the attention given to it, part of the Christian iconography and a tradition on which the artist modelled his work. The significance of, say, blue for the mantle of the Queen of Heaven, white for the elect, or white and gold – or purple, for Christ in Majesty – was well understood. But art is as much a product of innovation as of tradition; the tension between the two keeps it alive, as is well demonstrated by the evolution of Christian iconography. Medieval art was inspired by a living faith. In spite of its historic as well as eschalogical content, medieval imagery was dressed in contemporary clothing and incorporated items, and people, of its own times, relating to a world people then lived in and giving it the flavour of contemporaneity often lost on the modern viewer. As the first Gospel events were retold to new generations by appropriating their language, their mode of living, their favourite stories of saints old and new, the narrative element grew, realism of detail sustaining the makebelieve aspect. Between the universal and the particular, the one Catholic Church and the individual’s belief, a field of vision opened up, at once apocalyptic but also close to the natural world. The book of nature was ever more thoroughly studied and its object lessons were applied in everyday life. It widened in scope to art, whereas the natural sciences offered new hope through advances in medicine and optics.

Dress There are three issues to which I now want to turn. First is the dress on which so much of the colour iconography and some of the painterly techniques depended. Next, moral issues are raised by the various fashions and by the consumption of luxury goods that is a feature of medieval society. Rumblings and tensions signalled social unrest and the forthcoming rupture within the Church. During the preliminaries to the Reformation, iconoclastic onslaughts denuded churches of their colour; plain dress, plain walls and a more pietistic life-style characterized the changes.

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Thirdly, the natural colour of the body has several aspects that are intrinsic to any discussion related to medieval polychromy. The robing of religious images is one of the oldest cultural rituals. The figure has a not dissimilar function from that of the doll in window dressing. It was a prop, the dress or mantle being of greater significance. In the Middle Ages the mantle placed on a representation of, usually, the Virgin Mary retained symbolic significance. The dressing of wax effigies was different from that; it was a fulfilment of the desire to give the image greater life-likeness.45 The polychrome image, however, conformed to different ideas: permanency, and fitting into an extensive decorative scheme, were important. Secular and contemporary images – such as royal monuments, or effigies of knights and their ladies, or of prince bishops – were shown clad in the dress of their own time. When representing saints and other worldly beings, the imagination was involved, as was an accepted code of practice regarding what these beings might wear. Angels were sometimes shown as acolytes and therefore dressed in the robes used at mass; for their wings the artist needed to look no further than to nature.46 Saints of the apostolic age were traditionally robed in plain, fulllength chemises or dresses over which they perhaps wore a loosely fitted mantle. From an artistic point of view simplicity and grace call for mastery derived from an understanding of how a figure’s pose, and the falling of folds and choice of colour, can transform the ordinary into something extraordinary – beauty is but the harmonizing of all aspects. Dress may or may not include some decorative features. Decoration, while providing an additional focus, may be a source of distraction from the essence of image since it hides as well as heightens. Much of the colour of painted statues comes from various patterns, especially those given to dress. During the early Gothic period the plain robe or mantle usually had only its seam painted in a different colour or in gold to set it off from the dress. This was a clever device to encourage the eye to follow the hemline as it described the flow of the garment and the volume of the figure. In compositions with several similar-looking disciples or saints, different colours for garments helped to break the monotony – although if they were profusely gilded the effect produced was that of uniformity as the gold tone gave the image visual cohesion.

45 The dressed and coloured wax effigy has a long tradition. In Roman funerary and ancestry cults it played an important role. In modern times waxworks are a form of entertainment. 46 Albrecht Dürer studied the wings of birds, and Veit Stoss – his fellow citizen of Nuremberg – represented angels with wings not much different from his.

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With new saints being added to the church calendar, more holy images and more legends spread over the walls of churches and side chapels dedicated to the already familiar saints – such as SS Francis of Assisi, Veronica, George or another patron saint adopted by a community. These images introduced a rich array of dress; the saints often wear what artists imagined they must have worn while alive and given to their saintly work. A half-told story or legend sometimes allowed selection of an aspect that appealed most. For example, St Mary Magdalene was typecast, and commonly shown in two contrasting guises. Firstly, she appeared with her long hair loose47 48 and covering or partly covering her nude figure.49 Sometimes she was portrayed in a stylish dress carrying an alabastrum, an ancient pottery container filled with the nard she sacrificed for Christ, or in a red dress – the colour also denotes her great love for Christ.50 Similarly, the images of the Virgin Mary typify her in several ways with the help of colour iconography. White, gold and blue of different shades, but also purple and red, are associated with the Virgin. Her dress may be anything from a modest robe to a sumptuous gown. At the moment of the Annunciation Mary referred to herself as the Lord’s servant,51 and in depictions of her in this role her dress is often plain, expressing her youthfulness and her humility and servitude. When the Church began to celebrate her as the Queen of Heaven, she was visually elevated to an exulted position, wearing a crown and heavenly mantle. Between these contrasting modes, her dress or mantle denotes other virtues characteristic of her, mercy being one of them. From the late thirteenth century onwards images of the Virgin of Mercy began to appear in Italy. During the following two centuries they gained popularity; in Germany they were also known as Pestbilder or Schutzmantelmadonnen as they were meant to protect people from the plague. The Virgin is shown opening wide her cloak, under which she gathered up the faithful who sought refuge from 47

e.g. a stone carving from the church of Notre-Dame (1311–13) in Ecouis, Normandy (Ile-de-France). Here Mary Magdalene’s flowing hair is like a robe, covering her from head to foot. Almost two centuries later Riemenschneider carved in wood a hair-covered Mary Magdalene for the Magdalenen-Altar of Münnerstadt (1490–92). The Mary Magdalene figure of the central panel is now in Munich, Bavarian National Museum. 48 There is a strong analogy with St John the Baptist, who was described as being dressed in camel’s hair (Matthew 3:4). 49 e.g. Gregor Erhart’s Mary Magdalene, Musée du Louvre, cat. no. 56. 50 That is, if Mary Magdalene was the woman who wetted Jesus’ feet with her tears and wiped them with her abundant hair. See Susan Haskins (1993), especially chapters 1, 5 and 7. 51 NIV, Luke 1:38.

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the perils of this world. In another type of representation favoured mostly in southern Germany or Austria, she is shown wearing a dress covered with ears of wheat, which was to remind the beholder that she gave birth to the true bread of life.52 Blue and white are the colours most associated with the Virgin in late-medieval representations, but in earlier images she frequently wears red, perhaps symbolizing her own suffering as the mother of Christ.53 54 Early medieval images of Mary, the mother of God, show her in purple, a colour normally associated with the imperial court. The significance of purple is even more dramatically demonstrated in the Easter narrative. The pieces of clothing, mentioned in the New Testament, which Christ wore before, during and after his Crucifixion should be seen as key features of the images depicting him. Leaving aside the luminously white robe of the Transfiguration, there are the long, seamless robe of an unspecified colour;55 the purple one used when, hours before the Crucifixion, he was mockingly acclaimed as the king of the Jews;56 the loincloth, although never referred to57 but of which much was made by artists during all periods, and the burial cloth which was of linen and therefore white.58 Only at the beginning of the Italian Renaissance did artists attempt to represent Christ crucified in the nude. Brunelleschi, Donatello, later Michelangelo, and many other sculptors more interested in the body than in folds, hanged a naked figure from the cross, the 52

e.g. Maria im Ährenkleid, c. 1430–40, a polychromed wood sculpture attributed to Hans von Judenburg. Originally at Itter (Tyrol), it is now in the Baden Landesmuseum, Karlsruhe. The dress and hair band are light blue; the gold has now worn away from the ears of corn, but it is still visible on her belt and hair. Another Tyrolean master (Brixen?) painted a Maria im Ährenkleid (c. 1450), Tiroler Landesmuseum Ferdinandeum, Innsbruck (Inv. no. Gem 3437). See also the woodcut of the same subject, Kunstsammlungen zu Weimar (Inv. no. DK 112/87), reproduced in Jeffrey F. Hamburger (1998), p. 349. The biblical reference to the Ährenkleid is in the Song of Songs 7:2 (NIV): “Your waist is a mound of wheat encircled by lilies.” 53 Luke 2:35, “And a sword will pierce your own soul too.” 54 Piero della Francesca’s Madonna della Misericorda (1445–62) wears a plain bright red dress under a dark blue mantle, lined with light (blue) fabric (Pinacoteca, Sansepolcro). 55 John 19:23. 56 John 19:2. 57 But see the Gospel of Nicodemus, which says: “And when they came to the place [Calvary], they stripped him and girded him with a linen cloth and put a crown of thorns on his head.” E. Hennecke (1991), 2, p. 512. 58 John 20:7.

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antithetical image to the fully dressed Christ in Majesty59 of the early medieval period.60 There are different forms and degrees of realism. Nakedness was a sign of shame, whereas showing a tortured body – with deep wounds and signs of decay, real hair and a crown of thorns – went furthest in appealing for mercy and compassion as the appalled onlooker beheld the suffering. This was the visual message of the Counter-Reformation. During the Baroque period, particularly in Austria and southern Germany, another aspect of the image of the crucified Christ had come to light. Gleaming white bodies61 and gold-edged white garments transformed the dreaded image of death and pointed to Christ’s Resurrection on Easter Day and to his Ascension to heaven. White figures of saints filled the space of the brightened interiors of Baroque churches. These are the representations to encourage the believer to reflect on Christ’s promise that his blood will make the garments of the sinner whiter than snow.62 The medieval religious image functioned basically at two levels. It is not only a representation of a historic figure, the biblical Jesus who was part of the triune God, but also an object, precious and as well wrought as any of the gifts offered by the magi and shown in the numerous Epiphany panels. Indeed, with the introduction of the magi into medieval iconography63 a more ostentatious display of dress emerged on altarpieces. The foreign travellers from the east who, during the course of time, were likened to kings or princes of known realms, stood for worldly power and wealth. By the mid-fifteenth century, with the inclusion of a black magus, the exotic and the unfamiliar were captured and gave free reign to artistic fantasy. When creating the fineries of the magi or kings, the imagination drew on the riches which had reached the west via the trade routes from Byzantium or were imported from Venice. Silks, brocades, velvets and richly embroidered fabrics inspired the painter as he emulated not only the 59

e.g. the Volto Santo, crucified Christ, at Sansepolcro Cathedral, Italy (1199). See Kunstchronik, Vol. 50, 1997, pp. 61-64. 60 For the sake of public decency, artists were urged to add a loincloth to their figures. They sometimes did this by drenching a cloth in still runny plaster-of-Paris before wrapping it round the carved body. 61 White poliment used in imitation of ivory, white marble or polished stucco. 62 In visual art the garment may be used as an attribute; it then becomes fundamental to the typecasting of the various characters. Through their dress their role is identifiable. Even fashionable clothes contribute in this way, as owing to them we can recognize social status. 63 The remains of the magi were first transferred from Persia to Milan in the fifth century, then to Cologne in 1163. See Walter Drum, “Magi” in The Catholic Encyclopedia, 1913.

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fashions worn by the rich but also the wardrobes of town folk – the garments worn at weddings, funerals and other significant occasions. There was also the ceremonial dress of priests and the habits of men and women belonging to a religious order on which he could draw when filling in a crowd scene. All this made for variety and colour, colour as dispersed in the world and also gathered up again within an image. Like gems – the source and spillage of colour when shown in the light – the polychromed image reflects the beauty contained within noble substances, some of which were ground to make pigments64 or set as gems in images of gold.

Gems How important gems were in conveying heavenly beauty may be gleaned from a literary version of a vision of the Virgin in heaven.65 A nameless author from the Lower Rhine described and allegorized in a composition of over four thousand verses every minute detail of the vision. The early thirteenth-century bard enters fully into the meaning of the precious stones and their different colours, with which the dress of the Virgin is embroidered. The description of the robe, the garment of the soul, reminds the reader of biblical passages wherein the precious stones are similarly likened to virtues or heavenly qualities.66 The verses provide the literary source for such a vision, and we also find numerous crafted images which translated the idea into golden, stone-studded images.67 The poem provides an insight into the typological thinking and the allegorizing with which the medieval artist was probably familiar. Here, we are introduced to two key ideas: how the Virgin came to be wearing Lucifer’s dress and her exalted position among the host of angels; and, secondly, the meaning of the stones themselves in the given context. The gist of the narration is that Lucifer, the most beautiful but also the fallen angel, lost his glory and place in heaven owing to his pride and haughtiness. After the Virgin’s death the former glory of Lucifer was bestowed upon her. Heavenly beauty was thus restored. The stones were likened to and had become visible signs of her virtues and those of all the saints. The encoded meaning of each stone and its colour had passed into the language; and through songs, poetry and preaching this knowledge became firmly anchored in a literary tradition still accessible to the modern interpreter. Thus we learn of the 64

e.g. lapis lazuli and malachite. Ulrich Engelen (1973 and 1978). 66 e.g. Revelation 21:10–20; see also Meier (1977). 67 e.g. the golden Virgin of Cologne (c. 980). This is made of gold over a wooden core, gilded enamel and precious stones, and is 74 cm high. Münsterschatz, Essen. 65

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blood-red sardis that stands for martyrdom – for instance the seven pains that Mary had to suffer; whereas the red ruby expresses her love and mercy. The topaz, with its mix of blue and gold, combines the idea of heavenly things and of purity; and the gold of the chrysolith tells of the glow of her wisdom. Sapphire expresses serenity and peace; the green jasper reminds us of her faith; and the light blue hyacinth points to the Virgin’s spiritual endowment,68 whereas the pearls embroidered on her dress were likened to the sacraments.

Techniques Even a well-endowed patron must have considered such a gem-studded image to be very costly. However, the painter and polychromer knew how to get round the problem if necessary by emulating not only the rich texture of dress but also the brilliance of gems69 through their choice of technique and materials. With the introduction of oil painting around 1400 and the use of glazes, it became possible to render colour depth. By layering coloured glazes light would be caught and break, evoking greater luminosity. While this resolved the problem of brilliance, there was still the question of how to emulate the texturized relief characteristic of embroidery and of fabrics such as brocade. The craftsman could resort either to carving a very subtle relief or to producing a slightly raised pattern in gesso, but this was as cumbersome a method as the repousée pattern on metal that may be seen on many works of the Romanesque period. An alternative approach was of course the painting in of a flat pattern, but the wax appliqué method satisfied all the requirements of representing brocade: a raised repeat pattern or motif which could be moulded separately and applied with reasonable ease, even over carved folds, and then finished in polychromy. The wax appliqué method and its historical development was first studied and described in 1963 by Mojmir S. Frinta,70 who concluded that the technique was native to the Germanic lands and that it was brought into Spain by Middle Rhenish (and possibly Flemish) sculptors after the middle of the fifteenth century. He commented on the absence of known

68

Hildegard of Bingen produced a book on stones and their healing properties. See Bernt Notke’s St George Fighting the Dragon (1489), Stockholm. The “gems” on the princess’s crown are carved and polychromed. 70 Mojmir S. Frinta, “The Use of Wax for Appliqué Relief Brocade on Wooden Statuary”, in Studies in Conservation, 8, 1963, p. 136 ff. 69

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examples in French, Italian71 and central European (Bohemian and Austrian) sculpture. It is now known that this technique was much more widely applied.72 Frinta’s account of how the pattern was made is worth quoting here: The relief material imitating the brocade was prepared beforehand and applied as a finished product. The molten mass of wax or wax-resin was spread into thin sheets (c 1 mm) and stamped with a die to form a repeat pattern, then cut into rectangular pieces. Separate patterns were engraved into dies for the stamping of roundels and similar separate pieces. ... The technique of these relief sheets bears a similarity to the making of the socalled paste prints (Teigdrücke) which were apparently popular in Germany during the fifteenth century.73 These are also in light relief, gilded and painted, but a starchy paint was used. ... Usually, the relief of the pattern consisted of minute striations (9–11 furrows to 1 cm) interrupted by wider channels, with raised borders, which defined the elements of the pattern.

A recipe describing the preparation of a wax brocade pattern has been found in the Tegernsee manuscript collection.74 While brocade has a slightly raised but even surface, embroidery and other types of needlework give the garment more of a sculptural feel. Vestments worn by the celebrant during high mass were from the early fourteenth century sometimes quite ornate, especially if made for a bishop. They were elaborately embroidered with gems, mostly pearls. The embroiderer would create religious images with tiny pearls; this art form was known as 71

Ibid., n. 7, where Frinta points out that the brocade sheets stamped in gesso appear to be limited to Germanic lands – with the noteworthy exception of the work of Pisanello, who made use of it in the church of Santa Anastasia in Verona, dated to the 1430s, tentatively suggesting a Transalpine artistic formation. See also below, n. 73. 72 See also Josephine A. Darrah (1998), who studied the white and golden tinfoil in applied relief decoration, 1240–1530. She mentions, beside the German-speaking countries, Bohemia, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, France, England and Wales. Of the English examples, the Arundel effigies, especially the dress of Joan Neville (Fitzalan Chapel, Sussex) of c. 1462, compare well with the quality of technique seen elsewhere. See A. Broderick and J. Darrah, “The Fifteenth-century Polychrome Limestone Effigies of William Fitzalan, 9th Earl of Arundel, and his Wife Joan Neville, in the Fitzalan Chapel, Arundel”, Church Monuments I, issue 2, 1986, pp. 65–94. 73 Brigitte Hecht in Maltechnik 1980 suggested that the typical pressed brocades were produced between 1440 and 1530 and probably originated in Flanders from where they spread south. She described the technique as “very complicated”. 74 See Vandamme (1982), p. 184, on the fourteenth-century Tegernsee MS, indexed as the Codex Germanicus 821 (Liber illuministrarius), Staatsbibliothek, Munich.

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Perlenstickerei. A different version of needlecraft was embroidery in relief or Reliefstickerei. Here, the figurative elements were modelled with coloured satins and silks and spun threads of gold or silver. These raised images were as artfully crafted as any polychromed wooden relief. There, however, the polychromer had to develop his own techniques in order to capture something of the richness and splendour with which these garments were decorated. Michael Pacher made extensive use of texturized designs in his St Wolfgang Altarpiece75 and in other works of his. The rich vestments worn by bishops to which Michael Pacher referred in his work displayed not only his detailed knowledge of even the most costly type of embroidery, but also his skill in reproducing the brocade hangings and golden vessels with which the richer churches were filled. He was a sculptor as well as a painter and therefore solely responsible for the aesthetic outcome of this important workshop. He relied like any other master on competent assistants. His brother, the painter Friedrich Pacher, worked for him, and there were the usual permitted, or limited, number of assistants in his employment. Besides Michael Pacher there were other gifted sculptors who were also painters, such as Hans Multscher, Veit Stoss and Bernt Notke, who could invent a complex carved and painted altarpiece and oversee the entire process, leaving open the question of which parts or what portion of their “assigned” works were in the master’s own hand. It is therefore in the detail – such as the eyes, the handling of folds and the manner in which the hair is carved – that there are clues to who did the shaping. However, decorative patterns as found on dresses or hangings are associated with the workshops where the motif was first adopted and then may have been borrowed and adapted by a journeyman on moving to his next job. Hence a technique such as wax brocade appliqué patterning, as found on Pacher’s altarpieces, takes us from Pacher back to the older master Hans Multscher and his workshop in Ulm where the Sterzing Altarpiece was produced; it has a wax brocade pattern. In 1458, when completed, the altarpiece was taken to the parish church of Sterzing in Styria. It could not have been placed more strategically as it was most probably seen by artists active in the Salzburg area.

75

Contract signed in 1471.

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General fashion Representations of holy persons, and the garments they wear, are tied to specific colour codes with a limited range of shades – such as white, gold, blue, red, purple, green and their combinations, or indeed any colour pairing. The richness thus conveyed is due partly to who and what is represented, but also through the value of the more precious colours such as gold, lapis lazuli and malachite. Images that include narrative elements, referring often to “things of this world”, tend to dwell on what is contemporary and fashionable. It is those scenes (the Flagellation of Christ and the Adoration of the Wise Men being typical) that were taken up by sculptors; the subject matter permitted them to record some of the more stylish features of the prevailing fashion. The soldiers and bystanders or the magi and their attendants were the visual counterparts of the respective main character(s), the condemned Jesus and the Holy Family. A high-relief panel from the workshop of Niklaus Weckmann, one of the last great masters of the Ulm school, shows a crowd thronging round and pressing in on the Christ figure carrying his cross. There are the soldiers (Landsknechte) – a horseman, the captain perhaps, Simon the cross-bearer, a couple of dignitaries – in all representatives of society. as may be gathered from the different costumes they wear. Their clothes cast them as contemporaries of the sculptor, who lived in a fashion-conscious time. Each item of clothing reflects – apart from the ingenuity and skill of tailors, armourers and hatters – the vanity and self-importance of an age. This is even more poignantly illustrated in another section of the same altarpiece showing three polychrome figures, a nucleus of soldiery, revealing a world as diverse and individualistic as their outfits.76

Moral implications The carver shaped the mouldings of the cuirass; the manner with which a scarf was wrapped round a hat; the generous folds of a skirt; the puffedout and banded sleeves; and the beards and moustaches, furs and belts. It was up to the polychromer to show that the harness of the horse was red, the skirt not yellow77 or blue but green with gold trimmings, and hose and

76

From Zwiefalten, workshop of Niklaus Weckmann, about 1520. Now in the WLM, Stuttgart. 77 Peter Tångeberg, 1986, p. 86, points out that yellow pigments for polychromy were used only rarely during the Middle Ages.

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shoes were sometimes bi-coloured.78 Parti-colouring, a “medieval system of decoration wherein one half or one quarter of a garment was in one colour and design and the other(s) of a different one”,79 had spread across Europe between 1465 and 1540 – and so did the fashion of ludicrously pointed shoes, which might be in any bright colour, and the shortened tunic and the breeches, neither designed with modesty in mind. These colourful clothes reflected a life-style which preachers and moral teachers found reprehensible. The authorities of many a town felt compelled to curb the taste or wastefulness of their citizens for, as soon as fashion puts on a show of wealth, or when luxury was thus displayed and evokes envy or greed, social order becomes disrupted, harmony is endangered, and folly and strife are not far behind. Hence, regulations regarding dress (Kleiderordnungen) were intermittently issued by German towns, the earliest dating back to the mid-fourteenth century.80 For example, in 1466 the town of Nördlingen prohibited the wearing of beaklike pointed shoes, and in 1467 short gowns.81 In 1493 the Strasbourg guild and police regulations tried to address the problem of erotic dress.82 At Ravensburg the dress code issued on 17 March 1371 was meant to discourage its burgers from making a public show of their wealth;83 and at Ulm, the luxury law concerning veils was just one of a number of dress regulations designed to bring people to their senses.84 While initially this was a matter of civil law since commerce and the economy were affected by it, the problem posed was also a moral one. Any form of excess, vanity or immodesty was a sin that to the preacher and reformer was responsible for the existing adulterous behaviour and for widespread idolatry. The vision of St John, as recorded in the book of Revelation, had become

78

e.g. a pair of hose may be of two different shades (polychromed Figure with Longbow by the Meister des Hl. Sebastian, c. 1490, Town Hall, Munich). 79 Doreen Yarwood (1975), p. 284. 80 Liselotte Eisenbart (1962) made a useful distinction when discussing Tracht (national costume or uniform) and clothes willed by fashion: fashion is a conscious creative act indulged in by the wearer, whereas the wearing of a uniform is like putting on an ornament which also fulfils a purpose and therefore meets with social approval. 81 Ibid., p. 166, Quellenverzeichnis (“Schnabelschuhverbot” and “Vom kurtzen Gewand”). 82 Ibid., no. 12, “Verordnung gegen unzüchtige Kleidung” of 1493. 83 Ibid., no. 13, “Was die burger und burgerinnen von silber und von gewand söllint tragen”, Kleiderordnungen aus dem Ulmer Stadtrecht vom Ende des 14. Jh., S. 225 ff. This seems to be a case where a regulation from another town was adopted. 84 Ibid., p. 167, no. 17: “Schleierbestimmungen einer Luxusordnung von 1406”.

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pressingly real and served as a dire warning.85 86 No less revelatory may be artistic visions as they may open the eyes to things beyond one’s own immediate experience. Similarly, the putting on of a garment is sometimes the closest to identifying with somebody or with a certain office or station in life – “entering into the skin of another person” requires the ability to empathize fully.

Conclusion There were two main reasons for polychroming and gilding sculpture during the medieval period. On the one hand there were practical considerations. Carved images could be improved by adding layers of gesso, paint, glazes or gold leaf; also, polychrome sculptures often became part of a larger decorative scheme which included historiated paintings and stained-glass windows, colourful vestments and precious liturgical vessels. Sculptures on civic buildings and public fountains became prominent visual foci largely due to the brilliant colours in which they were painted.87 On the other hand, colour was used as a further means of expression, either to extend the allegorical significance of the subject matter or to add to the realism of an image. For that purpose the painter resorted to copying the material wealth created by other crafts, particularly fabrics and embroideries, bejewelled garments or whatever the requirements of the liturgy were or the fashion of society imposed on an artistic style. The craft and art of polychrome sculpture was by the end of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth century an industry which 85

Revelation 17:3–4: the woman on the beast (Babylonian whore). John narrates: “Then the angel carried me away in the Spirit into a desert. There I saw a woman sitting on a scarlet beast that was covered with blasphemous names and had seven heads and ten horns. The woman was dressed in purple and scarlet, and was glittering with gold, precious stones and pearls. She held a golden cup in her hand, filled with abominable things and the filth of her adulteries.” Revelation 18:11–13 continues with the fall of Babylon: “The merchants of the earth will weep and mourn over her because no-one buys their cargoes any more – cargoes of gold, silver, precious stones and pearls; fine linen, purple, silk and scarlet cloth; every sort of citron wood, and articles of every kind made of ivory, costly wood, bronze, iron and marble; cargoes of cinnamon and spice, of incense, myrrh and frankincense, of wine and olive oil, of fine flour and wheat; cattle and sheep; horses and carriages; and bodies and souls of men.” 86 Martin Luther, in his tract “Von der babylonischen Gefangenschaft der Kirche” (1520), likens Rome to Babylon and the moral decay within the Church to the Babylonian whore. 87 For instance, in Ulm the town hall and fountain in the market square.

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employed specialists and relied on patterns and repetitions, trade regulations and quality control. At Brussels, Malines (Mechelen) and Antwerp trade marks were adopted by both the sculptors and the polychromers as a seal of approval;88 elsewhere, for instance in southern Germany, the occasional signature and date appeared on a number of works.89 Other features point to well-organized and rationalized workshop practices. For instance, the patterns of fabrics such as brocade and damask were reproduced in both painting and sculpture.90 Clearly there are aspects of polychromy that are unique to it and cannot be emulated by sculptural methods: brilliance, variation in colour, the natural quality and appearance of physical substances including flesh, and the semblance of animated objects. The study of the stylistic shift of colour pattern and the geographical spread of special techniques91 are just two instances which will hopefully clarify the once existing artistic network, and help to integrate pieces of work about whose provenance very little is known. The present study of the formation of eyes and facial expression is intended to present a similar overview of a problem not yet sufficiently studied.

88 e.g. for Antwerp the sign of a hand taken from the communal armory was adopted to certify the required standard of carving and burned prominently into the unpainted wood, whereas the quality of the polychromy was attested by the sign of a castle. Two hands above the castle were also used. It is possible that this combination was used to attest to the quality of the gold leaf used for the gilding. At Brussels polychromers “signed” by imprinting a rectangle with the word BRVESEL. A sign of a hammer was used by the wood carvers, while a plane between an opened pair of compasses certified the quality of the carpenters. At Mechelen the communal blazon of three posts (pals) was adopted by sculptors and the letters MECHLEN were used by the painters. A crown over the letters H and L approved the quality of the gilding. (Ghislaine Derveaux-Van Ussel, Retables en bois. Guide du visiteur. Musees Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire, Bruxelles 1977, pp. 7, 8). 89 e.g. Daniel Mauch’s Bieselheim Altarpiece is signed and dated. 90 See Graviert, Gemalt, Gepresst. Spätgotische Retabelverzierungen in Schwaben, Hans Westhoff, editor, WLM, Stuttgart 1996. These patterns are now being studied and collated by teams of scholars, and the WLM in Stuttgart has produced its first major catalogue. 91 e.g. wax brocade; colour glazing.

CHAPTER THREE PARTIAL POLYCHROMY: EYES, MOUTHS AND ATTRIBUTES The idols of the nations are silver and gold, the work of men’s hands, They have mouths, but they speak not, they have eyes, but see not, they have ears, but they hear not, nor is there any breath in their mouths.1

The contract drawn up between the patrons of St Mary Magdalene, the parish church of Münnerstadt, and the sculptor Tilman Riemenschneider of Würzburg laid down that the master should carve and paint panels for an altarpiece.2 The subject matter and the manner of payment were also specified. On 9 July 1490 Riemenschneider was paid 30 florins in advance. In 1492 the carving was completed, and he had a transparent coating applied to the work, which was only partially painted. This came to light during an extensive restoration programme in the 1980s, when the layers of later paint were removed. The first polychromy dates back to 1504 when the sculptor/painter Veit Stoss was contracted to polychrome the altarpiece, twelve years after Tilman Riemenschneider had finished the carving. Another contract – this time signed by the prior, Dr Andreas Stoss, of the Carmelite convent in Nuremberg, and his father, the sculptor Veit Stoss – refers to the carving of an altarpiece in the form of a triptych, but not to any painting. This seems odd, for normally the contract specified the painter’s job or at least stated the materials to be used.3 This omission, 1

Psalm 135:15–17. “die Taffel am hochen Altar der Pfarrkirch zu Munnerstadt zu schneiden und zu Mahlen, beedes zusammen gebunden” in: Hans Huth, Künstler und Werkstatt der Spätgotik (1967), “Vertrags-Urkunden”, p. 108. 3 For example, Michael Pacher’s carved and painted altarpiece for St Wolfgang, Upper Austria. The contract of 1471 signed by the representatives of the patronal cloister at Mondsee and the Tyrolean artist is extant and in the Upper Austrian public archive, Linz: Stiftsarchiv Mondsee, Vol. 96, no. 1, reproduced in Manfred Koller and Norbert Wirral: Der Pacher-Altar in St Wolfgang. Untersuchung, Konservierung und Restaurierung 1969–76 (1981). 2

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however, was intentional and becomes explicit when we come to the clause added to the contract in 1523, which states that no future prior should permit the altarpiece to be painted, and says that any intelligent master of this branch of art will be able to tell him the reason for this.4 Veit Stoss began the work in 1520 and finished it within three years. This masterpiece, now in Bamberg,5 is still “wood-visible”, as it was when completed.6 A closer look however reveals that the sculptor did not entirely forgo paint. As on other “monochrome” altarpieces, the parts accentuated with pigments are the eyes and mouth, and perhaps further detail such as the attribute, any incised letters and hems of garments. The pigments were usually applied straight on to the wood7 before the whole surface was finished with, often, a coloured glaze.8 9 In the case of the Bamberg altarpiece the glaze is yellow-gold to reddish-brown in tone.10 As a concept “partial polychromy” raises its own questions, and we need to be aware of at least some of the difficulties. When monochrome medieval sculpture is mentioned in the literature, partial polychromy is usually also considered; similarly when the topic is polychromy, partial polychromy still claims a share of the attention. This highlights a general problem in perception; how is any “in-between” process perceived? The restorer, who comes closest to the work and sees best what has been done to the surface after carving was completed, wishes to keep attention on anything which goes beyond what is achievable through sculptural means. Any colour added, to however small an area, cancels the technical 4

See contracts reprinted in Hans Huth, 1967, p. 108 (Veit Stoss) and p. 118ff (Tilman Riemenschneider), in High German. See also in Zum Frühwerk Tilman Riemenschneiders – Eine Dokumentation. Hartmut Krohm, ed., Berlin 1982, p. 74, “kein Prior lasse ihn leichthin mit Farben bemalen; den Grund dafür werden ihm alle in diesem Kunstzweig verständigen Meister sagen.” (italics: Krohm). (No prior must allow the altar to be polychromed; any experienced master of this branch can explain why not. Translated HH) 5 Bamberger Dom, Veit-Stoss-Altar. 6 According to Susanne Wagini (1995), p. 35, the term Holzsichtigkeit – woodvisibility – was coined by Westhoff in connection with Niklaus Weckmann’s sculptures (Zwiefalten and Alpirsbach). 7 This also applies to stone carvings. 8 On a Riemenschneider wood-visible sculpture (Münnerstadt retable, 1490–92) the applied glaze of egg albumen had ochre and black pigments mixed in, which gave the wood surface an even, warm tone. See Straub’s article “Firnis”, RDK, Vol. 8, col. 1409. 9 Oak carvings were waxed rather than glazed. 10 The Vischer workshop in Nuremberg produced many fine secular sculptures in brass.

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description “monochrome”, although when the work is viewed as it was intended it appears monochrome due to the impression of the uniform and unifying colour value of the material, whether it be wood or stone. How much colour needs to be added to a monotone surface in order to perceive a work as polychrome? That depends on factors such as quantity and quality. An intense colour value applied to a small area can break (down) the monochrome appearance and attract attention, but whether it amounts to anything more than would justify the new attribute “polychrome” is another matter, for there is obviously a quantitative element involved that determines how we wish to respond to the optical display of colour. While the issue seems to be quality against quantity, the mind rather than the eye of the beholder may yet determine how the colour pattern should be perceived and related to.11 The subjective element, however, need not be determined solely by an individual’s perception of the object but can be the outcome of a more general social viewpoint. Knowledge and opinion, and also prejudice and taste, often account for how a work of art is seen. When we bear this in mind, we will appreciate that colour in sculpture is rarely as straightforward as we like to think.12 How are we to interpret partial polychromy when it could be seen as a compromise or as a residual problem, or even as a new departure?

11

A classic example is the half-empty, half-full bottle. When is it half-empty, when half-full, and what difference does it make? Technically speaking, only a container which is in the process of being emptied should be referred to as “half-empty”. But this is not necessarily a guide to how we describe something that is half this or that; a preferential viewing or bias may override the linguistic rationale. We look at the content, see how much there is, and then decide whether we like it or not. The issue may be settled subjectively rather than objectively. 12 During the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries polychromy was no longer considered absolutely essential to carved altarpieces, although it was still perhaps desirable. Similarly, towards the end of the nineteenth century the monochrome Neoclassical image was found by some to be in want of at least some colour, a view that however was not widely shared; on the contrary, it fuelled the lengthy debate about colour in sculpture.

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Fig. 3–1 Marian or Christmas altarpiece (1520–23); wood-visible carving by Veit Stoss; Bamberg Dom.

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Firstly, there are many examples that support the case that partial polychromy was sometimes a preferred option. Secondly, a close examination of each sculptural work shows whether the visible colouring is original and therefore, one may presume, was intended by the artist to be there. During the course of the last half-century many so-called polychrome sculptures were cleaned and found to have been painted at a much later stage than assumed; initially they were given only a minimal application of colour, if any. As for the reason why there was such a retreat from colour, opinions vary. There are various aspects to be considered and each one seems to suggest some causal relationship. All this is well documented in the appropriate literature, which however still needs to be collated and discussed.13 The first basic question for such a discussion is what motivated patrons or artists to part with what was normal practice. And, secondly, when and where did this trend set in? Our initial examples have taken us straight to the core of the problem: dates, contracts, visual evidence. The stylistic aspect has yet to be brought into focus. The third question which follows from this enquiry is why were such details as attributes, the mouth and in particular the eyes singled out and painted in, when eye colour and gaze could just as well have been resolved in a sculptural way?14 As discussed in the previous chapter, the carved wooden altarpiece was traditionally polychromed. Such a finish was not only very labour intensive but also quite expensive, owing to the cost of pigments and goldleaf. Polychromy at least doubled the price of the carved altarpiece, a factor of which patrons were well aware when it came to raising funds.15 The concept of normal practice is, of course, relative and it behoves us to be at least aware of the diversity of art forms and media involved since they all set their own conditions. Apart from carved altarpieces there are of course other types of cult image;16 some are in wood, others in stone or alabaster. There are sculpted architectural ornaments, and they are, on the 13 See Jörg Rosenfeld, Die nichtpolychromierte Retabelskulptur als bildreformisches Phänomen im ausgehenden Mittelalter und in der beginnenden Neuzeit, Amersbek bei Hamburg 1990, which is the first in-depth study relating to this phenomenon. 14 Schleusener-Eichholz, Munich 1985, Vol. 2, p. 898: she quotes several medieval authors who associated the eye and the mouth. The most telling of these is Harsdörffer, who referred to “the eyes as the mouth of the soul” (see also n. 284). 15 See Michael Baxandall (1980), pp. 62, 63, fig. 36: altarpiece commission. Where known, Baxandall gives the price for the carving and the total cost of the work. In the examples cited for which the part and the full price are known, the payment to the sculptor is invariably less than half the total cost. 16 For instance, the Pietà groups and/or the Christ and St John groups.

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whole and in their entirety, painted. Churches also house civic and private monuments. Tombs and memorials may be quite colourful, depending on the material from which they were made (and, of course, on the period to which they belong). Softwood is always in need of some form of protective layer, whether in the form of metal encasement17 or painting. Oak, a material ready available in northern Europe and hence preferred there, though not in Scandinavia, was polychromed only if it suited the setting and taste. Alabaster needed no protective layer but was nevertheless either polychromed in keeping with the tradition of colouring religious images, or was painted or gilded selectively to complement the inherent colour value of the material. A third option was to combine materials in order to structure a complex piece of work and to emphasize various parts.18 In south Germany during the second half of the fifteenth century bronze casting became a viable alternative. Commemorative images or smaller works cast in bronze satisfied the more personal taste of patrons.19 It is in the main the wooden altarpiece that, besides functioning as a religious image, demonstrates the wealth, devoutness, ambition and skill with which it was invested.20 The partially polychromed altarpiece has been divested of some of it as the social concerns21 of a reforming Church shifted from wealth and pretence to humility and devotion.22 By default 17

Hence einfassen or Fassung, the technical German word for polychromy. The tomb of Philip the Bold, duke of Burgundy, was begun by Jean de Marville, continued by Claus Sluter and completed by his nephew Claus Werve. It is of black Dinant marble and white alabaster. The effigy and the angels are polychromed and have some gilding, while the weepers are only partially polychromed (red, black or gold for attributes). 19 They were, as far as I know, not gilded – in the manner of Pier Jacopo Alari Bonacolsi, called Antico (d. 1528); a larger reliquary bronze bust of c. 1460 by Multscher appears however to have been partially gilded. This would pre-date Antico. 20 Note the root of “in-vest-ment” and “vest-ments”; taking off the rich robe and putting on a plain garment seems a good analogy for financial transactions. By taking off (or not putting on) the cloak, humility is shown. 21 See below p. 75, n. 50: Lieselotte Eisenbart, 1962, p. 72. 22 Eisenbart’s only (indirect) reference to colour is Buntwerk (a generic term for furs), which introduces an interesting etymological concept. Bunt once connoted black and white and grey (of the Nordic squirrel); today, bunt refers to a medley of bright colours (p. 132: Buntwerk, “Ursprüngliche Bezeichnung für alle nicht einfarbigen Pelze, später eingeschränkt auf den feinen schwarzen, weissen und grauen Pelz des nordischen Eichhörnchens (Feh). Man unterschied den einfarbigen grauen Pelz – grawerc, von dem mehrfarbigen – buntwerc” (Grimm, Lexer). (“Buntwerk” [was the] original designation for all furs which were not uni18

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the profile of the sculptor – on whose skill the reading of the altarpiece now solely depended – was raised. Independently of the painter, his own artistic status was being affirmed. Hans Leinberger, the sculptor of the Castulus altarpiece in Moosburg (1510–14) is just one of a number of sculptors whose dexterity and inventiveness competed with the painter’s skills.23 For example, in his reliefs there is a plethora of texture-related patterns,24 as many different ones as there might be shades of colour that separate the items represented from one another.25 The stamp marks appear to encode the diverse colour values. But it has been claimed that despite the texturized surface of the panels they must once have been painted. As they are mounted on the choir walls, they are not readily seen as integral parts of the altarpiece. Claudia Behle’s monograph on Hans Leinberger takes up the question of whether or not the Castulus altarpiece was painted. She refutes the claim that the panels had been intended to remain monochrome, an idea perpetuated since Georg Lill’s report on their restoration in 1940.26 She cites the fact that the painter Hans Wertinger was engaged to paint the flat predella panels and that the main parts of the altarpiece, the over-life-size figures, also still show colour. She thought it unjustified to present the panels as prime examples of monochrome works when everything else in the altarpiece points to polychromy. Also, she could not imagine that there could be two styles of finish in one work, polychromy and monochromy. Whether this is really unimaginable remains debatable, for did not the early fifteenth-century Flemish painters do exactly that: paint grisaille coloured; later [the term] was restricted to fine black, white and grey furs of the Nordic squirrel. One distinguished the single-coloured grey fur – grawere – from the multi-coloured – buntwerc. Grimm, Lexer.) Translated HH. 23 Master IP’s relief of The Fall (about 1525) is another example. 24 Leinberger used 23 different types of punch. 25 Colour encoding on shields was not introduced before the early part of the seventeenth century, when a Flemish system of 1623 first made use of hatching and dots for gold and blue. By the 1630s a more complete system was in place and widely applied. Dots for gold, vertical hatching for gules, horizontal for azure and so on, became standard usage after it was incorporated in a treatise on heraldry in 1639. See John Gage, Colour and Culture, London 1993, p. 91, where the monochromatic representation of tinctures is fully discussed. 26 Georg Lill, “Die Moosburger Reliefs von Hans Leinberger nach ihrer Konservierung”, Pantheon 26, 1940, pp. 190–193. However, see Claudia Behle, Munich 1984, pp. 58–60, summarizing the findings by Lill, Taubert, Schädler, Benker and Decker, who successively examined the panels. She points out that the sculptor’s handling of the panels’ surfaces was inconsistent, which makes it hard to decide whether they required a paint finish or not.

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statues for the outer panels of their very colourful altarpieces? Still, when Lill cleaned the relief panels he observed the lack of paint, except for the black on eyes and the red on lips, and hence referred to the work as ungefasst (monochrome). Had he called it Teilfassung (partial polychromy), Behle surely would not have taken such a stern view, but would have concentrated more on what the texture does to the expression of the panels and what it would have done to them had the detail been lost under the traditional application of chalk-paint-glaze-layers.27

Fig. 3–2 Grisaille painting of a carved Trinity panel (1410) by Robert Campin / Master of Flémalle.

Fig. 3–3 Grisaille painting of St John the Baptist’s head, detail from an outer panel of the Ghent Altarpiece (1432), by the Van Eyck brothers.

But let us consider the question “What will be achieved by colouring in the eyes of statues painted in grisaille?” The Master of Flémalle28 (c. 27

This is demonstrated in the St George altarpiece made for St Nicolaikirche in Calkar (begun 1490) by Master Arnt; it still has its polychromy, which is said to be original. The carving is as detailed as Leinberger’s, minutiae are recorded in oak using carving tools – even the pupils of the eyes were cut. The paint was laid over a thin foundation. 28 Linked to Robert Campin.

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1378–1444) introduced the emulated stone figure into northern altarpieces as a way of extending the iconography of the religious image. By alluding to a sculptural representation the subject matter, in this instance the stone carving of a Holy Trinity,29 is meant to be perceived as of the material from which monuments are made. The stony quality likens it immediately to image-making. There is however also a theological concept involved: Christ, made in the image of God. The representation of God posed a problem – at least in the Judaic tradition (hearing God speak never did) – but the New Testament reveals how and through whom God may be seen. We read in Hebrews 1:3: “The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word.” If Christ is created in the image of God, then God must have features or qualities visible in Christ – that is, we see a true likeness, an Imago Dei. We shall see how Nicolaus Cusanus approached this idea when he wrote his De Visione Dei. However, the beholder of the grisaille image enters into it via a representation of a sculpture based on established iconographical subject matter. The Trinitarian doctrine is part of the received teaching: Father, Son and Holy Spirit – who descended like a dove at the baptism of Christ. The closer and longer the image is viewed, the more flesh-like and real it seems to become. At a perceptual level the viewer becomes aware of a form of transubstantiation. In the first instance, what we see is a piece of sculpture set on a plinth and in a niche. To the beholder the dead body of Christ is not only drained of its colour, but closely relates to the idea that “He poured out his blood”; the visual and textual references speak of an outpouring of life. However, the colour of dead matter becomes the colour of dead flesh as we notice the darker shade of the sole of Christ’s foot; the dust of walking the earth still clings to it, thus conveying the reality of a past and present state. Then, as we compare the eyes of the two figures, we note the dark centre of the broken eyes and those of God the Father, whose colourless yet inscribed pupils and irises give him a strangely detached appearance. There is no colour to draw our gaze away from the broken body he is upholding. Yet his beard, appearing soft and real, cancels any suggestion that the figure is made of stone. The painter, confident in his skill, effectively created a situation which leads us from the material to the conceptual aspect of a doctrine or belief that God is visible. The Master of Flémalle wisely avoided the one aspect which would have alluded to a live figure: the colouring in of the eyes of God the Father. Instead, he showed them fully carved, intending to let light and shade do the rest. 29

Painted between 1430 and 1438.

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After Lill’s prelude to the discussion on monochrome altarpieces, other German scholars began to pay more attention to the problem. In the 1960s first Ernst Willemsen,30 then Johannes Taubert31 alluded in their respective articles to the phenomenon of uncoloured wood carvings. In 1969 Marlene Benkö published her dissertation on monochrome carved altarpieces of the late Gothic period in south Germany.32 And, two decades later, Jörg Rosenfeld’s study on the subject33 of uncoloured sculpted altarpieces and the image-reforming phenomenon appeared. He subsequently published articles on a number of aspects of the subject.

Fig. 3–4 Head of Kunigunde (d. 1033), detail from the imperial tomb of Heinrich II and his wife, dedicated 1513, Bamberg Cathedral.

30

Ernst Willemsen, “Beobachtungen zur Oberflächenstruktur niederrheinischer Skulpturen”, in Jahrbuch der Rheinischen Denkmalpflege 24, 1962, pp. 189–197. 31 Johannes Taubert, “Zur Oberflächengestalt der sog. ungefassten spätgotischen Holzplastik”, in Städel-Jahrbuch, NF, Vol. 1, Frankfurt 1967. 32 See Marlene Benkö, dissertation, 1969. 33 See Jörg Rosenfeld, dissertation, 1990.

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Fig. 3–5 Statue of Mary Magdalene, detail, from Brussels (c. 1566).

A host of shorter comments or replies highlight the subject’s topicality. What emerged is the fact that Tilman Riemenschneider was not the first who, for whatever reason, left his Münnerstadt altarpiece (although temporarily) wood visible, for at Ulm Minster the main altarpiece was initially installed as a monochrome work. The drawing (still extant) and the carving (destroyed during the iconoclastic events of 1531) were by Jörg Syrlin the Elder, who signed a contract in 1474 and received then his first instalment for buying the material, his final one arriving in 1481. The sculptor Michel Erhart34 was also involved in the carving of this important work before setting up his own workshop. In 1505 the altarpiece was at last polychromed, having been seen for quite some time in its wood-visible state.35 However the art historian Eike Oellermann opens up another trail, 34 Syrlin, Erhart and the painter Zeitblom produced the Blaubeurer altarpiece, which still has its original polychromy. 35 To what extent this fact had a bearing on people’s perception and taste it is hard to tell. The situation was that polychrome and monochrome works could be seen in the same town, if not in the same church.

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which takes us further north-west along the Rhine. An unnamed master carved the high altar of St Martin at Lorch am Rhine (1483), which was left unpainted for more than two centuries. In 1719 the work was finally polychromed to satisfy a different taste. These colours have now been removed. By so doing black, with which the eyes were initially painted, was uncovered.36 Oellermann concludes his report with yet a further pointer regarding date and regional practice for unpainted altarpieces, for he draws attention to the Book of Hours of Mary of Burgundy (1477), which shows a representation of a monochrome retable.37 The choir stalls and dorsal half-figures in Ulm Minster are also by Syrlin the Elder, but they pre-date the altarpiece. Begun in 1469 and completed in 1474, the signed choir fittings survived the iconoclasm of 1531 and also later wars.38 The dark oak furnishings and panelling provide a uniform tone-in-tone backdrop to what takes place in front of them. Yet, while looking around, the eye is caught by spots of colour and highlights which, at first, seem insignificant. The dorsal half-figures come to life; their eyes and lips, attributes and the letters of the opened scrolls are coloured in. The orbs of the eyes are picked out in white, which contrasts with the darker shade of the wood and the black pupils. In the representations of the prophets Obadiah and Joel the colouring is still well preserved. Looking down or across to the carvings on the choir stalls – which are entirely monochrome – something much more subtle attracts our attention: the roundness and polish of each carved eyeball appears to be 36 Eike Oellermann, “Der Hochaltar in St Martin zu Lorch am Rhein”, in Flügelaltäre des späten Mittelalters, edited by Helmut Krohm and Eike Oellermann, Berlin 1992. 37 “eine Ausmalung der Augen an den Skulpturen [wurde] aufgedeckt. Mit schwarzer, wohl wässerig gebundener Farbe sind die scharf umrandete Pupille sowie die Iris, wie es scheint, direkt auf das Holz gemalt. Eine Tönung der Lippen, wie sie in der Literatur erwähnt wird, findet sich jedoch nicht, was nur so erklärt werden kann, dass man nach dem Befund der Ausmalung der Augen auch diese als selbstverständlich vorausgesetzt hatte. Eine weitere farbige Akzentuierung von Details, etwa von Gewandsäumen, Schmucksteinen oder der architektonischen Elemente, fehlt.” (it was discovered that the eyes of the sculptures were painted in. The pupils as well as the irises were sharply edged with black, which seems to be water-based and to be painted directly on to the wood. However, colouring-in of the lips, as mentioned in the literature, is not visible. The explanation for this must be that after having detected colouring on the eyes, it was assumed that the lips were also thus finished. Any other colour accent on details such as seams or jewellery, or on architectural elements, is also missing. Translated HH) 38 Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, cod. 1857, fol. 14 v: Mary in the church.

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highlighted as the light is reflected on just a small area, where we expect the pupil to be.

Fig. 3–6 Obadiah, dorsal figure by Jörg Syrlin the Elder, choir stalls; Ulm Minster, Germany.

Two other masters of the Ulm school left works which were only partially polychromed. In each case it is the eyes and the lips that were coloured in. Niklaus Weckmann (1481–1526)39 and Daniel Mauch (1477– 1540), both of a younger generation, continued a trend which may well have begun neither in Nuremberg, nor even in Ulm, but perhaps in Constance or in Strasbourg from where another sculptor, Nicolaus Gerhaert, set out shortly before 1465. Between 1465 and 1467 he stayed in 39

We find the same situation in Constance, where the altarpiece by Nicolaus Gerhaert was destroyed during the period of iconoclasm. The carvings of (the monochrome) choir stalls and the cathedral doors survived the vicious attack.

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Constance, where he carved an altarpiece (now lost),40 his best work ever, he claimed, for which he wanted more money than was laid down in the contract. The patrons paid him a fraction more and withdrew the vital contract for carving the choir stalls for the cathedral.41 Nicolaus Gerhaert left Constance; whether he passed through Ulm when on his way to Vienna is not known. With lost altarpieces vital clues also disappear. The half-figures in the choir in Ulm42 and again the style of figures in Mauch’s work seem however to establish a link between Nicolaus Gerhaert (Nicolaus van Leyden) and Ulm’s sculptors.43 The monochrome portrait bust of Nicolaus,44 where he shows himself with his eyes almost shut, takes us from the outward to the inward eye. Did he feel uncomfortable in Constance where only half a century earlier Jan Hus, a reforming spirit critical of any outward show and pretence, was burned at the stake for his beliefs? Jörg Rosenfeld thinks the Hussite movement45 had considerable influence on picture reform, and in particular on sculpture and colour finish. While sculptures, the forbidden idols, may well have been in the front line of such a reform, and certainly suffered most heavily at the beginning of the Reformation,46 art historian Hartmut Boockmann disagrees with Rosenfeld’s thesis that monochrome altarpieces were a direct response to Hus’s attempt to bring about picture reform, claiming that there is no clear evidence for such a link. He doubts whether Hussite manuscripts (Jena or Göttingen), to which Rosenfeld had referred as his evidence, could at that stage have made any impact on the production and polychroming of religious images.47 Yet, what was there to be reformed? A Church and a society which had developed a taste for luxury. Greed, excesses and indulgences all corrupted morals; the eye was led astray; immodesty surfaced and like froth shamed honesty and decency. As for society, many cities (local governments) had 40

Niklaus Weckmann, burgher in Ulm from 1481; last mentioned in 1527. Paatz, 1963, mentions Nicolaus Gerhaert’s Constance retable (1465/6), now lost. 42 A local craftsman, Simon Haider, was given the contract. 43 Syrlin borrowed the motif of the bust from Nicolaus Gerhaert. See Franz Härle, Das Chorgestühl im Ulmer Münster, Ulm, 1994. 44 Ulm and Constance belonged to the same bishopric, but Constance, not Ulm with its cathedral-style minster, was the seat of the bishop. 45 c. 1467. 46 Rosenfeld, Amersbek bei Hamburg 1990, p. 82ff (section 5.1 “Der sogenannte Göttinger Hussiten-Kodex”). 47 See Hartmut Boockmann, 1994. “Bemerkungen zu den nicht polychromierten Holzbildwerken des ausgehenden Mittelalters” Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte no. 57 (3). 41

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introduced or revived intermittently regulations stating what might be worn and by whom. Fashion had played havoc with decorum, and the greed to own expensive silks, imported brocade and other luxury items such as pearls jeopardized the local economy.48 49 Reformers grieved most over the wealth which flowed into the coffers of the Church, not for the poor, but for ever more extravagant schemes to enlarge and embellish churches, chapels and papal residences. Jan Hus relentlessly preached the gospel of the poor and warned their rich oppressors.50 It was as if the spirit of Tertullian had come to life again, claiming the flesh of idol-makers or that of every vain woman.51 There were other possible influences which drained the colour out of sculpture. The Bieselbach altarpiece (1510) by Daniel Mauch incorporates elements taken from Italian Renaissance works, probably copied and in circulation as prints. These are the round arches, swathes of fruit and flowers, and the colour contrast between the background and the relief in the foreground. Mauch relegated the strong colours to the frame and backdrop and allowed the carving to be seen wood visible, although the now familiar partial polychromy is also there.52 On closer inspection the 48

There is no clear evidence that the polychromy of altarpieces was at that stage wilfully removed or overpainted, which would suggest chromoclasm, a term coined by Michel Pastoureau. The elimination of colour was voluntary; it appeared for a number of reasons, of which picture reform may have been one. 49 Ulrich von Hutten saw greed after foreign goods as one of the main evils of his time. Luther was indignant about the Germans because: “Alles bringen wir also um, und verspendens und wenden es unnütz an mit überflüssiger Kleidung, Seidenwerk, Fressen und Saufen, das wissen die Fugger und die frankfurtische Messen wohl, wie wir das Unsere vernarren und verschleudern.” (We kill off everything, and waste it on clothes we don’t need, on silks, on excessive eating and drinking. The Fuggers and the Frankfurt fairs know very well how we become crazy over things and squander what we have. Translated HH) (Martin Luther, “Sermon von dem Wucher”, Wittenberg 1522; “Vom Kaufmannshandlung und Wucher”, Wittenberg 1524.) 50 Lieselotte Eisenbart, Kleiderordnungen, Göttingen 1962, p. 73, reasons that the problem is more complex, as the prescriptive aspect of what was allowed to be worn and by whom seems to show. Reformers such as Jan Hus, von Hutten and Luther were particularly concerned with the moral side of displaying wealth and every kind of fashion; some judged them offensive, and advocated simplicity in dress and taste, and frugality in general. 51 Jan Hus, “Confirmate Corda Vestra”, in Iohannes Hus. Magister Universitatis Carolinae. Positiones Recommendationes Sermones, ed. Anezka Schmidtova, 1958. The sermon given in 1409 is based on James 5. 52 Tertullian, a second- to third-century Christian author, wrote tracts on idolatry and on female vanity, in the latter referring to the age-old practices of colouring

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surface reveals its delicate carving of detail and the texture or pattern of fabrics or foliage, although less rigorously followed through than in the Castulus reliefs by Hans Leinberger. The half-length limewood figure of Mary and Child53 by Daniel Mauch confirms that the sculptor had gained a measure of independence from the painter. Painting in eyes or rouging lips was not beyond his capabilities. The work was complete, the delicate features and folds needed no correction or to be otherwise improved by the hand of a painter. Polychromy presents its own finite solution and there are others alongside it. The tombstone of Jean de Corconmeuse, which Daniel Mauch produced in 1530, shows a rich surface pattern cut in low relief into the blackish marble of Theux (“marbre noir de Theux”).54 Despite the elaborate finish to the marble tomb, it remains sombre; the colours of the dead bishop’s regalia are suppressed by the choice of the material and the uniformity of the engraved pattern. Still, it imparts a quiet refinement which honours the elevated status of the deceased laid to rest with his eyes shut forever. To stay in the realm of secular works, Riemenschneider carved the tomb of the Prince Bishop Rudolf von Scherenberg in 1499,55 just a few years after the Münnerstadt altarpiece. It is in the late Gothic style. The representational image is surrounded by an elaborate architectural and decorative framework which is coloured in part. His choice of material hair, painting the face and eyes and dressing like the “Babylonian whore”. See Tertullian’s Private und Katechetische Schriften, translated by K.A. Heinrich Kellner, 1912, especially “Über den Götzendienst”; “Über den weiblichen Putz”. Beatus Rhenanus of Basle prepared the 1521 (first) edition of Tertullian’s works; in 1528 and 1539 two more editions were printed. A number of special editions of his writings, his Apologeticum and notably his De praescriptione, had appeared in Venice in 1483. See Albert Hauck, Realencyklopädie für protestantische Theologie und Kirche, Vol. 19, 1904, p. 538. The timing of these new editions speaks for itself. 53 Susanne Wagini, Der Ulmer Bildschnitzer Daniel Mauch (1477–1540), Munich 1995, p. 35: “Das dritte auffällige Kriterium des Bieselbacher Altars ist sein Verzicht auf eine polychrome Fassung. Seit der Restaurierung 1954/1955 mit der Abnahme der Fassung des 19. Jh. präsentiert sich der Altar wieder in seinem ursprünglichen Zustand. Die Figuren sind holzsichtig.” (The third noticeable criterion of the Bieselbach altar is that it lacks any polychrome finish. Since the restoration of 1954–55 and the removal of its nineteenth-century polychromy, the altarpiece presents itself again in its original condition. The figures are wood visible. Translated HH) 54 Ibid., Mauch, Ulm. Cat. 148, c. 1525. The Baroque gilding was removed in 1953. The original partial colouring was applied to the eyes, eyebrows, cheeks and lips. 55 The work is now in Paris, Musée du Louvre.

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must have been part of his aesthetic concept, for the heavily veined stone with its red cast adds to the work’s chromatic appearance.56 The embroidery and texture of garments were just carved, but the face and the escutcheons were painted and, at some stage, repainted. Although the eyes have been badly overpainted, they nevertheless reveal some of the former colour application.57 When they were retouched, the gaze of the image was shifted from left to right. The eyes also diverge, as if the right eye was affected by glaucoma. There is no doubt that the painted eyes of otherwise monochrome representations are a deliberate feature. Being seen seeing rather than sleeping, communicating and not withdrawn into a silent world, that was the intention – although perhaps not all that was revealed to the fifteenthcentury beholder. But before considering any other possibility, let us pursue further the notion of this or that influence which effected a “cleansing of the palette” that removed the bright colour array and left just touches of white, black or brown, and red.58 In Nuremberg (to where Veit Stoss returned after his lengthy stay in Poland) bronze casts of tombs and commemorative slabs were also produced. From the middle of the fifteenth century a bronze workshop was operating there, run by the Vischer family. Sculptors such as Tilman Riemenschneider and Veit Stoss59 had business contacts with Peter Vischer. Bronze casts tend to have a uniform colour, unless partially gilded. The colouring of bronze depends largely on the mix of the alloy – copper, tin and antimony being the main constituents. The Bamberg altarpiece has a colour not dissimilar to that of a bronze cast. Whether it was intended to make the altarpiece look like a bronze cast is doubtful as the eyes and lips have been coloured in, but what may have been wanted was the same uniformity of colour and mellow appearance. By avoiding bright colour stimulants the work spoke differently to the beholder, and intentionally so. Due to the chromatic restraint, the content of the image was accessed more like a tone-in-tone grisaille painting, or a print which trains the eye to trace the lines and to distinguish between the subtle light and dark modulations of forms, while the patterns and textures suggested, rather than presented, this or that colour. The monochrome image was in 56

Würzburg Cathedral. In 1492 Veit Stoss, too, used a very strongly veined marble, for his effigy of King Casimir IV in Cracow. The plaster cast made thereof shows the calm grandeur that is not immediately apparent in the original, where the colour of the material imparts a restless quality. 58 See Christof Trepesch, Frankfurt 1994, p. 186, n. 687. 59 Reiner Hausherr, 1985, p. 214. 57

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this respect a mnemonic, for it does not feign realism but brings the beholder closer to it by engaging him to look for and reflect on the truth value contained in the story represented.60 As a mode of instruction and entertainment, woodcuts and engravings were ideal and hence popular and widely circulated. Artists copied from each other; no copyright had yet to be observed. When a print gave rise to a carving, the relief probably respected the characteristic monochrome appearance of the print.61 For example, Master IP borrowed from Albrecht Dürer the design for his panel The Fall, which he carved around 1525. He used pearwood which, like boxwood, allows the sculptor to carve intricate detail. In both the print and the carving, colour is missing and instead line, form and an abundance of detail, giving the design its texture, carry the pictorial message. And then, as we look at how Master IP handled the eyes, we observe that there he exchanged cutting tool for a brush with which he added their essential colour. The eyes of Adam, Eve and the animals have dark pupils which determine their gaze. The relief was also covered with a brown glaze. Tilman Riemenschneider, too, adapted prints for his own purpose. He looked among the copper engravings by Martin Schongauer for suitable subjects, which he realized in some of his wood carvings.62 Let us consider what has emerged so far before turning to the issue of eyes. Monochrome, or more precisely partially polychromed, altarpieces were on the increase and, to quote the art historian Michael Baxandall, “from the 1490s on it was possible to choose between polychromy and monochromy, and some people chose the latter”.63 The date when a monochrome altarpiece was first on display takes us however back to the 1480s. From where the idea came is still problematic but some suggestions

60

Stoss produced the wooden model for the commemorative bronze plaque of Philippus Callimachus (d. 1496) destined for the Dominican church at Cracow. The Vischer workshop was responsible for the cast. 61 The increasingly popular Last Supper scenes, for instance, represented an opportunity to take dogma into the church and to the community, who needed to be instructed about the beliefs of a reforming Church. 62 Prints are not synonymous with black and white images; hand-coloured prints were also known. 63 See Schongauer’s copperplate “Resurrection of Christ” (B 20) and Riemenschneider’s relief panel of the Detwanger altarpiece, both depicting the same subject. Reproduced in Iris Kalden, Tilman Riemenschneider – Werkstattleiter in Würzburg. Beiträge zur Organisation einer Bildschnitzer- und Steinbildhauerwerkstatt im ausgehenden Mittelalter, Ammersbek bei Hamburg 1990.

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may be made.64 In the first instance, the link between the early Netherlandish painted altarpieces, with their grisaille paintings emulating monochrome statues, needs to be considered more fully.65 However, Lynn F. Jacobs’s recent publication on early Netherlandish66 carved altarpieces has at last addressed another important issue: the mass marketing of workshop productions of sculptures and their spread from the north to other regions. A dispute over market rights between sculptors and painters in 1453–54 was decisive in permitting sculptors to trade their own products, polychromed or still unpainted.67 But it was agreed between the two guilds involved that a carved work was only considered complete when polychromed. Thus, an important restriction was finally removed and sculptors had greater control over their own works. That enabled them to subcontract painters or to sell while the work was still in the “raw” – that is, unpolychromed. As selling was largely done on the open market, more monochrome carvings must have subsequently been exposed to viewings and it was obviously important that the quality of such wares should also be to a high standard, hence the introduction of trade marks.68 There is no doubt that sculptors could handle it. For instance, on seeing Nicolaus van Leyden’s portrait of himself and the quality of carving, it is 64 Michael Baxandall, The Limewood Sculptors of Renaissance Germany, New Haven 1980, p. 42. 65 William Whitney discussed a new possibility regarding the source of early Flemish grisaille paintings, and their possible link with monochrome sculpture, during the symposium “Retables brabançons des XVe et XVIe siècles”, 18–19 May 2001, Musée du Louvre, Paris. He suggested that a passage in the text Vita Apollinii by Flavius Philostrates may have inspired Flemish painters to represent grisaille figures. The relevant passage is in The life of Apollonios of Tyana (fourth century BC), Book 2 (Greek–German text: Vroni Mumprecht, 1983, p. 181), which refers to a very early custom of painting in monochrome. Whitney pointed out that the inventory of Philip the Good’s library included two copies of the Vita Apollinii, and infers that the northerners were probably acquainted with this passage, a possible inspiration to work in grisaille. 66 Wagini (1995), p. 37, n. 31: “Die Forschung ist der Meinung, dass mit dem Verzicht auf die Fassung und der thematischen Vereinheitlichung der Festtagsseite die Aufgabe der Wandelbarkeit des Retabels verbunden gewesen sei ... . [Der] Bieselbacher Altar scheint auch tatsächlich auf eine Werktagsseite [hinzuweisen] ...” (Experts are of the opinion that by omitting polychromy and owing to the thematic unification of the feast-day display of the retables, the purpose of its changeability was being achieved. The Bieselbacher altarpiece indeed appears to point to an [ordinary] week-day display. Translated HH) 67 Lynn F. Jacobs, Early Netherlandish Carved Altarpieces, 1380–1559. Medieval tastes and mass marketing, Cambridge, 1998. 68 Ibid., p. 164.

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clear that it cannot be faulted for not having been painted, such was his mastery. This was the standard to which a generation of gifted sculptors who had seen his work aspired, whether in Strasbourg, Constance, Nördlingen or Vienna. Then, the idea whether other media (prints, bronze casts, red sandstone,69 alabaster, and darker woods such as oak) had any bearing on this development was tested and accepted as quite likely. The role of taste, too, was touched upon. Taste and stylistic changes tend to pair up; with the Italian Renaissance spreading beyond its national boundaries, the “new look” made the toned-down altarpiece more acceptable. If at first it was because of the high cost of polychromy that the painting of one or two altarpieces was considerably delayed, necessity had, it seems, become a virtue.70 It is more difficult to accommodate the circumstances which the pre-Reformation presented and the voiced demands to retreat from luxury and accept modification in all things, particularly as far as the Church was concerned. Excess inside and poverty outside the church walls was certainly a matter of conflict, if not of conscience.71 When noting that “monochrome” altarpieces have, in fact, been partially polychromed, we looked to see what this amounted to.72 The 69 Quality control remained an important factor and high standards were set by the regulating bodies, the guilds. This became necessary as the competitiveness of an open market led to cost cutting and some malpractice. The St Luke’s guild of Antwerp issued in 1470 “a regulation that contained numerous articles on the quality of wood and polychromy, including specifications that the wood be dry, and of certain specified thicknesses in the various sections of the work”; and “the prevailing traditions governing the polychromy of retables prevented an atelier from significantly reducing the amount of gold and pigments used in a work” (Jacobs, 1998, p. 209). 70 Nicolaus Gerhaert carved a number of portrait busts in red sandstone, including his own. The inherent colour of the material gives these faces their natural flesh tone. 71 “Aus der Not eine Tugend machen.” (To make out of necessity a virtue.) 72 Riemenschneider, who was a councillor at the time, supported the peasants during the German Peasants’ War. When in 1525 Würzburg surrendered to her princely overlords, the sculptor and other notable citizens were rounded up, tortured and disgraced. A number of rebels were beheaded without a trial. (The German Peasants’ War. A history in documents, ed. and trans. and with an introduction by Tom Scott and Bob Scribner, 1991; p. 296). Although we know nothing about Riemenschneider’s personal beliefs, judging by his work he was probably a man of deep inner convictions. Many of his apostle figures are – as perhaps in real life – strong characters but plain in appearance, and they are dressed to suit the style of their lives. What mattered was the visual demonstration of the Gospel; any kind of adornment, whether in the form of colour or gold,

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visible evidence is found in the eyes, lips and some other detail. The technical aspect of painting in eyes will shortly be discussed. There remains the question of whether we need to look for any deeper meaning, particularly as far as the facial features are concerned. They appear to have been illuminated at the expense of colour elsewhere. There are basically two approaches to the painting-in of the eye: in the first a black pupil surrounded by a brown or grey iris painted directly on to the wood or stone is all that was required.73 The laid-in water-soluble paint and the untreated surround of the orb are nevertheless in contrast to one another as the light-coloured limewood – or stone – comes close enough in tone to the white of the eye. On oak carvings it is different, perhaps for just that reason: the dark wood does not allow for sufficient contrast between the painted-in pupil and the naturally dark wood without further differentiation; hence the white of the orb had also to be painted in. While the tonal difference of the eyes in limewood carvings is less prominent, the white pigment seen on darker woods clearly stands out, as the eyes of the Syrlin dorsal figures show.74 Over all the parts, coloured and uncoloured, a transparent glaze was usually painted in order to seal and protect the carving.75 With partial polychromy a chalk base was practically ruled out; the sculptor had to take care of the quality of the surface finish himself. This did not present a problem. Why then did he not forego colour altogether? Colour sparingly used draws attention to where it is otherwise lacking. We may therefore conclude that the beholder is to notice and to respond to it in some way. Although this may explain the colouring-in of eyes, the meaning of it, if any, is found embedded in the socio-religious culture of the day. The art historian Jan Biaܽostocki76 examined one particular iconographical topic which is of interest here: the painted-in window cross on eyes. Although he focused on paintings, an example from sculpture is the angel of the detracted from the biblical truth. Polychromy was an avoidable expense, provided the sculptor did an honest and skilful job. 73 Jörg Rosenfeld, 1990, saw partial polychromy as a halfway measure in the process of making and finishing a carved altarpiece. 74 Ibid., p. 153, n. 439, where Rosenfeld refers to Westhoff-Haussmann’s “Zwiefalten und Alpirsbach – zwei monochrome Altäre”, in ZKK, Jg.1/1, 1987, p. 130. Westhoff-Haussmann thought that eyes painted directly on to the wood need not necessarily be associated with “partial polychromy”, for the sculptor during the process of carving may simply have wanted to locate or fix the gaze of the figure as that would assist him while making corrections. This is born out by a comment Bernini made. (See Wittkower, 1979, p. 188.) 75 See Kalkar altarpieces. 76 See Rosenfeld, in Anzeiger d. Germ. Nat. Mus, Nürnberg 1995, p. 186.

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Annunciation group by Veit Stoss, which he carved and also painted77 for the church of St Lorenz in Nuremberg. By relating the eye to the window and the cross, two concepts merge with a third one, the eye, which too is often used metaphorically. The eye becomes a window to the world, but the orb of the eye also is sometimes likened to the world. Within a religious context, the cross becomes self-explanatory for it symbolizes Christian faith. But while the symbolic significance of eyes is not tied just to one faith or one period, it is within the context of Christianity that we must look for any extraneous meaning.78 The author to whom we turn was indeed deeply concerned with the religious aspect of knowledge. As we shall see, he demonstrated with the help of the gaze of a portrait man’s relationship to God. Nicolaus Cusanus (1401–67) wrote two seminal texts during the 1450s wherein he expounded his ideas about God’s vision and human vision. The Cusanus scholar Pauline Moffitt Watts writes “the De visione Dei (1453) was focused upon the nature of man’s spiritual, internal search for God; the De beryllo (1458) is concerned rather with the more strictly epistemological implications of the image/likeness relationship”.79 A Roger van der Weyden lost self-portrait led Nicolaus Cusanus to discuss in his De visione Dei a traditionally held belief that there was a special relationship between thinking and seeing, which is based upon the judgement that sight is superior to the other senses.80 Human vision is infinitely manifold in nature; the eyes perceive the external world, but they also express actively any mood or personality – that is, man’s individuality. But God he describes as an infinite eye, a living mirror; and what is mirrored is the Light – to which Christ, who is the light reflected in man, is likened, for, “The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.”81 The painting which provides the object lesson in the Dei visione Dei relates however to an 77

Jan Biaܽostocki, “The Eye and the Window. Realism and symbolism of lightreflections in the art of Albrecht Dürer and his predecessors”, in Festschrift für Gert von der Osten ..., 1970. 78 Veit Stoss was paid in 1518 “für den rosenkrancz mit dem englischen gruss gen sant Laurenczen czu schneiden, czu fassen, allerding czu vergulden, des geleichen den eissnen leuchter czu vergulden ... 426 gulden”, see Rainer Kahsnitz, Veit Stoss in Nürnberg. Werke des Meister und seiner Schule in Nürnberg und Umgebung, Munich 1983, p. 352. 79 The eye as a metaphor was rooted in both literature and common parlance (Volksweisheit); e.g. someone being “the apple of one’s eye”. 80 Pauline Moffitt Watts, Nicolaus Cusanus. A fifteenth-century vision of man, Leiden 1982, p. 182. 81 AV, Matthew 6:22.

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image which seemed close to his heart and as an icon has a long tradition: the Veronica or sudarium. At Koblenz Cusanus had a chapel dedicated to St Veronica,82 83 where an en face image of Christ was being kept. In this type of icon the eyes are directed at the viewer, who while looking at them will not escape them. Christ, as the image of God, left his “true icon” to mankind; thus no one need leave God out of sight. Seeing is believing. Christ however taught his followers to believe and have faith, whether they have seen him or not.84 The idea of the beryl is based on a convex/concave lens and used as a metaphor by relating the real beryl, which possesses both concave and convex surfaces, to the intellectual beryl – for it enfolds within itself: the absolute maximum and the absolute minimum. And just as the real beryl refracts the vision of whoever looks through it into a myriad of surfaces and shapes, so does God unfold His essential unity into the endless diversity of otherness in creation. In looking through the beryl, man can re-enact God’s unfolding of His unity into the plurality of creation. Through the power of metaphor, man’s eyes can become like God’s eyes. This striking conceptualisation of the relationship between humanity and divinity lies at the heart of Cusanus’ third premise, that man is the measure of all things, and especially his fourth premise, that man is a second God.85 86

God the creator is thus revealed through man’s creativity. 82

Moffit Watts, Leiden 1982, p. 160. Veronikakapelle. The Veronica image will be more fully discussed in chapter 6 as it has some bearing on the representation of eyes and their colour. See Karl Pearson, Die Fronica. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Christusbildes im Mittelalter. Strasbourg 1887. See also Dobson, 1899, on the Veronica prayer (1216) of Pope Innocent III, which reads: Deus qui nobis, signatis lumine Vultus tui, memoriale tuum ad instantiam beatae Veronicae imaginem tuam sudario impressam relinquere volutisti, per passionem et crucem tuam tribue ut ita nunc in terris per speculum et in aenigmate venerari, honorare ipsum valeamus ut te tunc facie ad faciem venientem super nos iudicem secure videamus. (O God, who has willed for us as a memorial your image on the sudarium, at the request of the blessed Veronica, grant to us, illumined by the splendour of your face, present to us here on earth as if in a mirror, and in a mysterious way, that by your passion and cross, while venerating, honouring and adoring your face, we may one day be able to see you without fear face to face when you come before us as judge. Translated HH) 84 NIV, John 20:29. 85 Moffitt Watts, Leiden 1982, p. 174. 86 Ibid. p. 181 and De beryllo, p. 8: “Applicemus beryllum mentalibus oculis ...” 83

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Nicolaus Cusanus corresponded with the monks of Tegernsee (Bavaria) and he dedicated the De beryllo to the brothers. It is not unlikely that from there his ideas spread more widely and were absorbed and acted upon by later patrons.87 For example, the Pacher scholar Peter Thurmann thought it possible that Cusanus’s Tegernsee teachings were known to Michael Pacher,88 especially the De beryllo and for what it stands. Cusanus’s use of the beryl as a metaphor has its visual counterpart. The object we are looking for is a pair of glasses, or in German Brille;89 these appear in painting and sculpture from the fourteenth century. The repeated references to spectacles in visual representations is no accident.90 While with the spread of realism in art the inclusion of such an everyday item as a pair of glasses seems only natural, they have a religious connotation within the context in which we find them. Besides referring to poor eyesight and improved vision, they also relate, however obliquely, to the inner eye.91

87 Tegernsee was an active centre of art. See Ulrich Schmid’s article “Tegernsee”, in Catholic Encyclopedia, Vol. XIV, 1912. 88 Prior Andreas Stoss comes to mind here. 89 Peter Thurmann, 1987, Symbolsprache und Bildstruktur. Michael Pacher, der Trinitätsgedanke und die Schriften des Nikolaus von Kues, see p. 62: Thurmann sees in the panel of the death of the Virgin (which also depicts spectacles) the influence of Cusanus, but he doubts whether Pacher had any direct contact with Cusanus, the bishop of Brixen. However, the patrons of Pacher’s altarpiece for St Wolfgang of Abersee, the Abbey of Mondsee, had works by Cusanus; they were also subject to the Melk Reform, as was the reformed monastery at Tegernsee whose monks were particularly close to Cusanus. While Pacher was instructed to use gold and expensive colour, at Mauer bei Melk an altarpiece of 1509 (its creator has yet to be identified) has been very sparingly painted. Theobald Wirth examined the work closely (see “Der Schnitzaltar von Mauer bei Melk” in Das Münster 1997/2, Jg. 50); he wrote in conclusion: “Die Lippen der Figuren, die Blutspuren am Kruzifix und die Bügel der Krone Gott Vaters waren mit Eisenoxidrot bemalt und die Pupillen mit einer Mischung aus Zinnoberrot und Schwarz. Vergoldungen oder andere Metallauflagen fehlen völlig. Der Altar gehört demnach zur Gruppe der holzsichtigen Retabel mit Teilpolychromie.” (The lips of the figures, the blood traces on the crucifix, and the ring of the crown of God the Father were painted with red iron oxide, and the pupils with a mix of cinnabar red and black. Gilding and any other metallic surfaces are altogether missing. The altar therefore belongs to the group of wood-visible retables with partial polychromy.) Translated HH. 90 The German word (die) Brille is probably derived from the Latin beryllus. 91 Advances in the science of optics and ophthalmology must be seen as contributory factor in the increased interest in the visual organ. See chapter 6 for a fuller discussion of this aspect.

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From the point of view of the sculptor, he once more took on a problem for which his material, wood or stone, seemed inadequate: the representation of what is normally translucent. The painter had mastered how to paint a plausible likeness of eyes, tears or glasses which reflect the light, but for the sculptor illusion rests with allusion: he provides the outline given by the form, the frame of spectacles, and has to leave the rest open to suggestion. Still, the technical problem has neither deterred the carver nor detracted from the inferred symbolic meaning of spectacles. Tomaso of Modena’s painting of Hugues de St Cher (c. 1352) shows the scholar in his study with his spectacles on his nose while writing. This is possibly the earliest record in a large painting of the use of glasses;92 93 in sculpture some fifty years later Claus Sluter had spectacles separately made for his statue of the prophet Jeremiah (in the Well of Moses at Dijon); these have long gone missing. Yselin of Constance, who carved the choir stalls of the cloister of Weingarten (1473), shows a prophet raising his spectacles above his eyes as he is not attending to the scroll he is holding. Although the half-figure is wood visible, in spite of the lowered gaze it seems that the eyeballs were once marked with dark stain to indicate the focus of the eyes. An unknown master associated with the Stiftskirche of Feuchtwangen carved an apostle for the choir stalls there. This reader is not looking up from his book; his spectacles are in position yet sit sufficiently low to show his upper eyelids shading his eyes. In this instance the carving appears to be untouched by paint. Quite different is a third example taken from the Maria-End-Altar in the Hofkirche (court chapel) of Lucerne (fifteenth century). A younger man looks up from the large characters of his book, turns his head sideways and gazes out of the pictorial space. His eyes are open but his glasses rest on the illuminated page. The image is fully polychromed and the eyes, text and all else appear to be appropriately coloured in.

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Like the physical eye, the inner eye is often in need of a reading stone, the beryl, in order to see more clearly the things which otherwise must remain obscure. 93 About the invention and early development of spectacles, see Emil-Heinz Schmitz, Handbuch zur Geschichte der Optik, Vol. 1. Von der Antike bis Newton, Bonn 1981, p. 69 ff.

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The image is excluded from this version, as image rights are not available

Fig. 3–7 Choir-stall figure with eye glasses (Baumeister?), wood carving (1477/1478) by Hans Henckel/Heinrich Yselin for the Weingarten cloister church.

This is what the beholder sees: people who appear to use their eyes for the purpose of studying the Scripture for their enlightenment, but who depend on an optical device that helps their weakened eyes to see more clearly. A scroll, an open book, or writing implements give these men their iconographical identity – prophet, evangelist or scholar, whose experience in matters of faith is well recorded. They have seen with their own eyes and testified, like Simeon in the temple of Jerusalem, who praised God when he came to behold the child Jesus: “For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles”.94 These two verses bring us back to Cardinal Nicolaus Cusanus, bishop of Brixen in South Tyrol, who got into trouble with the Archduke Sigismond over local church reforms. He died at Todi in 1464, six years after Pius II called him back to the papal curia in Italy. The monument which the sculptor Andrea Bregno made soon after of Cusanus for San Pietro in Vincoli in Rome shows him kneeling, a 94

John Gage, London 1999, pp. 92–94.

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cardinal’s hat hanging from his wrists while his hands are held together in prayer. His dark eyes look ahead; they express his reflective mood, as if his gaze were on the Lord, recalling what he once wrote: “The longer I, Lord and God, look at you and ponder your face, the more it seems that your penetrating gaze becomes increasingly more focused as you direct your eyes at me.”95 96 Bregno (1418–1503), new to Rome, was still working in the late medieval mode, yet he fully empathized with his subject. He refrained from showing Nicolaus Cusanus with eyes closed, or with blank eyes, as was increasingly preferred during the classical revival. The beholder is directed towards God as he sees a man of faith holding on to his vision. We still need to find out why the mouth was sometimes painted. There are some obvious links between the mouth and the eyes – or the mouth and the body. The lips are instrumental when speaking; however, the eyes also speak: they question, plead, agree, praise and so forth. And, while everybody understands that feeding through the mouth is essential to the body, it is feeding through the eyes that may keep alive the spirit. If any such meaning is intended, the most appropriate setting for such a visual metaphor is the representation of the Eucharist or Last Supper. Thus the community of believers was made to see and think about this central issue of the Christian faith. Indeed, the theology of the Bohemian Brethren, with its emphasis on the Last Supper, was in agreement with that of St Augustine; Janov, one of their leaders, wrote that spiritual food is the tasting and the seeing in the spirit which realizes itself in the belief, in love and in hope. He recommended that his fellow Christians partake in the Last Supper frequently – not, as was customary, only on rare occasions. But it is once more Nicolaus Cusanus who formalizes in a prayer the spiritual function of eyes and mouth: Feed me with your vision, O Lord, and teach me how your vision sees every vision that sees, and everything visible, and every act of vision, and every power of vision, and every power of being seen, and every vision arising from both. For your seeing is causing. You who see all things, cause all things.97

95

NIV, Luke 2:30,31. De visione Dei, fol. 101r. Translated from Latin into German by Bohnenstädt, p. 66; into English by HH. 97 Erhard Peschke, Die Theologie der böhmischen Brüder in ihrer Frühzeit, Vol. 1, 1935, p. 32: “Das geistige Essen is ein Schmecken und Schauen im Geist und realisiert sich im Glauben, in der Liebe und in der Hoffnung.” (The mental feasting 96

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The modern Cusanus commentator M. Führer writes: It is important to notice the language that Cusanus uses in this prayer; it is an appeal to be fed with God’s vision. Eating assimilates food into the very being of the eater, so that a kind of identity results. Cusanus prays to be fed on the vision of God – to be allowed to so identify with God’s vision as to become one with it.98

*** Before we leave our topic one interesting case-study by Christa Schulze-Senger99 deserves to be mentioned. She discusses seven altarpieces which were all made for one church within a period of just over sixty years (1480–1543). This takes us to the St Nicolai church in Kalkar on the Lower Rhine, where we find a remarkably well-preserved group of high-class carved altarpieces, some originally polychromed, others not. They are all made of oak, and the carving is highly detailed and intricate. The St George altarpiece, the most elaborately carved of all, and reminiscent of the Castulus altarpiece, has been polychromed notwithstanding its surface texture. The preparatory layer underneath the polychromy is thin however. Master Arnt worked out the complex scheme, on which two other masters continued to work after his death. SchulzeSenger observed that the sculptors carved the pupils and irises as if in anticipation of leaving the altarpiece monochrome.100 Do we sense here the tension between an old and a new style? Between what a patron wanted and a sculptor could deliver? One eminent patron, Augustus, duke of Saxony, stated quite clearly what he wanted, and liked, when he commissioned a cenotaph101 with which to commemorate his brother (d. 1553). He wanted only the eyes and lips to be painted in with natural colours, except what had to be gilded on is a tasting and seeing in spirit and is realized in belief, in love, and in hope. Translated HH) 98 M. Führer, “The Consolation of Contemplation”, in Nich. of Cusa on Christ and the Church, Essays in memory of Chandler McCuskey Brooks for the American Cusanus Society, eds. G. Christianson and Th. M. Izbicki, 1996, p. 234. 99 Christa Schulze-Senger, “Die spätgotische Altarausstattung der St Nikolaikirche in Kalkar–Aspekte einer Entwicklung zur monochromen Fassung der Spätgotik am Niederrhein”, in Flügelaltäre des späten Mittelalters, eds. H. Krohm and E. Oellermann, Berlin 1992. 100 Hans Multscher’s reliquary bust of a female saint (Catherine?), c. 1460, The Frick Collection, New York, has its pupils indented. 101 The cenotaph was sculpted between 1559 and 1563. The materials were alabaster and red, white and black Belgian marble.

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any of the representations; and stipulated that the representations should not in any way be spoilt (sic) [with colours].102

102

Jörg Rosenfeld, “Die nichtpolychromierte Holzskulptur um 1500. Schein und Sein des Materials” in Anzeiger des Germ. Nat. Mus. u. Berichte aus dem Forschungsinstitut f. Realienkunde, Nbg. 1995: “dass man an den bildern nur die augenn vnnd meuler mit ihren naturlichen farben anstreichen und sonst gar nichts mit farben doran schmieren solle ausserhalb was verguldet werden muss, ... das gantze werck [sollte nicht] vorstellt und vervnadelt werden.” (It instructs that only the eyes and mouths of images should be painted with natural colours; otherwise nothing should be painted that is not already gilded … the whole work should not be spoilt (with paint). Translated HH.)

CHAPTER FOUR EMOTIONS AND EXPRESSIONS: WEEPING AND LAUGHING, SLEEPING AND DYING Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, tell that its sculptor well those passions read ... 1

It is often said of human eyes that they are the windows to the soul.2 As with all sayings, we accept this on the basis of general consensus, whether we call it common knowledge or wisdom. But how true is the belief that it is in the eyes that a person’s inner state, his emotions, his thoughts, are reflected? Is it really the eyes that convey how somebody feels or thinks? Is the adage not simply a way of directing us to the source from whence, it is believed, springs any welled-up sentiment and emotion that floats across the face? Has not the face as a whole, its structure and features, to be read and interpreted? The theatrical arts adopted two masks as their symbol, one laughing, one crying, neither with eyes. There the focus is on expression as the masks show two contrary emotional states. They mime grimaces hard to sustain for very long. The living face is mobile and expressive and can change with any transient mood, although it may be part of one’s culture or upbringing to control facial expression to the extent of concealing what stirs within. I want to examine four principal states of a person’s physiognomy: weeping, laughing, sleeping and dying or being dead. None of these emotional or expressive states exists on its own; each depends on voluntary or involuntary changes to which the face is subjected as the 1

Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ozymandias. Vitruvius (Architectura, Vol. 3, praefatio 1) quotes Socrates’ simile but rephrases it, suggesting that the human soul should have windows and be open and accessible to study. Jan Biaܽostocki (1970), p. 173, mentions the topicality of the adage in classical literature. See also Plato’s Dialogues: “And the soul is like the eye: when resting upon that on which truth and being shine, the soul perceives and understands and is radiant with intelligence.” 2

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internal mechanism acts upon any mobile facial feature. My main objective is to look at examples of how medieval sculptors presented the eyes within various contexts, especially those related to the emotions and to culture. Firstly, let us consider the face – that is, the making of faces, which of course may mean a number of things: grimacing when frowning; the application of make-up or paint as in play-acting; or, as in forensic science, reconstructing a lost face, thus giving back its identity. Bony structure, such as the skull, provides the starting point for the fleshing out and remodelling of any facial feature.3 In sculpture, however, different criteria apply. The face of an ideal figure relates to the head as the head does to the body, and likewise the details of the face (eyes, nose or mouth) relate proportionately to the overall physique of a statue. The idea that “man is the measure of all things” has its anchorage in such proportional measurements4 of the human body as are redefined by Albrecht Dürer and Pomponio Gaurico. There are of course deviations from any such norms or prototypes because the perception and upholding of an ideal varies from period to period and from one society to the next. Hence, a late-medieval figure differs stylistically from one created in the twelfth or the seventeenth century.5 We look to the self-image of an age and to ideas and models on which image-makers based this or that representational type; not least we look to such variables as are peculiar to the emotions and to nature. The fascination the human face holds not only is reflected in the visual arts, where portraiture developed into a genre of its own, but has also proved a worthwhile topic among scholars. Aristotle enquired into the philosophical nature of facial constructs and expressions, and what these reveal about the nature and character of man as determined by any of the four humours6 (blood, phlegm, choler, melancholy). Gaurico reiterated many of these earlier notions, and as his own successive editions and translations show, there was a genuine interest in this matter during the Renaissance. Quite another aspect of the idea of the face was that of the theologian. As he reiterated the blessing “The Lord make his face shine

3

J. Prag and R. Neave, Making Faces. Using forensic and archaeological evidence, London (1997). 4 See Vitruvius’s drawing. 5 Carved faces of the twelfth century were still schematized; those of the seventeenth century were anatomically correct but had exaggerated eye features for the sake of expression. 6 A person’s mental and physical qualities.

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upon thee”,7 he proclaimed a true belief, for no data have ever been procured to validate the utterance. Yet it was the face of God that the medieval artist came, as it were, “face to face” with, and upon which a theologian such as Nicolaus Cusanus reflected deeply. Who, we may ponder, has ever seen the face, and hence the eye, of God?8 As we shall see (chapter 7), another believer, the seventeenth-century author Jacob Böhme, shared his faith and vision of God’s eye.9 However, whether the medieval sculptor was taught the art of judging character from features of face or form of body10 (as perhaps Aristotle’s pupil Alexander the Great was) is doubtful, although by the early Renaissance Aristotle’s teachings on physiognomy began to circulate as they were gathered in the Secretum secretorum or the Spuria.11 From these the scholar learned at least two things: firstly, that the mind makes its impact on the body and conditions it and, secondly, that the study of physiognomy must be practical. The pseudo-Aristotelian texts acquaint the reader with three different methods, each having its followers. The first is the study of animal form: taking as the basis for physiognomic inferences the various genera of animals, positing for each genus a specific animal form, and a particular mental character appropriate to such a body, and then assuming that if a man resembles such and such a genus in body he will resemble it also in the soul.

The second method developed similarly, but instead of relating to animals its adherents: confined themselves to human beings belonging to various races of men by differences of appearances and of character, and drew their signs of character from these races. The third method takes as its basis the characteristic facial expressions which are observed to accompany

7

OT, Numbers 6:25. God speaks to Moses: “‘But,’ he said, ‘you cannot see my face, for no-one may see me and live.’” (NIV, Exodus 33:20), and: “my face must not be seen” (Exodus 33:23). However, after Judgement Day, the redeemed will be taken to God’s city, where they “will see his face” (Revelation 22:4), an event that lies in the future. 9 G. Schleusener-Eichholz, “Die Bedeutung des Auges bei Jacob Böhme”, FMS, Vol. 6, 1972. 10 e.g. the outward shape, as given in the COD. 11 An edition which includes texts of uncertain origin. 8

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different conditions of mind, such as anger, fear, erotic excitement, and all the other passions.12

In Physiognomonics13 a passage refers to Aristotle’s views on eyes: when the lower lids are pendulous and baggy, you may know a bibulous fellow, for heavy drinking produces bagginess below the eyes; but when the upper lids are baggy and hang over the eyes, that signifies somnolence, for on first waking from sleep our upper lids hang heavily. Small eyes mean a small soul, by congruity and on the evidence of the ape: large eyes, lethargy, as in cattle. In a man of good natural parts, therefore, the eyes will be neither large nor small. Hollow eyes mean villainy, as in the ape: protruding eyes, imbecility, by congruity and as in the ass. The eyes, therefore, must neither recede nor protrude: an intermediate position is best. When the eyes are slightly deep-set, they signify a proud soul, as in lions: and a little deeper still, gentleness, as in cattle.

Aristotle similarly defined eye colour and assigned to it various behavioural or spiritual attributes.14 The physiology of the eye and its surrounds is the same in every person, unless some mishap15 mutates any of these common features: upper and lower eyelids lined with eyelashes; eyeballs recessed in eye sockets; the bony parts – brow and nasal bridge, cheekbones and temple area. To the bones are attached muscles, and they are layered with fatty and vascular tissue. The skin or epidermis is uppermost, stretching over flesh and bones. This is what the sculptor needs to know: what stays rigid and what can move and how the skin behaves when muscles stretch or contract. By and large, this describes the working knowledge the twelfthcentury sculptor had of facial features; it often added up to little more than an expressionless face. The determination of “who is who” when scanning the carved figures on the façades of cathedrals followed schemata: the figures were grouped according to the unfolding of the biblical story or as the theological exegesis dictated, although each representation was given 12 Aristotle’s Physiognomonics, translated T. Loveday and E.S. Forster, Princeton 1984. 13 Ibid., p. 1246. 14 Ibid., p. 1247. 15 P. Binski, “The Early Portrait: verbal or pictorial?” in Europäische Kunst um 1300, Vol. 6, Vienna 1986, p. 211, n. 1, quoting Nicholas Trivet, a London Dominican, who mentioned that King Henry III (d. 1272) had a damaged eye (“erat autem statuarae mediocris compacti corporis, alterius oculi palpebra demissiore, ita ut partem nigredinis pupillae celaret” (“being of medium height and strong build, with a drooping eyelid hiding part of his pupil”).

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its distinctive attribute: a crown for a king, scrolls for prophets, wings for angels, a sword for St Paul, and so forth. But during the first half of the thirteenth century sculpture gained a new face. Statues began to look more natural as the stern expressions of former times gave way to the occasional smile or frown. We begin to gain access to the mental picture the artist and his contemporaries had of a saint, a villain, God or the devil, angels and the “faceless crowd”. Nature studies opened up an entirely new approach to visual representation. Individual hands became recognizable, although the names relating to them usually eluded the scholar. In 1910 Wilhelm Vöge, a young German art historian, drew attention to the monumental carvings of the cathedrals of Chartres, Reims, Naumburg and Mainz in a lecture16 and subsequent publications. He had examined particularly closely the facial details of the many statues in order to determine the style of individual masters involved in the decorative programmes of these cathedrals. Most statues were based on biblical figures, although members of ruling families, patrons of one edifice or other, were included, and some of these were indeed early character studies.17 His descriptions of eye shapes are revealing. He noted, for instance, that French sculptures18 frequently have the lower lid cut in a straight line, giving the eye its crescent-like look. This stylistic peculiarity may be seen in Parisian sculptures of the early thirteenth century, too, although there the straight line is paralleled by another, resembling a crease.19 At Chartres he was able to distinguish individual carvers by this or that stylistic rendering. One particular master at Chartres, whom Vöge called the “master of the heads of kings”, was able to refrain from using any traditional formulae when working on the eyes that in his figures sit narrowly embedded between forehead and cheekbones. They are slit eyes with their outer corners drawn steeply upwards.20 21 The heads of the two 16 W. Vöge, “Die Bahnbrecher des Naturstudiums um 1200”, Zeitschrift für bildende Kunst, NF 25, 1914, pp. 193–216. 17 e.g. statue of Uta at Naumburg. 18 Vöge refers in this context to a sculptor from Chartres whom he called “Meister des Gerichts”. 19 Ibid., p. 74; Vöge writes “In Paris gibt diese gerade Linie des Unterlids das eigentümlich Süsse, Französische; in Paris ist dies –und auch das Lächeln – zuerst gegeben!” (“In Paris it is this straight line which gives it [the face] its peculiar sweetness, its French-like appearance. It is in Paris that it – and also the smile – first appeared.”) 20 Ibid., p. 78; Vöge especially draws attention to André Beauneveu, and also to other French sculptors, who during the fourteenth century were still inhibited and glad of some formulae when producing portraits. 21 Ibid., p. 97, n. 85.

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kings at Chartres were in fact individualized,22 for the outlines of the sets of eyes differed; they were not just repeated, mere tautologies, but one head was given an angrily lifted eyelid. Also, the eyeball is flatter and slightly cushioned, just as in life. As we begin to appreciate some of the formal aspects of the eye and the way it was represented during the early Gothic period, we need to note that no reference to one of its most distinctive features was ever made by Vöge: the pupil or eye colour, and hence the gaze.23 Was there really so little to say? True, at Chartres the eyes appear blank; if they were indeed painted in the pigments would since have rubbed off. At Bamberg Cathedral some selected figures had pupils bored in them, which gives these faces greater expression because their gaze visibly fastens on someone or something. A more recent study of the analytical principles of sculpture and its methodology and terminology24 by the French art historian Marie-Thérèse Baudry included a section on the composition and treatment of different eye forms. She used French works of art, which she selected from the early medieval to the modern period, to exemplify how the sculpted eye developed. Her graphic and photographic illustrations allow the reader to gain an overview of how in stone carvings the eye evolved from very schematic – that is, initially roundish and owlish-looking – towards an elongated, almond-like shape that became characteristic of many latemedieval French statues. The early carvers showed at first very little grasp of, or interest in, the formation of the eye. The eyeball often protruded heavily between taut upper and lower eyelids. However, by the end of the thirteenth century all the important eye features were in place and the eyelids also looked more convincing; they appeared to be more functional – that is, the sculptor was now able to show them open, half-shut or shut. The eyeball remained smooth; only during the early medieval, and again during the post-medieval, period were pupils carved in. The eyeballs of polychrome statues were left uncut. This gradual transformation depended on various factors, such as the need to create more types or character for the expanding religious iconography, and the desire to produce a greater likeness of certain contemporaries. Whether the representation was of a sovereign or of a 22

Such peculiarities regarding detail may be found elsewhere, which suggests a close link among medieval workshops. At Reims, for instance, the master responsible for the Remigius figure also produced slit eyes of the kind seen at Chartres. 23 Neither did Vöge refer to polychromy. 24 Marie-Thérèse Baudry, La Sculpture, Paris 1978, pp. 438ff.

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patron, or for a memorial or civic or private use, these images became gradually truly natural studies as personal features were defined in form and colour. As regards the eye, once the sculptor took note of the anatomical structure and the relationship of eyeball to eyelids and had reduced the globe or recessed the eye, he was able to pay more attention to the formation and function of eyelids, their folds and other soft parts that cushion the eye. In early medieval times the exaggerated eyeball sometimes gave the impression that it rested heavily on the lower eyelid; this unnatural position was gradually remedied when the sculptor paid more attention to how the eyeball related to its surrounding parts, for he now allowed the lower eyelid to cup or hold the eyeball.25 This developed into what seems an eye feature peculiar to High Gothic, mainly in French sculpture: a lower lid which when seen sideways looks sometimes like a little pouch, but when viewed frontally is read as a straight line across the lower portion of the eyeball. In paintings and illuminated manuscripts the eye was often similarly represented. The artist relied on the simple formula of a bow-like outline of the eye opening, with the upper lid curving upwards and the lower lid shown as a straight line connecting the inner and outer corners of the eye, and the outside corner sometimes extended as a short line. The full showing of the iris surrounded by some white is a feature of the Romanesque period; that is, it occurred more regularly before sculptors learned to give figures a winsome smile or a sad expression. During the early Gothic period German sculptors often preferred a large, open eye but made more use of the eyelids, letting these “cup” the eyeball from either below or above. Indeed, expressions of sorrow or joy gradually introduced variables affecting the upper or the lower soft parts. Thus, any kind of emotion aimed for by the sculptor was now told on the visible area of the eyeball. The central positioning of the pupil still suggested an unswerving gaze, although the unnaturally staring eye of earlier periods was modified. From these examples we see that the rendering of emotion depends on a fuller, more detailed visual description of the eye and the face. In the next section I want first to explore the place of the smile and laughter in sculpture. *** In a brochure sent to prospective visitors to Constance26 the photograph of an Annunciation group was given the following caption: 25 26

This feature is characteristic of laughing eyes. Pamphlet received September 1999.

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Was verbindet die Kathedralen von Reims und Konstanz? Das Lächeln Europas!27 The smiling angel of this particular Annunciation group is less well known than a number of other smiling figures carved during the thirteenth century. The sweetness of its smile places it in a group with the same “aura”, which travelled across the façades and porches of Europe’s cathedrals, brightening them and bringing to light emotions hitherto unrealized in stone. It took probably just one bold sculptor to release the smile, to let it influence and spread. He seems to have worked at first in France; both Paris and Reims have their smiling representatives. The smile caught on in Mainz and Magdeburg, Constance and Naumburg. Ely and Lincoln, too, have their beaming faces,28 although in religious art there are few opportunities to present a statue with a smile as there is barely a handful of appropriate subjects to which the sculptor could turn. The first biblical reference is in the Old Testament. Sara(h), well advanced in years, overheard the angel telling her husband Abr(ah)am that she would bear a son, and laughed. She was however scolded, for her laughter betrayed her unbelief. Only a narrative account of Abraham and Isaac,29 the promised son, might plausibly include such a scene, vindicating Abraham’s faith and shaming Sarah for her lack of it. For us the story raises the issue of laughter and the early and medieval Christian Church’s attitude towards it. “What has man to laugh about?” is the anxious, probing question. Should he not weep because of his sinful nature? Ecclesiastes says there is a time for laughing and a time for weeping, affirming the need to express emotion. But did not Christ weep rather than laugh? Indeed, Christ was never described or portrayed laughing, not even when present at a wedding feast. The story of the marriage at Cana somehow seems a lost opportunity, yet the artist’s sole justification for depicting the scene is because of Christ performing his first miracle, the changing of water into wine – a very serious event for Jesus and those present, during which all merriment had to be suspended. Who, then, could be shown laughing or smiling, and when? We first need 27

Holy Grave, thirteenth century, Minster of Our Dear Lady. e.g. Binski, “The Angel Choir at Lincoln and the Poetics of the Gothic Smile”, Art History 20, no. 3, 1997. 29 The Church Fathers say either that Isaac means “laughter” (Jerome, Hebraicae Questiones, Corp., chapter 77, p. 535), or that laughter characterizes Abraham (Augustine says, “For (Isaac’s) father had laughed, marvelling in joy”, City of God, chapter 16, p. 31). But Bede, who agrees with Augustine, also says “And that word ‘Laughter’ [risus] fittingly signifies the joy of the New Testament, in which the children of the promise, with the Lord dwelling among them, exult for ever”, in Genesis, chapter 4, Cor. Chr. 118A, pp. 207–08) (Bill East: http://www.mailbase. ac.uk/lists/medieval-religion/1999-05/0098.html). 28

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to clarify why the language differentiates between smiling and laughter. It is a matter of degree – that is, of the intensity of an emotion.30 Smiling is a sign of a particular emotion being still under control. Laughter, often audible as well as visible, may not just evoke, but provoke a reaction,31 or may offend if inappropriate. Shared laughter escapes this criticism. A smile elicits a different response, for it is often perceived as an encouragement. The smiling angels, and also the wise virgins of the parable and the saved souls on the day of the Last Judgement, all belong to the imagination as far as the artist and the beholder are concerned. Do angels smile? The Angel Gabriel gently allayed the fear that troubled the spirit of the Virgin Mary.32 In human terms there was a need for a reassuring smile and some comforting words. A different situation is presented by the wise virgins who rejoice, even if only quietly and to themselves. They had done the right thing and are rewarded, as they will be with the bridegroom. Saved souls also have every reason to smile as they escape the torments of hell. Another type of image where a smile seems right is that of the Virgin and Child. Indeed, the many beautiful Madonnas produced by the end of the fourteenth century radiate an inner joy; young motherhood and an expression of grace come across in numerous works. Grace is a quality, a smile the outward sign of a sweet disposition. The sculptors who produced such images, such as the one of Regelindis at Naumburg, indeed captured the essence of gentleness. As we behold these images, are we not affected by the smile as it evokes a sense of wellbeing? The smile, an ensign of goodwill, may also be interpreted as a humanitarian gesture, for it welcomes and puts the newcomer at ease. The smiling shield-bearer of the Multscher workshop in Ulm33 was prominently displayed on the east façade of the town hall, just a few metres away from a fountain with fresh water – often the first meeting point for the wayfarer, who was greeted there with civic cordiality.34 Who could resist an infectious smile or the laughter of a child? The smiling infant Jesus is a natural development in the unfreezing of the emotions of the Middle Ages. A later example of a happy child is the (possible) portrait

30

The German words for laughing (lachen) and smiling (lächeln) make it explicit that different emotional levels are involved. 31 A provoked reaction being different from an empathizing response to a smile. 32 Luke, 1:30. 33 Shieldbearer: stone, traces of colour. H. 104.5 cm; Ulm Museum, inv. no.1914.3232B. 34 The fountain by Syrlin was set up half a century later.

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of Henry VIII while still a small boy.35 Here the future Renaissance ruler, to whom history ascribes some inhumane acts, is innocence himself – or is it childish glee that his inaudible laugh expresses?36

Fig. 4–1 Head of an angel (c. 1250); Cathedral of Notre-Dame (?), Paris

Fig. 4–2 Head of a shield-bearer, Hans Multscher, c. 1427

Once we begin to look for the sometimes enigmatic smile on statues we find that the phenomenon of the smiling face reads like a cultural chapter in the history of European sculpture – whether we go to Italy, where the seated statue of the eighth bishop of Verona, St Zeno (S Zeno che ride) smiles benevolently while gesturing a sign of blessing;37 or visit the so-called Smiling Madonna of Giovanni Pisano at Pisa; or go to Spain, where in the cathedral of Toledo the White Virgin (Virgen Blanca) smiles at the child on her arm who caresses her. These and the Magdeburg statue of a wise virgin, and the Empress Editha in the Dome of Meissen, affirm

35

Polychromed terracotta bust by Guido Mazzoni; see also chapter 6, p. 4, n. 21. The Italian sculptor Desiderio da Settignano (c. 1428–64) carved between 1453 and 1463 a monochrome marble bust of a laughing boy (Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna), perhaps intended as a young Christ or St John. Because of the absence of colour it is not so much the eyes but the open mouth and full cheeks that feature laughter. 37 Seiler, 1999, p. 142, n. 18, suggests that the smile of St Zeno relates to the hilaritas of sainted bishops. 36

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what Hans Fiedler38 put so succinctly: Lachen bedeutet in der mittelalterlichen Ikonographie “Besitz der Seligkeit”.39 This brings us to a question: how did the sculptor set about capturing the most fleeting of emotions, the smile, sometimes letting us almost hear the escaped sound of delight? Is it really the eyes from which the beholder takes his cue? The ophthalmologist Hugo Magnus40 thought people mistaken if they believed, as many apparently did, that the soul41 resides in the eye and hence that its power emanates from there.42 The emotions, he claimed, express themselves not in the eyes but in their surroundings.43 It is not the eyeball that is capable of increasing its lustre,44 or of appearing either dim or fiery. There is, despite the commonly held belief, no energy emitting from the eye, no mild fire glowing, no fluidum of the soul emanating. It is the eyelids that shade or expose the amount of light 38

Hans Fiedler, Antlitz aus dem Stein. Portrait eines staufischen Meisters in Bamberg, Magdeburg, Mainz, Naumburg und Meissen, Mittenwald, 1982, p. 125. 39 In medieval iconography laughter means “being blessed” or “having grace”. 40 Magnus, “Die Sprache der Augen”, a lecture given at the University of Breslau on 2 March 1885, Wiesbaden, 1885, off-print. 41 As nobody knows where the human soul is located, it is understandable to look for it where one detects a first response, albeit just a flicker in the eye. 42 Magnus, “Die Sprache ...”, 1885, p. 7, quotes Carl Gustav Carus, a student of physiognomy, who refers to the nervous system of the eye, the location from where the magnetic effect of the eye beam radiates out. Carus compares it with the fiery glow observable at night in certain animals – e.g. feline creatures and dogs. Magnus believes that fear of the Evil Eye may be directly linked to this phenomenon of an intensified glow. This is more of an occurrence in countries where people have dark eyes, and he attributes this to the fact that dark eyes tend to reflect more light and give out more sparks. Magnus does not endorse Carus’s views but claims that any intense light is due to the receiving and reflecting of light on eyes which are especially suited (e.g. dark ones) to beam back what hits their surface; and the larger the area, the more may be reflected. He also points out (p. 9) that the eye is a receptive and not a productive organ or, to use a modern analogy, the eyelids are a control mechanism like the aperture of a camera. 43 Ibid., p. 28, “dass das Feuer des Auges – physikalisch gesprochen der Hornhautspiegel – an und für sich überhaupt keinen Aufschluss über die Stimmung der Seele zu geben vermag, dass erst Lid und Braue aus diesem Augenfeuer ein mimisches Moment gestalten” (“that the fire of the eye – really the mirroring cornea – cannot give any clue as to the emotion of the soul for, it is only the sudden mimicry of the lid and brow coming into play that expresses that fire of the eye” – HH). 44 Ibid., p. 13, where he states that there is no intensified light reflection, owing to an increase of surface tension in the eye, which is minimal and, if present, occurs in eyes which are affected by glaucoma or cataract (an early sign is its coloration).

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reflected on the surface of the eyeball. The astute observer may not be entirely convinced that this is all there is to it since watery or feverish eyes tend to be noted for being abnormally bright or glossy; besides, movements within and of the eye are often the real clue to a person’s emotional state.45 St Jerome put it this way: “The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.” 46 I hope to demonstrate this in the following chapter on gaze and glance. The sculptor, when dealing with the emotions, does not begin with the effect – that is, the sparkle of the eye – but with the construct which holds the existing or imaginary light in place once he has located it as he attends to the overall changes within the smiling face. There, the closed lips curve and broaden and their corners appear tucked into the cheeks, now fuller and rounder and closer to the lower eyelids set to cradle the orbs. To return to the statue at Naumburg, Regelindis has eyes which are half-cupped by the lower lids, while the upper ones almost merge with the soft cushions beneath the arching brows. Between half-moon shaped openings the discs of her irises are clipped by both lids but the pupils still mark the centre as she gazes ahead into the distance. Smiling faces appear fuller as muscles shift and skin stretches. Mazzoni’s terracotta bust of King Henry VIII as a boy shows him gleefully happy. His open mouth, with its glossy lips, reveals two rows of baby teeth from where gurgly noises or uncontrolled shrieks of delight might escape at any moment. His eyes, narrowed to almond shapes, either divert his attention from an adult gaze or perhaps rest on what excites his merriment. The full forms of his cheeks make his face seem rounder, his eyes smaller, and his eyelids appear to be pushed together. In crying as well as in laughter the lids press together and the mouth opens broadly. All facial features seem to swell and distort as the emotions build up before they are released, either voluntarily or involuntarily. *** 45 Michel Pierre Janisse and W. Scott Peavler (“Pupillary Research Today: emotion in the eye”, Psychology Today, February 1974) claimed “The eyes do not lie. While the mouth may express an unfelt smile, true feelings usually reveal themselves in the depths of a person’s eyes. But people vary in their ability to read the signs on another person’s face, and some are quite blind to these cues. We need a scientific method to help us decode the message hidden in the human eye. ... Actually, scientists had known for some time that pupillary activity reflected mental and emotional processes, and that the explanation had to do with the intricate way in which the pupil is controlled by the autonomic nervous system.” 46 Quoted in the article above.

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In March 1530 Erasmus of Rotterdam sent a letter to Henry of Burgundy which reflects his thoughts on good manners for boys.47 It includes a paragraph on how “the well-ordered mind of a boy” manifests itself, bringing to the attention of his young reader the need to learn to control facial expression. He wrote: The eyes should be calm, respectful and steady: not grim, which is a mark of truculence; not shameless, the hallmark of insolence; not darting and rolling, a feature of insanity; nor furtive, like those of suspects and plotters of treachery; nor gaping like those of idiots; nor should the eyes and eyelids be constantly blinking, a mark of the fickle; nor gaping as in astonishment – a characteristic observed by Socrates; nor too narrowed, a sign of bad temper; nor bold and inquisitive, which indicates impertinence; but such as reflects a mind composed, respectful, and friendly. For it is no chance saying of the ancient sages that the seat of the soul is in the eyes.

And about laughter Erasmus had this to say: It is quite wrong to laugh at improper words or actions. Loud laughter and the immoderate mirth that shakes the whole body and is for that reason called “discord” [synkrousion] by the Greeks, which is unbecoming to any age but much more so to youth. … Only fools use expressions like: “I am dissolving with laughter”, “I am bursting with laughter”, “I am dying with laughter.” If something so funny should occur that it produces uncontrolled laughter of this sort, the face should be covered with a napkin or with the hand ...

Should a boy desire to become a monk, he was altogether discouraged from laughing. The various monastic rules agreed in this respect, banning distracting merry noises from the cloisters. Men such as Augustine, Hieronymus, Caesarius of Arles, Gregory the Great and Isidore of Seville, all former monks, perceived laughter as incompatible with the contemplative life they chose as their vocation. However, the ex-monk Martin Luther, whose Table Talk (Tischreden) must have sparked lively, sometimes hilarious responses from his guests, enjoyed a good laugh. The reformer broke thereby yet another sacrosanct rule, one which had strangled the natural gift of mirth. Not all smiles are as sweet as those we meet in angels, Madonnas or wise virgins. There is also, besides the friendly smile, the unsympathetic smile and other nuances and mimicry which are indicative of a person’s 47

“De civilitate morum puerilium” (“On Good Manners for Boys”), translated by Brian MacGregor, Collected Works of Erasmus, ed. J.K. Sowards, London 1985, p. 274.

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relationship to others or to events. In the visual arts of the late-medieval period we meet the nasty smile and the horrid laughter in Passion scenes where the common people, the soldiers, the wasters, sneer at Jesus Christ as he is being tormented and finally crucified. It is usually the open mouth, the compressed bulging eyelids and the body language in general that suggest mockery or merciless laughter. The context tells the rest. This also applies to weeping. Laughter and tears are indeed never far apart, for many Crucifixion scenes include both: mocking or dice-playing soldiers, who were having a good laugh, are alongside the closest friends of Jesus, who are deeply bewailing his approaching death. ***

Fig. 4–3 Ink drawing (section) of head of Christ, crying; Musterbuchblatt (1495), Hans Holbein the Elder.

Christ in tears, as a subject, has two direct biblical references,48 but it is the events leading up to his death that stirred the artist’s imagination. A 48 NIV, Luke 19:41 “As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it”, and John 11:35 “Jesus wept” (over the death of Lazarus).

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pen and ink drawing, washed and heightened with white, shows a thorncrowned en face head of Christ, with tears running down his cheeks. The drawing has the quality of a preparatory study, possibly for a sculpted figure. However it is a leaf, dated 1495, from a pattern book (Musterbuchblatt)49 by Hans Holbein the Elder. While it may have served him for either of the two Passion scenes he painted for altarpieces,50 he may well have adapted his drawing style to sculptural requirements.51 The plasticity of the heavy lower eyelids, as if filled to the brim with water, and the large, elongated tears could well have served a carver as a model. But is crying really a suitable subject for sculpture, then or at any other period? Only a few subjects were open to the medieval sculptor through which he was able to express the emotional experience of sorrow and weeping. Before the late Middle Ages there appear to have been no sculpted monuments which show tears as an expression of sadness, although intense feelings such as fear or pain are not unknown sculptural statements. Indeed, classical art embraced the emotions as a worthy subject for which staged drama had already set the scene. Fear and grief were shown through body language. Two examples may suffice here. The high reliefs on the Weeping Women sarcophagus52 clearly convey that the women are grieving, for at least one of them uses her veil to wipe her face, while others mimic the various bodily stances expressive of great sorrow. Then, the Laocoon group is one of numerous sculpted subjects which is loaded with emotion. The intense struggle with death, and the pain and fear felt by the father and his two sons, may have been intended to move the beholder to tears. For the dying family however such an emotion was not expedient at that very moment when they were trying to fight off the evil force that had embraced them. These two prototypical groups of sculpture were however not known to the medieval sculptor.53 The tradition he followed was based on different iconographical ideas developed for and through Christian teaching. The subject matter and its typology centred therefore on some specific themes 49

Wolfegg, Fürstlich Waldburg-Wolfeggsche Graphische Sammlung. See Wolf and Stange (1960), Donaueschinger Passion (cat. no. 11e) and the Kaisheim High Altar (cat. no. 21e, both in Munich, Alte Pinakothek). 51 Holbein was related to the sculptors Adolf Daucher and Gregor Erhart; they worked together on the Kaisheim Altarpiece in 1502. The 1531 chronicle of the Cistercian monastery at Kaisheim mentioned them as the “three best masters in Augsburg”. 52 First half of the fourth century BC; Istanbul, Archaeological Museum. 53 The Laocoon group, Vatican Museum, was discovered in 1506. 50

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taken from the Old and New Testaments, with the focus on primarily the Passion cycle and the grand eschatological scene of the Last Judgement, besides increasingly popular representations of the saints.54 Thus, if we are looking for subjects that might embrace scenes of woe and tears, as referred to in some biblical narrations, the Slaughter of the Innocents, the Crucifixion, the Man of Sorrows, the Lamentation, Pietàs and not least the great reliefs depicting the Last Judgement are the ones we need to turn to.55 There were, of course, also the funerary monuments which served the laity as an outlet or focus for personal grief and perhaps reveal better how a particular age responded to tears. Tears which looked convincing were represented in both media, painting and sculpture, during the early part of the fifteenth century, although this is not to say that no earlier attempts were made, or that tearful faces retained their current value for later periods. From a practical point of view, what seems as incompatible as wood and water found a common denominator in form and colour. But firstly, what are tears? If this seems a ridiculous question, then natural philosophers, modern scientists, psychologists, poets and artists have all wasted their efforts. It is from them that we learn why there must be tears. Of course, a young child can tell us a few things about tears, what they feel like and do. They are wet, warm and salty; they can make the eyes red and the nose runny. Once the tears surface, they are hard to control. They fill the eyes and blur the vision and, not least, leave the poor wretch who needs to cry sorry and perhaps embarrassed; today weeping seems something to be ashamed of. Indeed, the urge to weep is quite often checked on sensing disapproval. Shedding tears in public was sometimes seen as a sign of weakness,56 although the Christian Church during the Middle Ages regarded tears shed during communion or devotion as a charismatic gift.57 54

St Stephen or St Sebastian, and the many martyrs who were represented by the manner in which they died, shed no tears but were shown being steadfast to the last. 55 The Man of Sorrows as a subject in print and sculpture seems an obvious inclusion, but I know of no example where tears were shown. 56 e.g. St Augustine, at the death of his mother, St Monica, suppressed his sorrow, “deeming that it was not fitting to solemnize her funeral with tearful cries and groans because her virtuous life offered the assurance of her eternal happiness”. Ann Astell, in The Song of Songs in the Middle Ages, Ithaca and London 1990, p. 123, is quoting from The Confessions of St Augustine 9. 12, translated by John K. Ryan, 1960, p. 224. 57 e.g. Julian of Norwich. Or, as an ancient adage has it, “Good men are prone to tears.” In R.A.B. Mynors (1992) Collected Works of Erasmus. Adages. 2, vii 62; p. 31.

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From the sculptor’s point of view tears lack solidity and are essentially amorphous, although the fluid which exudes from the eye often gathers itself up into drops before becoming rivulets and stream down the face. Despite their fluidity, tears have volume and the “skin” that holds together each drop is capable of reflecting light. To translate into the sculptural medium something which seems to lack substance yet has volume was more or less successfully attempted during the second half of the fifteenth century. By then painters, particularly those of the Flemish school, had learned to paint the reflection of light and translucent objects such as glass, jewels, water and of course also tears. They now worked in oils and glazes which gave them wider scope in representing the more ephemeral things and added to the realism of their pictures.58 As many a painter was also responsible for the polychroming of sculptures, tears were painted on the faces where appropriate. What one medium lacked, the other one possessed and vice versa. Paint is usually flat, but with some skill the artist may allude to a shiny droplet, whereas with chalk and other solids the volume of a pearl or rivulet can easily be imitated, yet it will appear opaque, lacking lustre. So the sculpted teardrop still depends on being improved by the painter’s hand, although we rarely see the tears on panel paintings being raised in order to emulate actual volume. Whichever medium is worked in, there will be some compromises to be made in order to achieve what is of essence to the object represented. They, and any substance in the real world, are judged by their qualitative nature. In this respect the artist learns to extricate those qualities with which he, in his medium, is able to recreate convincingly the visible aspects of any type of substance. The saltiness and warmth of teardrops, besides all the unrevealed properties, remain hidden unless they effect some observable changes in what they come into contact with. Thus, profuse weeping reddens the eyes and swells the eyelids, to which the artist may refer by adding more colour there and less in the cheeks, by so doing contrasting the pallor and the soreness that are characteristic of an emotional state. *** A number of works may serve here as examples of how artists handled emotional subjects convincingly. While at first relying on gestures, ultimately the honest solution was to show weeping openly – that is, by including tears and distraught, ungainly faces.

58 See the panel painting of Suffering Christ attributed to Albrecht Bouts (1452/54– 1549).

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A Crucifixion scene carved in marble by Nicola Pisano for the chancel of the Duomo in Siena (1266–68) has all the features of a dramatic event. The emotional impact is reflected in the characters grouped round the crucified Christ. The women and St John the Evangelist are clearly upset as they wipe away tears or cry into their cloaks. The relief appears not to have been polychromed and hence such detail as tears was omitted. Pisano resolved the problem of weeping by using such familiar gestures as already met on the Greek Weeping Women sarcophagus. The loose garments and veils worn by the mourners allow for hiding and wiping of their faces and there was therefore no need to add tears. The device of suggesting weeping by pulling the cloak over the face was taken up by Giotto in his fresco Noli Me Tangere, painted for the Arena Chapel in Padua (1303–06). Another subject notable for its emotional charge is the incident of the Slaughter of the Innocents, which belongs to the infancy cycle of Christ. Several French cathedrals have a relief carving of it dating back to as early as the thirteenth century. In the scene at Notre Dame in Paris the treatment is bold. Horror-stricken mothers and screaming infants are depicted well enough for the onlooker to gasp in shared abject horror. But there are no tears, as far as one can tell. When the slaughtering is over, there will be “a voice heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning. Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.”59 This moment has not yet come. The visual representation seems to reflect the sequential occurrences as related in the narrative. Weeping in sympathy is a genuine emotion. But how much sympathy is involved when “weepers” are hired to accompany the funerary cortège of a prince or ruler? This was the social duty of monks or members of the princely household at state funerals during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Three French funerary monuments testify to the custom of weepers walking with and probably keeping vigil over the body of the deceased. When monks took on the role, the weepers wore their habits and pulled the hoods over their heads to cover their faces. Whether they wept or were lost in their own thoughts nobody would see, as we may judge from the weepers shown on the monument of Philippe Pot from Citeaux (c. 1480), now in the Musée de Louvre. The weepers made for the tomb of Philip the Bold were the creation of three sculptors: Jean de Marville, from whom – when he died (1389) – Claus Sluter took over as court sculptor. The latter, in turn, was assisted by his nephew Claus Werve. The twentytwo white figures are placed around the tomb, which sits on a black base and has a black table top on which are the polychrome effigies. The 59

NIV, Matthew 2:18.

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Weepers are minimally gilded with some touches of red applied to pick out the odd book, rosary or belt. Not all wear their hoods to cover their sombre faces. They face up to a duty without making more of a show of it than was required of them.60 Or, to consider the spiritual dimension of their duty, some are shown to have finished with weeping as sadness will pass away.61 Sluter, who carved the six figures for yet another major monument, the Well of Moses (Chartreuse of Champmol, near Dijon, 1395–1403), drew the attention of his contemporaries to a small yet significant item he had made for the figure of the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah: a pair of spectacles.62 Why did Sluter single out Jeremiah as a weak-eyed reader? Both the glasses and the book in its bound form were inventions unknown in Jeremiah’s time. It seems that Sluter used the objects as a modern device through which he was able to show something more important. In the book of Jeremiah the author alludes three times to his tears: “Oh, that my head were a spring of water and my eyes a fountain of tears! I would weep day and night for the slain of my people.”63 Later, in chapter 13, we read: “But if you do not listen, I will weep in secret because of your pride; my eyes will weep bitterly, overflowing with tears, because the Lord’s flock will be taken captive.”64 The third reference to his tears reads: “Speak this word to them: ‘Let my eyes overflow with tears night and day without ceasing; for the virgin daughter – my people – has suffered a grievous wound, a crushing blow.’”65 With Jeremiah, at the head of the well, represented here by an apparently sore and weak-eyed man, Sluter could have offered no better interpretation of this prophetic biblical text.66 *** The sculpted works so far discussed all have one thing in common. In every instance the sculptor resolved the problem of demonstrating sadness by using various artistic devices which suggest some emotional turmoil: the cloth with which to mop or cover a tear-stained face, a hand that removes a tear, eyebrows exaggeratedly knitted together in anguish, and 60

Some monks wipe their faces, a gesture to which Nicolaus Gerhaert reverted. See St John from the Nördlingen Crucifixion group (1462). 61 Prado, Madrid. 62 See also chapter 3. 63 NIV, Jeremiah 9:1. 64 Ibid., 13:17. 65 Ibid., 14:17. 66 Psalm 6:7 also alludes to how much crying affects one’s eye-sight: “My eyes waste away for sorrow: they fail because of all my enemies.”

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spectacles – if we accept these as a valid device. But what was he to do where the subject excludes the use of these external pointers? Scenes depicting the Last Judgement invariably show the people in the nude. Obviously those who were saved need not weep, but the lost “shall be weeping and gnashing [their] teeth”.67 The thirteenth-century sculptor who carved the Last Judgement scene for the cathedral at Bourges may well have been taught the lines: Nix, nox, vox, lachrymae, sulphur, sitis, asestus; Malleus et stridor, spes perdita, vincula, vermes.68

The gnashing of teeth and crying – that is, the voicing of their lament – are plausibly conveyed in the relief by the grimace-like faces; the characters are shown howling, not weeping. A look at a fifteenth-century painter, highly interested in realism, will help us see why tears in such a scene are out of place. Rogier van der Weyden,69 painter and sometime polychromer, produced a majestic Last Judgement altarpiece for the hospice in Beaune (Burgundy). The medium he used was oil tempera on wood. In the lower right-hand panel we see those who were condemned. Their anguish is extreme. They seem deeply shocked, but are not yet weeping. Rogier, the realist, refrained from painting in tears because this was not the moment of weeping. Yet who better than Rogier understood the effect of tears? His Descent from the Cross70 exemplifies not only his masterly technique of manipulating his medium, but also his understanding of the human psyche; combined, they effect in the viewer genuine empathy for the event and the people caught up in it. For instance, the faces of Nicodemus and the Virgin illustrate a number of things: both male and female are given to weeping; the tears look real and appear to behave as if they are: they either trickle down the easiest or shortest pathway or rest, cluster and swell into globules until they burst and flow. Nicodemus’s tears are perceived as hot and sticky as they settle on the cheekbone, his eyes are brimming full. The reflection of the light describes their volume and shape. In this panel Rogier deployed every means of convincing the beholder that the subject is about lamentation, or weeping.71 Those figures, the bystanders, who still 67

NIV, Matthew 24:51; Luke 13:28. Vincent of Beauvais, Spec. hist. Epilog. 119. quoted in Emile Mâle, The Gothic Image, 1972, p. 381. 69 1399?–1464. 70 Prado, Madrid. 71 The German term for this subject is Beweinung, which more directly refers to weeping (weinen). 68

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have their hands free use them for pressing a handkerchief against their reddened eyes, or wring them as they wrestle with their emotions. However, every other person involved in this drama is too busy to wipe away their tears, or too old and dry-eyed for the humour to rise.72 Closely linked to the Deposition is the Entombment scene showing Christ being embraced by his mother. The convention was to show the dead body laid across her lap with the men and women who were present for the burial grouped round them. The Virgin and the dead Christ were from the beginning of the fourteenth century also presented as a separate group. The Pietà, a sculpted image, was placed in chapels or on side altars used during the devotional hour of vespers, hence the Germans call it a Vesperbild. The sculpted Pietà groups have their own history of development.73

Fig. 4–4 Pietà group, Chapel of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows, Berlingen, province of Limburg.

The Pietà group is the antithesis to the Virgin and Child image. The two concepts, motherhood and pain, are at the heart of the two, yet 72 Here I refer to the “dry eye syndrome” as defined by Michael A. Lemp, “Epidemiology and Classification of Dry Eye”, in Lacrimal Gland, Tear Film, and Dry Eye Syndromes, New York, 1998, edited by D.A. Sullivan et al. The most common problem is the deficiency of aqueous tear production. 73 See J.E. Ziegler, Sculpture of Compassion, Brussels 1991.

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deflected in bias towards one or the other. Their iconic value became firmly embedded in the cult and devotion of the Virgin, the mother of Christ. A medieval English lullaby takes up the woes of Mary, who is weeping over the bleeding wounds of her dead son’s body. Lully, lulley; lully, lulley; The falcon hath borne my make away. He bare him up, he bare him down; He bare him into the orchard brown. In that orchard there was an hall, That was hanged with purple and pall. And in that hall there was a bed; It was hanged with gold so red. And in that bed there lyeth a knight, His wounds bleeding day and night, By that beddes side there kneeleth a mayd, And she wepeth both night and day, And by that beddes side there standeth a stone, CORPUS CHRIST written thereon.74

In this unusual verse there are many allusions to Golgotha; its dramatic content is reflected in one of the earliest Pietàs. It comes from the middle Rhine area, dates back to about 1300 and represents many of the harrowing older types. The most interesting feature of the Pietà Roettgen75 is the clusters of blood drops oozing out of the five wounds of Christ, like bunches of grapes – and perhaps symbolizing Christ as the true vine.76 77 Not a Virgin in tears, but a bleeding Christ, was what the sculptor considered important. The expression of Mary is nevertheless dire, for she knits her eyebrows together, leaving deep folds at the bridge of her nose. Her mouth, too, is drawn with its corners down. Although the sculpture has been repainted at some stage, there is no reason to believe that the face was originally showing tears which were painted over. The plasticity of the blood drops is so emphatic that, had the artist intended her to be shown with tears, she would have been given solid teardrops. Her misery appears intense nevertheless. There are many local variations of the Pietà, some to do with the quality of craftsmanship, others with the communities who owned them. 74

See Pamela Tudor-Craig’s essay, “The Iconography of Corpus Christi”, in Images of Christ. Ancient and modern, ed. Stanley E. Porter et al., Sheffield 1997, p. 322. 75 From the Paul Roettgen Collection. 76 John 15:1. 77 Ernst Guenther Grimme, Deutsche Madonnen, Cologne 1976.

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Their appeal was very personal, and had to be, as the image was sometimes quite idiosyncratic in its execution – as for instance was the strangely proportioned group made for the church of St Michael at Leuven in Belgium. This matriarchal Virgin sits as quietly as a monument and stares in front of her, her eyes still wet, but she has reconciled herself to the inevitable loss.78 Not yet finished with weeping is the Virgin belonging to the Pietà group in Berlingen. She holds her handkerchief up to her face, rather aimlessly, while still inconsolable. Her eyes, half shut, look downwards.79 Another Mary, in a vesper group,80 is also shown in floods of tears. The sculptor had her eyes shut, thereby emphasizing her private grief and pain, and perhaps the painter also took trouble in modelling the tears. On one side of her face two unbroken rivulets suggest an outpouring, while on the other side teardrops are amassed on her cheek. The tears are painted in the same tone as the face, perhaps suggesting the shine-through quality of water, yet overlooking its other characteristic quality: reflection. The polychromer of a Swedish Lamentation group81 from Aspoe, Soe (1477), pursued seemingly quite a different idea when he gave the richly dressed three Marys strangely dark tears which he had arranged into a pattern: a longer middle course with a shorter one on either side. Why he should have chosen a darkish colour to mark the tears is not clear. Or perhaps he used pigments which have since oxidized – that seems more plausible. Peter Tångeberg mentions two Pietàs (one in Askeby, the other in Munkthorp, Sweden); in both instances the painter gave the Virgin clear-coloured tears by using a resin-like substance which has since become yellow-brown. In fact, he created deceptively real-looking tears by using the brush and probably letting the resinous liquid trickle down the modelled eyes and cheeks. Similarly clear-coloured and plastic are the tears of the Mary of a Pietà in Skederid, but there the painter went further and also made visible the watery issue coming from the side of the broken body of Christ. In a country where the oozing resin from coniferous trees is being collected it is perhaps not surprising that artists should make use of what they saw. This seems an easy way out when we compare it with yet another workshop tradition.

78

Ziegler (1991), plate 48. Ibid., plate 9 (1423). 80 Ibid., plate 109: Musee d’Art religieux et d’Art mosan at Liege (inv. no. 124). 81 Peter Tångeberg, Holzskulptur und Altarschrein, Munich 1989; see colour plate 20. 79

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Michel Erhart, the sculptor from Ulm, produced a Dormition scene for the Herz-Jesu-Kirche in München Neuhausen (1482).82 The high reliefs were polychromed with all possible finesse. The face of a disciple attending the sleeping Virgin has been given tears which were first built up in chalk, then painted over so that they would appear translucent and sparkling. The eyes look watery and the left lower eyelid appears slightly enlarged, due to the infilling liquid.83 A statuette of a delicately carved mourning Virgin by Veit Stoss was probably a private commission dating back to c. 1500–10.84 Although the figure has sustained damage, its face is intact and shows, on close examination, that there are tears which Stoss had skilfully carved into the finely grained pearwood. Her upper eyelids are heavy and lowered, her eyebrows are slightly raised as if in pain. This piece of sculpture was at some stage polychromed, judging by pigments found in cracks. We have here an excellent example of how the sculptor convincingly caught the pathos without actually depending on colour, although there is no denying that polychromy realizes yet another facet to which a wood-visible carving cannot allude: the reddening of eyes and the translucency of tears.85 Tears of compassion, tears of the wicked, are featured in the following two examples, with which to conclude this section. The one person whose tearfulness has been well recorded in the New Testament, whose name also enriched the English language with the expression “maudlin”, is Mary Magdalene, “who wept at the feet of Jesus, who wept at the cross, who wept at the empty tomb – the lovely Mary Magdalen of unending tears”.86 Christ’s words “woman, why weepest thou?”87 gave medieval painters a moving subject for the Noli me tangere, in which to depict the moment of great compassion,88 although this is less popular in sculpture. In these singular images tears were shown to flow profusely but ultimately without stirring any compassion. In relation to the depiction of tears, a court at Bern in Switzerland condemned four Dominican brethren to death for their pranks. In 1508 82

Zum Frühwerk des Tilman Riemenschneider, ed. H. Krohm, Berlin 1982, p. 63, colour plate 9. 83 An earlier example of plastically modelled tear-drops is the Melk Crucifix (1478). Below either eye are brownish, transparent drops which are of a resinous substance. 84 The Cleveland Museum of Art. 85 See the Pietà of Seeon, Salzburg, c. 1400. Bayerisches Nationalmuseum, Munich. 86 Robert Kugelmann, The Windows of Soul, Lewisburg 1983, p. 151. 87 AV, John 20:15. 88 The Noli me tangere type of image.

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they were apprehended and tried for having staged “miracles” to attract more pilgrims to their monastic house. What they did, and how, we learn from a verse written by the Franciscan satirist Thomas Murner:89 The scheme was fraudulent and deep: To make the Virgin’s image weep With varnish drops90 beneath the eyes In place of tears, and gull the pious … And Doctor Steffan from behind Had guilefully contrived a kind Of pipe, through which he then intoned So credibly to all around That many afterwards averred Every syllable they’d heard Came from the lips of the Queen of Heaven Though really it was just Doctor Steffan.91

*** The part of the eye to which we now turn is what the photographer would call its “shutter”. Eyelids enable the eye to regulate the amount of incoming light and the length of exposure to it. In sculpture, however, neither of these two procedural steps can be demonstrated, nor are they relevant. The sculptor can show only what he perceives as being the most convincing and expressive moment of an eye that is rarely still. What then is shown by way of the shut eye is read as a permanent condition rather than as a moment frozen in time before a release mechanism will let the eye blink back into action. Death, sleep, not wanting to see, some forms of blindness – these are the several causes for the eyes to shut and remain still.92 From the sculptor’s point of view shut eyes are easier for he need show neither light nor reflection, gaze nor colour. However it is among this group of sculptures that we are rewarded for keeping our own eyes wide open. I want to present five cases, each with its own puzzlement, and a reminder that it is in detail that we find the occasional clue to an artistic or iconographical peculiarity. During the early part of the thirteenth century one particular biblical verse became the basis for a type of sculptural group which became quite 89

Thomas Murner, Von den fier Ketzern, Strasbourg 1509, p.j. a.; ed. E. Fuchs, Berlin and Leipzig, 1929, pp. 99–103, with a woodcut by Murner, “The Fraudulent Miracle at Bern”, reproduced in Baxandall, 1980, p. 59. 90 Author’s italics. 91 Dr Steffan Boltzhurst. 92 While asleep, or reflecting, shut eyes still keep moving.

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popular. It is John the disciple, leaning against his master’s chest. There are a number of these groups extant, which allows us to compare and make some observations. The image is, of course, a reference to an incident which occurred during the Last Supper. In this respect the concept is similar to the Pietà group which also relates to a larger setting, the Lamentation of Christ, except that it is not based on an actual biblical reference – whereas in the gospel of John we read: “One of them, the disciple whom Jesus loved, was reclining next to him.” 93 The medieval sculptor based the Jesus and St John group (JohannesGruppe) on events at the Last Supper, but related it to his own familiar environment. He had the apostles sit on benches or chairs round a raised table, although in Jesus’ time the Roman custom of reclining for a meal was observed.94 95 It was a more relaxed and intimate way of supping; the Jesus and St John groups show the two figures sitting upright, with John leaning against the other’s breast. In several of these images, particularly those linked to the Sigmaringen groups, the position of the disciple’s head inclines rather uncomfortably, the eyes are on a near vertical axis. The first impression on seeing John thus resting is that he is asleep (even if he is not). However in at least two examples, the Cleveland group and the Lake Constance group (c. 1330),96. the sculptor articulated the two rims of the upper and lower eyelids and left just a slight gap between the lids. The biblical text was in this respect strictly adhered to, for the verse which follows the key sentence draws attention to Peter, who beckoned to John to ask Jesus what he meant.97 John, therefore, could not have been asleep. Nor was he depicted thus, at least not in these two instances, nor in a painted group from St Katharinental (Antwerp, Museum van den Bergh), where the correct reading of this passage was also observed in a manuscript illumination of the same subject; there the eyes of the disciple are wide open, with dots as pupils.98 In the sculpted groups it is the dark pigmented pupils, sometimes barely visible yet as literal as the two verses, which tell of an event. However, thirteenth-century theology saw and 93

NIV, John: 13:23. Luther translated this verse differently: “he who sat at table” (“Es war aber einer unter seinen Juengern, der zu Tische sass an der Brust Jesu, welchen Jesus lieb hatte”). 95 The King James’s (AV) version reads (13:23): “there was leaning on Jesus’ bosom, one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved”. 96 WLM, Stuttgart, inv. no. E 514. 97 NIV, John 13:24: “Simon Peter motioned to this disciple [John] and said, ‘Ask him which one he means’”. 98 See the gradual of St Katharinenthal (c. 1312), fol. 158a verso, Schweiz. Landesmuseum. 94

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interpreted the scene differently. Bonaventura, Bede and Albertus Magnus were pointing not to the event, but to its meaning. The resting of John’s head on his master’s breast suggested to them sleeping or dreaming, and resting in God, an image suited to sustained contemplative prayer. Hence the sculpted Jesus and St John became a popular cult image to be found in many south German (Swabian) nunneries.99

Fig. 4–5 Christ and St John group (Christus–Johannesgruppe; c. 1330) from the Lake Constance region.

Fig. 4–6 Carved heads of St John from two different Christ and St John groups.

There are other works, now isolated from their original contexts, where the closed eye also is (or seems to be) a feature but which it is more difficult to explain. The Strasbourg Cathedral workshop is probably the site where a new type of image was created. These are the half-length busts of persons shown resting with their elbow on a ledge. Where they were initially positioned is not clear. A feature that some of these have in common is eyes which appear shut. Two sculptors are associated with these works: Nicolaus Gerhaert of Leyden and Nicolaus of Hageneau. A 99

Reiner Haussherr, “Über die Christus-Johannes-Gruppen. Zum Problem “Andachtsbilder” und “deutsche Mystik” in Beiträge zur Kunst des Mittelalters. Festschrift f. H. Wentzel, Berlin 1975.

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bust attributed to Nicolaus of Hageneau is of limewood; its polychromy is modern.100 It is of a man with a head cover tailing off into a shoulderlength scarf. His arms appear to rest on a sill or balustrade; his right hand clasps a scroll with a heavy, unbroken seal; his lips are as tightly shut as are his eyes, which are small and deep set. They could be a blind man’s eyes, but if so why was he given a scroll? It has been suggested that the bust is a representation of Tobit, a minor prophet whose story is told in the Apocrypha; his eyesight was miraculously restored.101 102 But what was the idea behind the two other representations of men who shut their eyes to the world? They were both carved in stone by Nicolaus van Leyden during the 1460s, while he was still in Strasbourg. The Man Resting on his Elbow (before 1467)103 may have been a self-portrait; if so it seems strange that he should have preferred this “self-effacing” stance, for the concept of the self-portrait somehow does not embrace modesty. The bust is now seen out of its former context and we can only go by what we see: a man deep in thought, perhaps just dreaming, but clearly disengaged from all worldly affairs. We must not overlook the sensitivity of the carving. As no paint obscures the subtly curved edge of the upper eyelid, we can see the cast of a shadow that resembles the dark fringe of eyelashes. Then there are his strong, workmanlike fingers pushing back in folds the ageing skin of his cheek. It is a face with character and the portrait of a man of action who, it seems, also relies on his inner resources. The head of Man with a Turban (1463–64) was made for the door of the old Chancellery in Strasbourg. The face is that of an old man, with pronounced lower lids and bags below the eyes. The head sustained damage and the surface of the stone has lost its crispness during the course of time, hence the eyes are no longer clearly interpretable as being either open or shut. They appear to be shut, but need not be so, for there is a thinner upper ridge which could be taken for the upper eyelid.104 If these are open eyes, the irises were probably once painted in.

100

Strasbourg, Musée de l’Oeuvre Notre-Dame; inv. no. 445. The book of Tobit. 102 Louvre exh. cat. Sculptures allemandes de la fin du Moyen Age, ed. Sophie Guillot de Suduiraut, Paris 1991, p. 89. 103 Strasbourg, Musée de l’Oeuvre Notre-Dame; inv. no. MOND165; red sandstone. 104 See Regelindis’s very thin upper eyelids. 101

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Fig. 4–7 Job, high-relief, dorsal figure by Jörg Syrlin the Elder, choir stalls; Ulm Minster, Germany.

Fig. 4–8 St John asleep (c. 1515), carving attributed to, or atelier of, Martin Hoffmann; copy after Veit Stoss.

A similar puzzle is posed by the eyes of the figure of Job from the choir stalls of Ulm Minster. There, too, the wood-visible figure appears as if with eyes closed. What casts doubt on such a viewing is the fact that the curved, horizontally running lines below the brows can only be the rims of eyelids, not folds of loose skin.105 (We need only to compare these eyes with another example. Veit Stoss carved a Mount Olive scene with the Three Disciples Asleep;106 St Peter in particular, shown en face, has convincingly placed folds of closed eyelids across the middle section of his eyeballs.) The Job figure appears to have a slight indentation on its right eye. If genuine, it is one of the rare examples on a south German wood carving of that period of marking the pupils with a tool. What seems peculiar is the fact that all neighbouring dorsal figures have their eyes painted in. Are these later additions? But this is not where our puzzle ends.107 The realism with which this figure was conceived, details such as its eyes and hairstyle and other anatomical observations like the veins on 105

A greatly enlarged scanned photograph reveals that the eyes are actually open, but there is not a mark to suggest any pupils. The figures on either side of Job have painted-in eyes. 106 Volckamerschen Stiftung reliefs. 107 The problem of open or closed eyes alerts us to a perceptual dilemma not dissimilar to the shape of a rabbit with a goose bill; viewers have to make a conscious effort to focus on the image they think is the correct one.

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the hands and the thorax, make this carving stand out from the rest. Who carved it? Was it created by the same master as all the other sculptures along the wood-cladded walls of the choir? Could Job be the work of Nicolaus Gerhaert, or of someone he trained? Possibly Veit Stoss? These questions remain presently unanswered. In this chapter I have discussed how the emotions were gradually accommodated and how they affected the shape of the sculpted eye. The “seeing eye” and the “eye in motion” open up yet another vista: gaze and glance and what lies in the related field of vision. To this I shall turn next.

CHAPTER FIVE THE GAZE AND THE GLANCE Thy glance, Lord, is Thy face.1

The philosopher G.W.F. Hegel opened his argument concerning the eye with these words: “In speaking of the eye it is important at once to make it clear that in the figure of ideal sculpture, in addition to the absence of any true colour such as is found in painting, the glance of the eye is also absent.”2 He perceived colour, gaze and glance as closely related. Indeed, that is what they are. I have allocated a separate chapter to these concepts in order to keep in my field of vision a number of corollary issues that support or enlarge on the two ideas, though I may occasionally stray across these boundaries. I shall argue that there is a need to bring into the discussion of gaze and glance the way the sculpted image needs to be viewed, and point out that we cannot transfer the conventional mode of seeing painting and judging it by the standards of sculpture, for the figure and its gaze have their own relationship with space and time. The glance–gaze distinction has preoccupied others. For example, the art historian Norman Bryson discussed this issue at length.3 His concerns were governed by his interest in the engagement of the artist with the twodimensional image, the time–space relationship involved and the linguistics of viewing – which Bryson feeds into his discussion of current concepts of vision derived from philosophy, psychology and sociology. By contrast I shall draw on the science of vision. Patrick Trevor-Roper, a twentieth-century eye-surgeon, and Hugo Magnus, whom I have already introduced, will clarify some of the phenomena by taking us across the divide between art and science. I shall refer to a host of other “eyewitnesses” in support of my case, some of whom have articulated their views in writing and others who let us see for ourselves. The latter are the 1

Cusanus. De visio Deo, 24E, 112L. G.W.F. Hegel, The Philosophy of Fine Art, translated by F.P.B. Osmaston, New York 1920, Vol. 3, p. 148. 3 N. Bryson, Vision and Painting: the logic of the gaze, New Haven 1983, chapter 5. 2

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sculpted images whose gaze or glance, or lack of either, are considered here. There are some sub-themes that will take us forwards: the divergent gaze, the “arc of address”, and the beholder’s response; then there is once again the technical aspect of the sculpted eye and how, when viewed across time, it exposes a historical and social viewpoint for vision. *** In painting it would look very odd if the artist were to leave the eyes blank in an otherwise realistically painted face, neither indicating their constituent parts nor providing a clue to the subject’s visual orientation. Indeed, such a portrait would be likely to perturb us, or simply to be less satisfying than many a preparatory study where the more prominent features such as the eyes, mouth and nose have been drawn in but other facial detail is lacking. There, the viewer is not affected by the stare of two voids, wondering about their meaning. Masks are also usually eyeless; as a class of objects that is their function and as such they are fully comprehended. Statues or busts with eyes but no gaze propose different readings. Hollow – that is, empty – eyes may suggest loss of inlays while smooth, colourless eyeballs may similarly have lost the colouring intended, and therefore also the gaze, because the paint pigments have been rubbed off.4 Eyes of idealized figures often lack any hint of a gaze, as pointed out by Hegel, and we believe that this was intentional; such eyes were thought to give the figure the appearance of greater detachment from this world and to look more serene. But while seeing is often a matter of knowing, the beholder who may be unfamiliar with art-historical traditions or conventions may well sense the emotional void between him and the gazeless representation.5 In reality the eye is neither expressionless nor motionless;6 it is an organ, alive and very complex. As for the artist’s attempt to reveal how this organ appears under certain conditions, he will always have to work within the constraints set by his chosen medium. Whether paint or stone, that allows him to express no more than an abstracted version of the real, although there are many approaches to recognizability or likeness, from the minimal to the imitative, which may perhaps register as a symbolic or faithful rendering. Yet however crudely or precisely executed, the 4

Riemenschneider, Virgin Annunciate, c. 1500, alabaster; Musée du Louvre, Paris. Inv. R.F.1384. 5 Some modern sculptors have represented eyes without eyeballs, alluding to the gaze through the play of light and shade in the deep recesses. 6 The eyes of the blind also evoke some response in the beholder.

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represented eye cannot be anything other than a make-believe object; what it conveys depends largely on whether it can trigger the viewer’s imagination as intended. In this respect, the image is essentially a compromise between two realities: actual and envisaged. This brings us to the question of how much the artist need state in order to induce a particular way of seeing. To put this another way, how much information does the viewer require in order to perceive what the sculptor intends him to see? What is the absolute minimal level that satisfies the criteria? Indeed, where lies the threshold of conveying and perceiving? Of course, the physical eye is a sensory organ, while the sculpted eye is only a visual object – often a crude model of the original. The former is active, the latter passive; but although passive, it is sometimes required to demonstrate an ongoing activity peculiar to the living organ – for instance, crying or glancing, concentrated looking or open-eyed dreaming. Much of what the physical eye naturally does cannot be shown in sculpture or painting. The blink of the eye, on which a person’s health and safety may depend, remains unrepresentable. However, there are particular moments along the path travelled by the pupils which, when stopped in their track and reviewed in a still position, act as a reminder of what the eye was doing during that instant: glancing at something or catching a glimpse of what had come momentarily into its field of vision. From experience the viewer knows that this now-fixed eye position is in reality of very short duration, that in fact the glance is short lived, just as is the blink. The viewer’s idea of a glance – such as the one Georges de La Tour painted in The Cheat with Ace of Diamonds, is, in a sense, accumulative for he knows that physiologically no eye will endure such a position for long. Painting, and more so photography, has enabled us to seize a particular moment and fix it, allowing us to study at length a physically awkward yet often telling situation. But how is it with sculpture – be it a statue or a bust – for somehow the sculpted monument is never meant to be something short lived? We by and large associate it with permanence and durability owing to its solid state of existence. Yet monuments fall and decay, time undermines and erases, and minds bent on destruction will do this even faster; blow by blow they will cancel an image and what it represents. During iconoclastic periods sculptures especially were objects of rejection and targets for vengeance. Some attacks were quite selective with regard to which parts of the image were to suffer mutilation. We know of instances where the eyes of

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representations in particular have been wilfully obliterated.7 At Münster in Germany8 a thirteenth-century carved half-figure of an abbess was thus disfigured by the Anabaptists in 1535.9 Another example of eye mutilation (on a painting this time) shows priests and deacons celebrating a Gregorian mass. The iconoclast who attacked the image reduced it to a ghostly spectre, for he maimed the communicants by having their eyes scraped out. It could not be a more emphatic protest against the celebration of high mass.10 Sightless now,11 these church representatives have become a fearful sight, a dire warning to all priests of the Church who shut their eyes to the real needs of her people.12 By negating any vision (symbolically or otherwise), by whatever radical means, a new perspective of seeing was imposed on the beholder. The removal or destruction of religious images dealt not only with the object of idolatry itself (the graven image), but also with any form of misrepresentation of catechetical teachings. The assailants thus tried to reinstate the mosaic law “Thou shall not have any graven images”, yet disregarded another fundamental concept and a belief: “Man, made in the image of God” and “Christ, Son of God” – which at least the Lutherans retained in its physical and visual manifestation. The image of the crucified on the cross remained largely a Protestant visual symbol. 13 *** In 1010 Bernard of Angers (who was critical of image worship) visited Aurillac, where he saw a golden statue of St Gerald. He turned to his 7 Sergiusz Michalski, “Das Phänomen Bildersturm. Versuch einer Übersicht”, in Bilder und Bildersturm im Spätmittelalter und in der frühen Neuzeit, ed. Bob Scribner, 1990. 8 East transept of the St Paulus Dom, Münster. 9 The bronze head of an Akkadian ruler of Nineveh, Iraq (c. 2300–2200 BC) has mutilated eyes (Iraq Museum, Baghdad). 10 The Protestants rejected the Gregorian mass; they focused on celebrating the Last Supper as a memorial instituted by Christ the night before his Crucifixion. See Luke 22:19. 11 All the figures except the Christ figure were spoilt. 12 Michalski, p. 95, quotes Bishop Gardiner of Portsmouth who, around 1550, complained that “an image of Christ crucified was so contemptuously handled … to have the one eye bored out and the side pierced”; requoted from John Phillips, The Reformation of Images. Destruction of art in England 1535–1660, Berkeley 1973, p. 90. 13 While Martin Luther kept the crucifix, Andreas Karlstadt and Jean Calvin adopted the plain cross with its connotation of the Resurrection.

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companion and commented (in Latin). “Brother, what do you think of this idol? Would Jupiter or Mars consider himself unworthy of such a statue?” When we appeared before her, the space was so tight, the prostrated crowd was so pressing, that we could not fall on our knees … Seeing her for the first time, all in gold, adorned with flashing precious stones and looking like a human face, it seemed to most of the farmers who contemplated her that she granted their plea with her eyes.14

Mesmerized and deceived as they were, it seemed to Bernard that simple folk believed anything; even so, the impassive face and dark-blue enamelled eyes may have been fixed on eternity rather than on any individual in front of them.15 But while the maker of this reliquary statue probably followed his conscience by creating a precious work of art for the glory of God, skill and resources have at other times been deliberately misused, even in the name of the Church. Some misguided miracle-makers produced on one occasion a crucifix, on others statues of saints that could roll their eyes or cry tears and thereby soften the hearts of hard-pressed sinners who, gullible as they were, bought the indulgences urged on them, believing this to be the way to their salvation.16 These examples point to something else. By adding a fourth dimension – namely movement – to the three-dimensional image it became functional, a demonstrative showpiece intended to excite the viewer to anticipate yet another move, a 14

Liber miraculorum sancte Fidis, part of Collection de textes pour servir à l’enseignement de l’histoire, Paris 1897, lib.1, XI, 47: “ita ad humane figure vultum expresse effigiatam, ut plerisque rusticis videntes se perspicati intuitu videatur videre, oculisque reverberantibus precantum votis aliquando placidius favere”. Quoted from Guy P. Marchal, “Bildersturm im Mittelalter” in Historisches Jahrbuch 113 (1993), p. 264. 15 http://www.conques.com/visite.tresor.sainte_foy.uk.html. Text: Jean-Claude FAU (6.7.1999). 16 N. Schnitzler, Ikonoklasmus – Bildersturm, Munich 1996, p. 171, n. 26, refers to several such ploys. An image of the Virgin Mary was removed from the dome in Lübeck during the mid-1520s and its deceptive machinery exposed. If the offerings of the viewer were inadequate it could turn its head; also it would shed tears. Inside the image’s head a system of small pipes and a damp sponge assured their flow. Reports spread of other such ingenious and “deceitful images” (Lügenbilder), initially praised as miracle images (Wunderbilder). In England a mechanical device inside a revered holy image was exposed in 1538 when an emissary of Thomas Cromwell was sent to the Abbey of Boxley. The miracle-working crucifix was found to have been fitted with wires that made the head nod, the eyes roll, the beard quiver and the body bend. See also J. Phillips, Reformation of Images, 1973, p. 73.

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miracle perhaps, as his gaze fastened on the mechanical, soulless event. His attention was deflected from his inner eye and what it might show him about the truth. *** This brings us back to the straight and steadfast gaze that is one of the distinctive features of most images made for cultic purposes since ancient times. The eyes of portraits,17 and also of mythological representations, often show the image with its gaze deflected from a straight, unswerving look ahead. Portraiture mimics any tendency of the eye to drift from its centre, and thus not only reflects the more natural behaviour of the visual organ but is also more attuned to the various moods expressed through the slight changes of eye direction. Of course, by being made to look directly, not just vaguely, at somebody the image is far from distancing itself from its beholder; on the contrary. Some fifteenth-century paintings of the face of Christ have been given a direct, slightly disquieting gaze. The beholder senses that he is being followed by a pair of eyes wherever he moves within the encompassment of their gaze. A particularly telling example is Herlin’s Veronica image, a panel painting. From whatever standpoint the beholder views, it will make him feel that he is being followed by the eyes before the picture frame cuts off the perceived gaze.18 May the same claim be made of the bust with eyes that look straight ahead? Does the viewer not have a different approach, physically as well as mentally, because of its size and particularly because of the space it occupies, which is not imaginary, but shared with the spectator? On coming upon it obliquely19 – that is, from the side and thus from within a wide angle – he may catch a glimpse of its gaze, although it will not be making any eye-contact with him; this is only possible when facing the bust frontally. The gaze has not been “framed” or in any way set up to narrow the field of the spectator’s vision, on which the “pursuing gaze” seems to depend.20 In this respect, the bust reveals more of its actual 17

Not those of an image of a ruler also worshipped as a god. The visual field, or “arc of address”, allowing for eye-contact, is around 120 degrees. 19 The figure in a flat painting cannot be viewed obliquely. 20 If two people look into each other’s eyes, both are obliged to move them physically as they distance themselves from one another in whatever direction. This is effectively ballet dancing. The eyes cannot remain engaged with one another without the whole body responding to this kind of disengagement. The bust is in this respect an unwilling partner, while the painting is confined by its own physical limits. 18

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limitations – namely, its inability to adjust its eye to whatever is coming into its own field of vision, and from whatever direction. While I do not want to attach too much significance to what I perceive as an odd phenomenon, I nevertheless think this demonstrates that two- and threedimensional portraits show different things about the gaze represented. How the artist, as the originator and first beholder of the portrait and its gaze, goes about capturing it was examined more closely by Bryson. Portraits, as seen by the artist, present to the beholder a momentary and also final stage of artistic gazing and beholding; there is no difference here between the two media, painting and sculpture. In either case the gaze thus fixed will have gone through the motions of scrutinizing and glancing at the subject, which involves, moment by moment, some comparing and modifying as the artist’s gaze moves to and fro between the image and its object or idea. It is a sequential process and, as Bryson pointed out, each new brush stroke obliterates the former vision and therefore also the glances and what had been perceived. The art object is the sum or history of its “gazing into being”; the last stage of execution is always a present, final statement which overrides those made previously. The beholder’s glance oscillates between the present (the holding on to the seen) and the future (the next glance). But it appears to me that once again we can observe in sculpture a different approach. What in painting seems to have been irretrievably exchanged for the next or latest impression21 differs in sculpture. There is one such stage that occasionally allows a renewed viewing, although at a cost. Assuming that the completed image includes polychromy and if the paint has for whatever reason been lost, the carved material thus exposed points to a former, crucial stage of the object’s history. The “raw” in contrast to the finished – that is, painted – work lets us see whether the gaze of the image was determined by the sculptor before it received its polychromy; indeed, whether the painter (by superimposing his own perception of what the gaze should be) introduced some corrective measures regarding the gaze,22 although such instances are less probable in portraiture; there, the sculptor probably executed the entire work by himself and hence carried through his intentions, which especially included the gaze. In order to represent a particular gaze, a glance even, he had to be solely responsible for the work and stay in tune with the emotional chord he hoped to strike in the subject represented. This is what Hegel had to say: 21

Overpainting (or white-washing) a painting is not dissimilar to repainting a polychromed piece of sculpture at a later stage. Layers of overpaint may, of course, be removed in either medium in order to get to the original paint. 22 See below, chapter 7, p. 174: Crucifix of Biberach.

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We can readily imagine that it must cost the artist a great deal to sacrifice the eye in its simple aspect of animation. We have only to look a man in the eyes to discover a point of arrest, a centre that explains and is basic to his entire presentment, which we may grasp in its simplest terms from the unifying declaration of its bare look. The eye-glance is in fact that aspect which is most steeped in soul; it is the concentration of the inward life and its subjective emotion. Just as a man by means of a handshake, so, too, with yet more rapidity he is brought into unity with his fellow by virtue of the eye-glance he faces. And it is this pre-eminently spiritual mode of revelation which sculpture is forced to dispense with.

He then reflects on how the glance speaks in painting. There, it is the subtle gradation of colouring which blends the life and soul of man, and he concludes: The work of sculpture possesses no such ideal intimacy in its simplest terms which is allowed to assert itself, as the human look does assert itself in contrast to other parts of the human body, thereby unfolding a contrast between the eye and the body; rather in sculpture what the individual is in his ideal and spiritual significance remains wholly fused in the total aspect of form, which the spirit that contemplates it, the spectator, can alone grasp in its unity.23

*** The eye is always ready to search for patterns and, once found, to seek out the things different from the regular and expected. So it is with the next item I want to introduce: divergent eyes.24 It has been observed that in a number of images (paintings and sculptures alike) the central character is shown with an unfocused gaze. This type of image has eyes that diverge and therefore never meet those of the beholder, real or imaginary. They are in this respect counter-examples to representations with eyes that appear to follow the viewer, like Herlin’s Christ Face. Usually it is just one eye that diverges, although it is not always immediately apparent which of the two is the cause of the aberrant gaze. There are several strands tied into this interesting but knotty problem. For the present I suggest that there are two categories involved and two possible causes to which these images owe their divergent gaze. In the first instance divergent eyes were possibly introduced as an artistic device and intended as an extended concept, thus serving an ideology. The images that belong to this group are either God 23

Hegel, translated by Osmaston, 1975, Vol. 3, p. 116ff. Some art historians call this the “Ulm phenomenon”. Personal communication, Michele Maricola, MET, The Cloisters, New York, 15 November 1999. 24

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the Father figures, or figures of Christ – and one or two representations belong to an Annunciation scene. In all these cases the wide-eyed gaze appears all-embracing in its viewing, for it does not so much focus on the microcosmic world of the individual as keep in its gaze the macrocosmic flow of events. The artistic intention points to things of an extraordinary magnitude, of which the medieval viewer would have been well aware: his need of and hope in salvation. The other reason for seeing this type of gaze at this period, and notably within the ambience of one or two workshops, may well have something to do with the idiosyncrasy of a master carver whose own constitution favoured a slightly lop-sided approach to handling some faces. For instance, Tilman Riemenschneider, I suspect, was inclined that way; hence the divergent eyes observable in his works are probably of pathological rather than intentional making, unless the master was aware and made use of the fact that asymmetrical features do occur in people. I want to come back to this idea, but first there is the question of when this iconographical peculiarity occurred and who else was responsible. The so-called Master of 1504, possibly Hans Maler of Ulm, painted between 1505 and 1510 a predella panel showing twelve disciples, six on either side of the centrally placed Christ. He alone looks out of the pictorial space as he makes the sign of blessing, but his gaze diverges. Very similar is a carved image of God the Father, also gesturing a blessing, while the gaze fans out. The accompanying figure of the Virgin to whom the angel appears casts her eyes downwards, without her eyelids shielding her slightly divergent gaze. Her head inclines a little to her right and it is the right eye that seems to follow the head movement, as if withdrawing and taking herself into herself as she listens. The work is by Veit Stoss, who in 1518 made this Annunciation group for the St Lorenz church in Nuremberg. An early sixteenth-century painting of Christ with a crown of thorns by Hans Schäufelin extends the iconography as here the divergent gaze of the Christ image appears introspective, yet as if haunted by the prospect of the imminent Crucifixion.25 A similarly apprehensive gaze occurs in a carving. In 1510 Daniel Mauch of Ulm produced an altarpiece showing the Holy Family. Mary has slightly divergent eyes; she inclines her head towards the left as she thoughtfully holds the child, whose own attention is directed towards Joseph. Mary’s left eye appears to look downwards while her right eye vaguely gazes at something in front of her. None of the images mentioned gives us a lead to whose idea it was to paint in eyes that diverge. But two further sculptural works take us further 25

A woodcut of Schäufelin’s Christ image was reproduced in Hans von Leonrodt’s Hymelwag, which was published by Othmar of Augsburg in 1517. The print also suggests a divergent gaze. See Karl Pearson, Die Fronica, 1887, plate XVI.

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back in time. Around 1480 Michel Erhart carved a half-figure of a fashionably dressed female, a Sybil perhaps,26 as she resembles those on the choir stalls27 in Ulm Minster, which are probably also by the elder Syrlin’s one-time assistant. This reliquary figure is polychromed, unlike the Sybils; indeed, this is essential in showing the direction of the gaze. However, she does not fit into the concept of the gaze extending an ideological vision; she is a wide-eyed dreamer, or an artist’s ideal – as were the many “Beautiful Madonnas” of almost a century earlier.28 One such group of Madonna and Child may be relevant here if we accept the infant’s slightly divergent eyes as being in keeping with the notion of the all-embracing vision of the Christ portrait by the Master of 1504, although what seems more probable is that the artist of the “Beautiful Madonna” from Salzburg or Bohemia caught an expression characteristic of infants.29 In infants the eye focus has yet to stabilize and become binocular.30 31 Before returning to Riemenschneider’s type of divergent eyes, I want to press a question asked before: what links were there between Veit Stoss and Ulm? There are several motifs which he used repeatedly in his work and which may also be found in Ulm.32 There are no documents that might clarify for us his early contacts and movements. Of course, Riemenschneider keeps us similarly wondering about his training33 and 26

Labelled by the Ulm Museum: “Bust of a young woman in the costume of the Burgundian Court”. Original polychromy. 27 The choir-stall figures are not as wide eyed; in fact, they all have bead-like eyes which would not have lent themselves as a base for painting them in divergent gaze. 28 Magnus observed in a lecture given at the University of Breslau in 1876 that Raphael’s Sistine Madonna (1512–14) also has divergent eyes, which give her an air of self-absorption as she seems spiritually removed from all earthly concerns. 29 1390–93; now in Altenmarkt/Pongau. (Ill. no. 11 in Hans Multscher, Das Frankfurter Trinitätsrelief by Herbert Beck,1988.) 30 See Magnus (p. 40), where he points out that the very young child, not yet used to gazing for long in a particular direction, has a slightly divergent look which gives him an appearance of angelic innocence. See also Veit Stoss’s Annunciation in Nuremberg (1518); the group includes a small angel which, too, has divergent eyes. 31 See also the Beautiful Madonna (WLM, exhibited in Rottweil); in this case it is Mary who has widely placed eyes which, depending on the angle from which one is looking, appear slightly divergent. 32 The Zipfel motif; the straight-haired figures; and now the divergent eyes. 33 Hartmut Krohm, “The Sources of Riemenschneider’s Art” in exh. cat. Tilman Riemenschneider. Master Sculptor of the Late Middle Ages (National Gallery of Art, Washington DC and The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), 1999/2000. Krohm discusses several stylistic features in Riemenschneider’s (early)

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Wanderjahre (journeyman years), and whether he spent his formative years in Strasbourg and Ulm, perhaps visited Constance – or even Basel, where his contemporary, also from Thuringa, the sculptor Martin Hoffmann34 finally settled. As regards the problem under discussion, divergent gaze, I suggest that Riemenschneider sometimes carved slanting and divergent eyes because of the way he perceived and worked and that the ideological factor is secondary to the problem.35 Once again I rely on experts from the medical field. In 1826 the eminent physiologist Dr Johannes Müller published his findings on the movement of the eye and the human gaze.36 He referred to five different types of strabism, and among others discussed the divergent gaze (strabismus divergens). What all forms of strabism have in common is that the focus of each eye is on a different object. Strabism occurs sometimes in infancy, although in children, he writes, it is often an acquired fault that usually rectifies itself as it is due to the cramp or lameness of an eye muscle, or it occurs because of some external pressure affecting the eye. Besides, it goes against the principles of physiology that otherwise healthy organs, such as the eyes, should each focus on a different object. Anything that lies on the line of the visual axes of diverging eyes will always come together at the same point within the subject’s visual space. Hugo Magnus goes a step further with his explanation: If the two axes of the eyes converge the gaze appears cross-eyed. In cases where they severely converge they even appear stupid [haben etwas Blödes an sich], whereas a very slight convergence seems to give them that scrutinizing look often adopted by the intelligent person when examining something closely. The gaze usually preferred by the painter is the eyes looking straight ahead [mittelgradige Convergenz] as then they appear to engage the beholder. But when the two lines diverge portraits have an “other-worldly look” [etwas Verklärtes].37 The axes of the eyes must not diverge beyond a certain degree without turning the gaze into something work, which suggest a stay in Strasbourg, possibly with Nicolaus Gerhaert. Krohm also suggests Ulm as an important second port of call where Riemenschneider gained first-hand knowledge of works by Multscher, Syrlin the Elder, and Michel and Gregor Erhart. 34 Hoffmann also poses some problems in this respect. 35 A personal communication from J.M. Massing alerted me to the obsession with symmetry. However, the question here is, why were the Ulm sculptors more prone to representing eyes “lop-sided” than sculptors of the same period elsewhere? 36 J. Müller, Zur vergleichenden Physiologie des Gesichtssinnes …, Leipzig 1826, p. 226. 37 Magnus (1876), p. 39.

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unpleasant. If the eyeballs turn too much towards the outer corner of the eyelid, then they give the impression that they are not fixed on anything at all, but stare aimlessly into space [empty, inhaltsloser Blick], as may be seen in some blind persons.38

In more recent times Patrick Trevor-Roper made a valid contribution to our understanding of how the unbalanced eye behaves. In 1970 he published his book The World through Blunted Sight, in which he described various eye defects suffered by some visual artists and the impact they had on their works. About divergence he wrote as follows: whereas most mammals can hold their eyes straight (i.e. with their visual axes parallel) when looking straight ahead, on looking to either side their eyes normally act independently, with widely divergent axes. Only with the higher primates does binocular vision become so important and so welldeveloped that we keep our eyes straight nearly all the time, by a complicated conditional reflex which we learn during the first years of life in the interests of single three-dimensional vision. But if illness or anxiety hinders our adaptation during those difficult formative years, and particularly if the eyes have an inherited tendency to deviate, they may drift out of alignment, becoming convergent or divergent. Such a squint can equally develop later in life after an injury to the controlling eyemuscles or their respective nerves and the deviation can be vertical as well as horizontal; while any eyes that are poor-sighted will likewise have little incentive to stay straight.39

The weakness in one eye is often compensated for by the dominant eye, which, being more active, also affects the muscles and the skin surrounding it, thus causing the (mimical) asymmetry of the face.40 As noted above, Riemenschneider’s work includes several figures whose eyes have a slightly divergent gaze or an asymmetrical eye position. 38

Ibid., p. 40. Patrick Trevor-Roper, 1990, p. 101. 40 See W. Waetzoldt, “Die mimische Asymmetrie des Gesichts”, in PsychiatrischNeurologische Wochenschrift 1902 und 1906, und Deutsche Medizinische Wochenschrift 1902, No. 31. He wrote: “The physiological consequence … is: the movable, mobile and adjustable parts around the right eye, and above it the muscles of the forehead, are exercised more than the skin and muscles on the lefthand side. The whole right side of the face acquires gradually a mimically different character than the left because of the eye’s more strenuous fixations, letting it appear ‘perceptive, actively thinking or communicative’ whilst the expression on the other half of the face seems ‘less fixed, as if dreaming, and in a passive state’. Thus, the hard-working right eye has a tendency to become short-sighted, another factor for it to strain more.” 39

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The heads of these representations often tend to incline towards one side and it is that eye that appears to sit sometimes lower than the incline of the head would justify. This of course affects the gaze. Moreover, on at least one such image the sculptor carved that side of the face flatter: a figure of St Luke that once belonged to the Münnerstadt Altarpiece.41 This brings us to the concept of eye dominance and also to handedness, for it seems that Riemenschneider may have suffered from an (uncorrected) imbalance of eyesight and hence had an inclination towards asymmetry. Indeed, symmetry is not part of his style; he avoided it in his figures as well as in his compositions. This is not to be faulted, for it made his carvings appear more natural. Nevertheless, it is ingrained in the psyche of the viewer to look at least for facial symmetry, particularly as regards the eyes – although when seen from a physiological point of view, the once regular features of a face tend to change and may become slightly lop-sided as they adjust to habits and ageing.42 Riemenschneider’s representations are however of fictitious persons; that is, they are his inventions and during his career they became part of his repertoire. We recognize a Riemenschneider figure because of some stock-in-trade features that became perhaps fixed in his viewing and because of his partly mechanical approach to commencing the carving of a new piece of work.43 The family likeness of many of his statues also suggests that they may have absorbed 41 Carved between 1490 and 1492. This figure, with those of the other three apostles, Matthew, Mark and John, was part of the Riemenschneider exhibition in Washington, DC (1999), where I had the opportunity to look more closely at the eyes of these statues. I gained the impression that Riemenschneider had a tendency to cut that side of the face which inclined towards the shoulder flatter, as if deceived by the light or by his own imbalanced vision. 42 This is why it sometimes comes as a shock to discover, with the help of a mirror, how asymmetrical a familiar face is in reality. 43 Patrick Trevor-Roper (1990), pp. 120–21 makes an interesting connection between our left to right orientation when reading or viewing a picture and homo sapiens’ visual development. But once again I wonder whether there is a perceptible difference between reading a flat image and an object in the round. The interaction between the viewer and a bust or statue provides more options for approaching it visually, and probably necessarily so, as the play of light and shade is more pronounced, thus making different demands on the beholder. Trevor-Roper gives us some clue, although based on viewing paintings. He writes (p. 121) “The viewer of the picture tends subconsciously to locate himself at the beginning of this ‘glance-curve’ (i.e. in the left foreground), so that objects there appear as nearer and more important, even to the extent that the viewer will tend to identify himself with any character who is stationed there. Objects on the right appear, by contrast, less three-dimensional (more ‘flattened-out’), and instead of their texture, their colour and brightness seem enhanced.”

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something of his own physiognomy. I cannot say whether the irregularities observed in the eyes of sculptures by this sculptor are on account of a progressive eye weakness, which would point more readily to his greater dependence on his own dominant eye44 and to a shift regarding his visual judgement.45 Still, the fact remains that during a short period (the working life of one generation),46 47 this peculiarity regarding the eyes surfaced and then disappeared again. It seems to be unique to a particular geographical area, namely southern Germany. Veit Stoss’s possible link with Ulm we have already raised. Whether Riemenschneider had contacts with Ulm’s workshops,48 where he might have learned an artistic ploy as indicated,

44 John Strachan (http://www.mailbase.ac.uk/lists/eye-movement/1998-06/0028. html) explains the mechanism of the dominant eye phenomenon: “With respect to the lead or dominant eye it will correspond to the handedness of the subject unless the eye in a right handed person has approximately 3 to 5 percent less acuity than the left eye and vice versa, suggesting that the lead eye will be the same as the handedness provided the eyes are reasonably close in optical performance.” 45 Trevor-Roper (1990), pp. 123ff, explains this phenomenon of eye dominance in art further. He cites Bronzino’s Portrait of a Young Man and points out that “the model’s right eye looks directly at the artist, and the left is allowed a little divergence – as is occasionally found in portraits by right-handed artists”. But are not many more artists right-handed than left-handed? The majority of portraits do not show the gaze to diverge. 46 Claus Zoege von Manteuffel, “Gotische Strukturen in der Süddeutschen Barockplastik”, in Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunst-geschichte, 45, 1992, p. 117. The most important phenomenon of the facial features of medieval sculpture, the divergent eyes, occurred between the 1480s and 1510s, although he sees it continuing into (or reviving during?) the Baroque period. 47 Ibid., Von Manteuffel tries to explain how it may have arisen: “The sculptor only thinks of his sculptural form, the round head and its spherical eyes. These, too, are for him distinct sculptural forms. When he marks their pupils with some colour, as he tends to do, he does so by marking the centre of either sphere which accounts for the outward slant, for, he does not think in terms of modelling a face with a view to fixing the gaze on something. The polychromer, however, takes even less note (of gaze and object) as he paints the pupils frontally whilst focusing on the centre of each globe. For him, the round form of the eye is just a paint surface, not a haptic entity, the repeated form (copy) of a living head.” I disagree with von Manteuffel, who overlooked the fact that this phenomenon is characteristic of only a handful of artists from a particular region or artistic connection. Neither Michael Pacher nor Nicolaus Gerhaert nor the painter Herlin had problems of this kind. 48 See Susanne Wagini (1995), pp. 54, 118, where she comments on Daniel Mauch’s characteristic manner of cutting slanting eyes.

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deserves to be more fully explored, while Albrecht Dürer’s occasional renderings of divergent eyes also are of interest here.49 *** A single instant, a mere blink of an eye, is all that separates the calm gaze and the quick glance. In sculpture that single moment was in the making over a long period. The steadfast gaze associated with cult images since prehistoric times was rarely shown deflected from a straight orientation. And monumental calm resides in the eyes of holy images of the early medieval period. Detached from the worldly or the momentary, they seem to uphold the status quo. There are two issues related to the glance as shown in sculpture, which I now want to bring into the discussion by locating what, in my opinion, comes across as an attempt to make an oblique reference to the fourth dimension: time. Firstly, how is time perceived visually? Although the beholder may know in what order natural things reveal themselves – their sequence of unfolding, the timing of it, the perceptual changes thereof, and so forth – to the visual artist there are few options open for alluding to time per se. The showing of change necessitates the portrayal of the most potent moments in sequence. The sculptor Gregor Erhart, for instance, tried to show with his three-figure Vanitas group50 the changes of the flesh, not forgetting detail such as the eyes which, in the old person of the triad, are deep set with loose skin and sagging lower lids that pull away from the eyeballs and hence expose more of the white thereof. Self-portraits done at different periods in an artist’s life may also be read as a quasi-sequence in time. In these two types time is understood as a period, the lifespan of an individual, perceived as of approximate duration. But time is also broken down into smaller units, with the moment being perceived as its smallest unit. It seems impossible to show such fractured time in sculpture, and yet certain images, particular stances and visual allusions to the passing of time are evident in the expression of the imaged gaze. Language even provides us with a separate term, glance, from which follows that the swiftness of looking has its own references and meaning.51 49 However, Dürer drew divergent eyes which demonstrate an eye defect realistically and not an ideal (e.g. the drawing of his mother, 1514). 50 Limewood, original polychromy, c. 1480; 46 cm; Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, Kunstkammer. 51 The WWWebster Dictionary: glance of the eye – (a) “to move swiftly from one thing to another”; (b) “to take a quick look at something”; and the archaic meaning, “to catch a glimpse of”.

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Secondly, what options are open to the sculptor when trying to shift the gaze and let it be a glance? From observation the beholder knows that the natural position of the eye is when looking forwards; then its pupil is centrally placed, although, as already discussed, not so with a dysfunctional eye.52 The glance however depends entirely on eye movement; it is the very expression of it. But sculpted eyes normally neither move nor roll; they are fixed. The artist therefore has to overcome the static position of the created eye and in its place let the glance and its reference to time and movement become notional. This is helped by what the viewer anticipates when seeing certain things. From experience he knows that when the pupils arrive at an extreme left or right position they cannot rest there for very long because the eye cannot endure the discomfort this would cause. Or, to let a scientist speak: “Our eyes rarely fixate any source unflinchingly for long. It is unnatural to do so, and will lead to stress, which may increase the frequency of the normal microsaccades to avoid the fatigue”.53 54 Eye movements and the time these movements involve have preoccupied modern scientists, and with technology making it possible to measure even the smallest shift of the eye, a clearer picture of the behaviour of the visual organ is emerging. What were these findings? R.H.S. Carpenter, who in the late 1970s led the study of eye movement, defined some essential concepts which are relevant here. He opens his chapter on the use of eye movements as follows: The eye is at once the master and the slave of vision. The six pairs of muscles that move our eyes dictate absolutely what we see; yet these muscles are also kept incessantly busy ensuring that the picture of the outside world that falls on the retina moves across it neither too little nor too much relative to the receptors …

52

In some cases a person’s head position may compensate for eyes that either cross or diverge or eyes that flutter on tilting. This is known as ocular torticollis. See Paul R. Mitchell: http://www.mailbase.ac.uk/lists/eye-movement/1997-11/0003. html. 53 Shardad Rasmjou (10/5/97); http://www.mailbase.ac.uk/lists/cvnet-uk/199705/0025. html. 54 Experiments have shown that the duration of long fixations is in the region of (>1000ms [–1500]), perhaps on account of daydreaming, although the fixed stare of the jettatore may be a wilful fixing of the object. The data gained show that “majority of fixations are no longer than 500 ms (Mean = 250 ms)”. See Andrew T. Hsiao: http://www.mailbase.ac.uk/lists/eye-movement/ 1999-0001.html.

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He is here referring to “gaze-holding movements, designed, paradoxically, not to move the gaze at all but to keep it still – still, that is, relative to the frame of reference provided by the outside world”. Unlike in certain animal species, in humans the eye is not capable of taking in much more than 90 degrees in the horizontal and vertical extent of the whole visual field without the head being moved,55 and sometimes also the body. How can the sculptor transfer the sense of immediacy that comes from the eye? The glance depicted in sculpture is fixed, in spite of its perceived momentary character, thus holding and impressing on the viewer a position the natural eye, when in the same position, soon tires of and has to let go. The sculpted glance represents a fraction of time (neither observable nor measurable in a scientific sense) that is perceived and experienced as being of very short duration. As the beholder’s eye follows the path of the glance to its object, he anticipates a fuller measure of eyetugging and darting, just as in real life. A quickening sensation is thus effected in him partly by what he sees, but more by what he senses may happen were the frozen image to be quickened into motion. In this respect sculptors of the Baroque period took into account the viewer’s capability to anticipate and interact emotionally with the scene staged. Just by shifting the gaze of the sculpted figure the artist effectively introduces tension that the viewer may pick up and respond to. The “quickened eye” was part of a different concept: physical movement, as seen in figures that turn and twist round their axis. I want to compare here two sculptural groups that, at first, seem to be about the same emotional force, but are they? The sculptor of the Laocoon group of a father and his two sons struggling with death while being strangled by a huge viper showed their eyes blank. Bernini, centuries later, created with his Apollo and Daphne a similarly potent work. He carved in the gaze. Daphne is glancing back as she wills herself into becoming a laurel tree, thus 55

R.H.S. Carpenter, (1991a), p. 6, refers to H. Hartridge (1919–20), who found that the human eye has an optical field extending more than 200 degrees, although the view in the nasal or vertical directions, is (to quote Carpenter) “obstructed by parts of the face such as the nose itself: consequently eye movements do not enlarge the visual perimeter in these directions. But in the lateral directions, the 50 degrees or so of abduction of which the eye is capable, increases the angular extent of what may be seen with the head fixed – the binocular dynamic retinal field – to around 300 degrees. But in practice such large excursions of the eye are extremely rare in natural life, and always associated with head movements; objects more than 50 degrees or so in the lateral direction can be seen but cannot be looked at without moving the head. Coordinated head and eye movements permit the total dynamic field of view to cover the entire 360 degrees in almost every direction (a small region above and behind the head remains invisible) without moving the body.”

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outwitting Apollo’s animal instinct. Although the eyes of neither group will tell us all but have to be seen in their respective context, nevertheless it is from them that we learn of the different emotions involved: in the Laocoon, horrendous, blinding fear already disengages their focus from external things as the bodies gather up all remaining strength with which to break the enforced ties. The emphasis is not on seeing but on feeling (sensing) the fatal stranglehold. In the Apollo and Daphne group fear also plays its part, but Daphne’s glance really conveys haste. She is anxious to complete the metamorphosis, which has already set in, and to leave Apollo fooled by her new Gestalt. A great sense of urgency is expressed through her eyes as they check and judge her chances of escape. Her wit is in her eye; all depends on her timing. The moment the sculptor has caught is hardly more than a blink, a fraction of a second, before the pupil must return,56 thus changing the aspectival viewing.

Fig. 5–1 Apollo and Daphne (1622–25), Baroque marble sculpture by Gian Lorenzo Bernini.

56

See: www.mailbase.ac.uk./lists/eye-movement/1998-03/0000.html. Blink Duration: “How short (or long) is a blink?” “About 20 milliseconds”.

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Fig. 5–2 Couple (c. 1490–95) by Tullio Lombardo.

Fig. 5–3 Bacchus and Ariadne (1505– 10) by Tullio Lombardo.

*** Around the time when several south German wood carvers abandoned traditional polychromy but still painted in the eyes, in Renaissance Italy sculptors had already moved away from an earlier dependency on pigments and inlays and given the created eye its complementary colour value by cutting or modelling the surface of the eyeball.57 The Venetian sculptor Tullio Lombardo was not the first to complete the eye in that way, for decades before him were the Florentines58 Donatello, Mino da Fiesole, Desiderio da Settignano and Verrochio; they were all faced with the same problem of what to do with the eyes if they left their white marble images unpainted or cast their statues, including the eyes, in bronze. The Venetian, perhaps more than the Florentines just mentioned, let his subjects speak with their eyes. Tullio carved two double busts in high relief, each placed against an upright slab of marble, using a classical idiom but now with a Renaissance interpretation.59 In both instances the young couple are shown with their heads slightly inclined or turned towards one another, yet without looking at their respective partner. Still, they seem to have each other’s ear, as the slightly opened lips suggest. The earlier of the two 57

Tullio Lombardo defined the iris by removing a shallow layer between its outer, crisply cut perimeter and the more deeply incised sickle-shaped pupil, with the remaining material left to catch the highlight. In most instances the upper eyelid covers a portion of the iris and pupil – i.e. Tullio does not show in the quoted instances a complete pupil and iris. 58 The Florentines, descendants of the Etruscans who produced some of the most sensitive sculpted portraits, revived the art of the bust. 59 See above, chapter 1, and Ann Kuttner (1991) and her reference to the “moving” eye in Hadrianic portraiture.

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pieces of sculpture is in the Galleria Giorgio Franchetti alla Ca’ d’Oro in Venice (c. 1495). The Vienna piece, known as Bacchus and Ariadne, is dated c. 1505/10.60 The gazes of the man and the woman of the Ca’ d’Oro piece converge, but without meeting one another or at some point in space fixing on the same object, for each pair of eyes seems set to follow its own path into the distance, thus underlining their individuality. A straight-on viewing of the double image of Bacchus and Ariadne reminds the beholder of the divergent gaze of Michel Erhart or Veit Stoss. Now the two faces have been moved closer together and also turn more towards each other while their eyes gaze outwards, away from their lover. The light falling on the two outermost eyes (Bacchus’s right, Ariadne’s left) lets them be read as if they were one pair of diverging eyes. The couple appears to see and embrace the same all-encompassing vision, suggesting a momentary unison; however, when singling out Bacchus’s gaze, it reveals itself as an individual’s glance in pursuit of an object of its own.61 *** When Michael Baxandall discussed the limewood sculptures of south Germany, he coined the term “arc of address”.62 I turn now to this problem by drawing on a small number of works, mostly from that same geographical region. The gaze, and even more so the glance, of a statue may be perceived as focusing on an object within the visual arc described. The questions are: at what or whom is the gaze actually directed; with whom does the sculptor want his statue, or the figures within a composition, to be seen to be engaged in; and is the beholder included in the visual dialogue? Many of the medieval sculptures have lost their original setting. Altarpieces have been taken apart, their figures removed from their once intended places; they have become museum pieces. Some have been placed behind glass, others on shelves or stands for better viewing. In some galleries they are spotlighted, in others kept in semi-darkness to protect their polychromy. However, a sufficient number of works are still in situ and may be approached as was once intended. As regards isolated pieces, we are not entirely without clues to their former “eye-contact”, for the general iconography of the period often provides the key to interpretation. As 60 Kunsthistorisches Museum Vienna, Young Couple (Bacchus and Ariadne), Inv. no. KK 7471. 61 Alison Luchs (1995) discusses the issue of double-portraits in her monograph on Tullio Lombardo. 62 Michael Baxandall (1980), p. 166.

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Baxandall observes,63 at the centre of the church one is within many arcs of address, but the beams of attention are less immediate; as one moves to a particular image or statue, its attention becomes more intense and other arcs are left behind. An attribute, a gesture, a particular colour of the robe – any of these may suffice in determining the role the statue must have once played, for images were made to be “eye-openers”, just as Jesus, the true image, opened the eyes of the legendary figure of Longinus, whose inner blindness was pierced when he beheld Christ on the cross.64 Within a dramatic scene it was much easier for the artist to show how each figure related to others by gesture or eye contact. A Crucifixion scene of around 1500, which is attributed to the workshop of Michel Erhart,65 shows Longinus looking up at the crucified Christ, at which his finger points, with his one open eye. The other eye is shown shut, or blind. Longinus is looking up at Christ, from whom his salvation came. The viewer of the scene sees more deeply into the story, knowing the legend, and like Longinus must choose what to believe. The fifteenth-century sculptors of religious scenes and single images rarely included or directly addressed the beholder, unlike some painters of Veronicas or portraits of sitters gazing out of their frame and catching the eye of the passer-by. By looking at somebody a person is trying to evoke a response or is striking up a relationship; the same may be shown in sculpture, but there it developed only gradually. Early medieval Virgin and Child groups often had Mary gaze at anything but the child or the beholder, and the gaze of the stereotypical figures on façades usually gets lost in space; the same may be observed on the early carved altarpieces, with their rows of saints whose place, and hence focus, is interchangeable – as restorers sometimes found out. Where naturalism enlivened the stonyfaced images the viewer’s gaze is on the sculpted eye. On the choir screen of the Bamberg Dom an unnamed sculptor carved a series of prophets around 1230. He depicted Jonah and Hosea disputing, an eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation, as the wagging finger of one of the prophets seems to suggest. Three centuries later Tilman Riemenschneider carved an even more dramatic scene as he showed two disciples who were partaking in the Last Supper facing one another, anxiously convincing each other, or themselves, that it is not they who will betray Christ. Once 63

Ibid., p. 168. NIV, Luke 23:47, “The centurion, seeing what had happened, praised God and said: ‘Surely this was a righteous man.’” 65 The Kreuzigung Christi [L119a-e] (c. 1510) from the cloister of Urspring (south Germany), then Dursch Collection, Rottweil, Lorenzkapelle, a subsidiary of the Württembergisches Landesmuseum (WLM), Stuttgart. 64

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again this is an intense eyeing of an opponent. The Heiligblutaltar of the St Jakobs-Kirche in Rothenburg (1501–04) continued the new trend of staging a scenario, with its actors totally involved in the enactment of the script. Each character is shown responding to Christ’s indictment. Christ and Judas, the main characters, look at each other, while Judas’s face is half-hidden from the viewer – who at no point is drawn into the scene by a searching, pleading or accusing pair of eyes. Nevertheless, it is the compelling figure of Judas at the centre (not Christ) that commands the viewer’s attention. Only when seen in close-up does the beholder notice that, in spite of the sculpture being monochrome, the eyes of the figures are painted in, and so Christ is seen looking into Judas’s eyes and innermost being, while St John, apparently asleep, seems oblivious to the soul-searching which is going on around him and to the sorrow and despair which the faces of his fellow disciples betray. It is to the gaze of Christ that we must look to learn of the gravity of the event; blank eyes would have blanked out the intensity of his expression and the gravity of the moment. *** The iconography of the gaze includes two specific expressions not yet mentioned: downcast eyes and the heavenward look. Both have become aspects of saintly demeanour in art. The Virgin Mary in her role as the handmaiden of God lowers her eyes, a sign of modesty and submission,66 although in the case of the sinner – sometimes a role assigned to Mary Magdalene – downcast eyes speak of guilt and shame. Michel Erhart’s polychromed Mary Magdalene of c. 1510 (now in the Musée du Louvre) stands naked and exposed except for her gaze, which she withholds from the viewer. Erhart did not show her eyes completely closed but with a small opening; she is shown seeing but not acknowledging the lascivious gaze of others.67 68 The heavenward look takes us to the Counter66

See Margaretha Palzkill, “Meditatio und Modestia: Der gesenkte Blick Marias auf italienischen Verkündigungsdarstellungen des 14. und 16. Jahrhunderts”, in Mundus in imagine: Bildsprache und Lebenswelten im Mittelalter. Festgabe für Klaus Schreiner, eds. Andrea Löther et al., 1996. She traces the lowered gaze to the 1360s. 67 The guarded look comes, as expressions go, between the two just described, for it seems neither innocent and submissive nor guilt laden, although weary of preying eyes. 68 Gilbert of Tournai recommended in a sermon that a woman should not look straight ahead, wide eyed, but down, with eyelids half-closed, while Jerome of Siena and Antonius of Florence advised women to go from home to church as

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Reformation, to Spain, where the carved and usually polychromed image gained in intensity of expression. Statues of saints such as St Francis69 and St Ignatius of Loyola were frequently shown with expressive, large eyes directed heavenwards as if in communion with God. As with ancient orant figures, their open eyes direct the beholder towards their spiritual goal. Of course, the upward gaze was part of particular images well before Spanish artists placed greater emphasis on the expressiveness of eyes.70 Fifteenthcentury Crucifixion scenes often included figures of St John, Mary the mother of Christ, and perhaps Mary Magdalene and other bystanders, who were sometimes shown looking upwards to Christ on the cross.71 Here, the context explains the directional gaze. With large altarpieces, or statues on consoles attached to pillars well above the viewer’s eye-level, eye-contact – if part of the scene – relegated the beholder to the role of observer. The more intimate relationship between the viewer and the representation was however revived in the portrait bust, although rarely in the devotional image if the scale of the carved figures lost the personal impact of a life-size (or near life-size) figure. Still, the eyes need not always belong to a holy image for the viewer to sense their impact; the devilish stare of invented creatures often takes the visitor to medieval churches by surprise. For instance, at Norwich Cathedral a walk through the low-ceilinged south cloister soon catches him out, unaware perhaps of the frolics of earlier craftsmen, for from each corbel along the ribbed ceiling the eyes of a monster or of a Green Man fix themselves on the gaze coming from below. Carved and painted during the early fourteenth century, these startling images catch the imagination. Thus eyed, the viewer comes in contact with a long tradition of fearsome images within the sanctuary compound, placed there in order to ward off evil spirits.72 The power such a face may have over the superstitious visitor comes from its relentless stare, fascinating yet uncomfortable at the same time, a stare largely evoked because of the lifeenhancing colouring. These carvings have little to do with ideal sculptures quickly and furtively as possible, “your eyes so low, that nothing but where you put your feet matters to you”. Quoted from Women’s Lives in Medieval Europe. A sourcebook, ed. Emilie Amt, 1993. 69 Pedro de Mena (1628–88), St Francis (c. 1663), Toledo Cathedral treasury. 70 See also the figure of St Bruno by Juan Martinez Montañes (1634), now at the Museum of Seville. 71 e.g. St John the Evangelist (1485–90) by Michel Erhart, made for the former Dominikaner Klosterkirche of Wimpfen am Berg. 72 For the same purpose Greek and Etruscan temples had apotropaic images affixed in order to avert any evil spirit that may have lurked around.

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referred to by Hegel, for many are highly idiosyncratic, always coloured except when part of unpainted choir stalls. As these grotesque images fix their gaze on the beholder, he cannot escape them but finds himself strangely enthralled and perhaps even engaged in a tête à tête with this or that fictitious image once envisaged and prepared for viewing by some high-spirited craftsman. *** With the created eye shown as if free to roam and choose its object, other dimensions seem to have been added to the three-dimensional image: motion and temperament – emotion and quickness of thought. The gaze, even the glance, points to a perspective, but also to a viewpoint held by the artist and his time. Space and time are seeded in the eye; distance and nearness, duration and the momentary, all begin with and in the eye. It is the artist who decides on the “aperture” and “speed” which permit the hold we have on the image, or even the concept behind an image. However, the “liberation” of the eye took very much longer in sculpture than in painting. In early medieval manuscripts or in wall paintings the eye-shift was often part and parcel of representing a lively scene.73 Dots indicating pupils were often placed with great panache in the corners of drawn eyes for the viewer to see the direction and the object of their engagement. In some crowd scenes all the eyes are shown looking simultaneously towards the same person; like one big motion their unified gaze sweeps up the gaze of the beholder and takes it to the core of the narrative. Figurative sculpture took much longer to release itself from the static, motionless mould of perception – which was largely to do with the fact that the figure often served a cult, representing unknown persons: gods, saints, angels, people from the past. They may initially have been in a simple form cloaked with a mantle, the one genuine thing about the image. And like the cloak, the eyes of these figures were no more substitutes than those required by humans who lost real eyes; in the Roman ancestry cult, and the postReformation Spanish cult of saints, glass eyes simulated the gaze and caught the reflection of the world in their pupils. The glass eye will be one of the themes to be discussed in the next chapter.

73

e.g. Illustrated manuscript from the Honorius Augustodunensis, Expositio in Cantica Canticorum, St Florian, Stiftsbibliothek, CSF X1 80, f.30r: Die Mandragora als Braut Christi, St Florian, 1301.

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Fig. 5–4 Drawing representing The Mandragora as the bride of Christ.

CHAPTER SIX FROM THE SCULPTED EYE TO COLOUR AND THE GLASS EYE Look into a person’s pupils, he cannot hide himself.1

In the Middle Ages many practical skills were acquired on the job under the supervision of a master, who by word of mouth and by demonstration taught the essentials of his craft. In some rare instances the master wrote down his experience and the advice he would give to a learner, as did Theophilus. He was an early twelfth-century monk whose impressive range of skills and theoretical knowledge concerning various crafts are described in his book De Diversis Artibus.2 There we find also a short comment on how to apply the dark grey colour to the eyes: “Then mix black with a little white; this colour is called veneda. With it fill in the pupils of the eyes. Add to it still more white and fill the eyes on either side. Between this colour and the pupil apply plain white and blend in with water.”3 This, however, is as much as is to be learned from him about the representation of eyes. Theophilus leaves the reader in the dark about the medium – painting or polychromed sculpture – nor was he forthcoming about any of the other constituent parts of the eye, such as the iris, the eyelids and eyelashes, or the lachrymal gland, and how these should be handled. Whether Arnolfo di Cambio knew of Theophilus’s treatise is an open question, but what has come to light is the fact that Arnolfo’s marble monument for Cardinal Guglielmo De Braye (c. 1282) was partially 1

Confucius, 551–478 BC. De Diversis Artibus, ed. and trans. C.R. Dodwell, Oxford 1986, p. 7. 3 See John Gage’s article “Colour Words in the High Middle Ages” in Leids Kunsthistorische Jaarboek (1998), n. 20, where he explained the possible implications regarding the term veneda given by Theophilus. Gage pointed out “if it were to be vine-black, a bluish black mixed with white, it would give a bluish grey colour, very near a pale blue”. He also refers to F. Brunello’s glossary, where venetum is described in the sources as a bluish green and a pale green, but suggests it could also be synonymous with veneda. But see also Parkhurst, 1990, p. 169. 2

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painted after the carving was finished. Art historian Angiola Maria Romanini discovered that the eyes of the two acolytes attending to the curtains of the burial chamber created still have some residue of black pigments.4 The visible dark brush strokes reveal that the two figures glance towards the beholder. In her article “Arnolfo Pittore: Pittura e Spazio Virtuale nel Cantiere Gotico”,5 Romanini remarks, and rightly so, that “without the painted part, the glance would not exist … the meaning of the work lies in the glance”. But how does it convey meaning? The glances of the acolytes, Romanini writes, guide the eye of the observer from the foreground to the inside of the “funeral chamber” in, she continues, a visual trajectory that is actually impossible. The result is a kind of virtual reality which deserves the greatest attention.6 She then discusses the close working relationship that existed between sculptors and painters at the time of Arnolfo and their occasional dual or treble role as builders, sculptors and painters. She believes that Arnolfo was responsible for the painting-in of the eyes in his own works. But why did Arnolfo not employ a drill for the pupils? There are two possible answers: firstly, the black pigment used for the pupils probably made them darker and more visible than they would have been if holes had been bored, for those depend on depth and a strong shadow cast by a good light source. However, the irises appear to have been painted in using a lighter tone (perhaps just as Theophilus suggested) and hence probably lost any advantage over carving. Secondly, due to the sideways glance, the position of one of each pair of pupils is so close to the inner corner of the eye that a full circle could not be cut with a rotating tool. The awkwardness of cutting may well have ruled out a sculptural method. Clearly, there was no textbook solution to Arnolfo di Cambio’s problem. About four centuries after Theophilus, another artist, the Spanish painter Francisco Pacheco (1564–1638), recommended in his treatise on the art of painting (published in 1649) the kind of finish the polychromer should give to the eye. He wrote: Finally, after the faces with their matte encarnaciones are very dry, it is good to apply a very clear umber7 varnish over the eyes only; this is good 4

This appears to be an early instance of partial polychromy. See above, chapter 3. Published in Arte Medievale, 1997, Vol. 11, ii; pp. 3–33. 6 Ibid., p. 23. English translation: “the black brush strokes added to their eyes determine the effect of suddenly turning their gaze inwards, of swivelling their pupils downwards at an oblique angle. The oblique glance of the De Braye acolytes is projected by the cross-glances.” 7 Pacheco’s Treatise on the Art of Painting, chapter 7, p. 84, edited and translated by Zahira Véliz, Cambridge 1986, especially her comment on umber varnish (my 5

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for sculptures; any material varnish made from egg white applied twice is very reliable for this, and as the rest is matte, the figures will seem alive and their eyes will shine.8

A modern scholar summed this up thus: Pacheco prided himself on having painted the heads in the mat9 colors that he advocated. The dark flesh tones and darker hair are put on with skill and delicacy to give the natural warmth of flesh. Even the irises are rayed10 to make them look more real, and there are traces of tears on St Ignatius’s cheeks.11

Pacheco was after effect, and he achieved a degree of realism entirely through the materials and the skill of the painter. However, any sixteenth-century sculptor who turned to Pomponio Gaurico’s De Sculptura (1504)12 for advice on how to do eyes found therein little that might have advanced his practical knowledge. Gaurico showed hardly any concern for practical information, as Theophilus and Pacheco did,13 but often introduced generalities which were of little help to the practising artist. He did however discuss human proportions,14 and in this respect he followed the examples of Alberti15 and Ghiberti,16 who in their respective theoretical writings were concerned with issues such as colour and form or proportion and perspective. As for Gaurico, several editions and different translations have appeared since the first publication italics), ibid., n. 95: “It is unclear whether Pacheco means a varnish containing the pigment umber, or if he means a ‘shadowing’ varnish, that is, an application that would deepen the tone of the eyes.” She also refers to n. 97. 8 My italics. 9 My italics. 10 My italics. For discussion of Ruysch’s model of the iris, see chapter 7, p. 194 and n. 66. 11 Beatrice Gilmore Proske, Martinez Montañes. Sevillian Sculptor, 1967, p. 78. 12 See Gaurico, Brockhaus edition, 1886, pp.161–73. 13 In the introduction to De Sculptura (Brockhaus edition, p. 70) Gaurico dismissed carving, saying, “The art of carving [tomice] is very easy: one carves, glues and paints.” He repeats this oversimplified statement some chapters later (ibid., p. 243). 14 Gaurico acknowledged the practice of polychroming wood carvings, something Alberti ignored. (Brockhaus edition, chapter 7, pp. 242–43: “Tomice vero Simplicissima omnium species, ut que ipsa tautommodo sectione Glutino et picturacione perficiatur”. 15 Alberti (1404–72), On Sculptura. See also chapter 7, p. 200. 16 Ghiberti, “Der dritte Kommentar Lorenzo Ghibertis” (c. 1448). Introduced, edited and translated by Klaus Bergdolt, Weinheim 1988.

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of his work in Latin.17 What, then, was to be learned from him about the eye? Under the heading De Oculis he, in rather general terms, referred to a number of features and properties of the eye – for example, to its position (deep seated or bulging) and to its quality (wet or dry, sad or glad). As for colour, so characteristic of the eye, he gave a string of colour names – some of which, he claimed, have become family names, such as Ruffi, Flaui and Fului.18 Some of the eye colours he mentioned are puzzling, unless he had in mind archaic Greek statues which sometimes had their eyes painted in with red, yellow, green or purple. Pomponio Gaurico discussed the eyes of all kinds of creatures before he introduced, under the sub-heading De Oculorum Coloribus, a short paragraph wherein again he avoided giving practical examples or useful hints about how to represent the eye. On the contrary, he included some strange claims about eye colour and how it may relate to a person’s character; for example, that lightcoloured, very weak eyes belong to those people who are mean, ungenerous [or] sly.19 The Italian could easily have obtained first-hand information about polychroming busts from any number of contemporary artists. In his own time Italian terracotta portraits were still frequently painted, usually for aesthetic reasons but also for practical ones, such as that the moulded and baked clay was liable to crack during the firing process and paint could be used to cover up the damage. One of the more experienced sculptors in this medium was already working abroad around the time he was writing. The Neapolitan Guido Mazzoni had been brought to France by Charles VIII, where in 1498 the English king, Henry VII, may have seen some of his work. By 1506 Mazzoni, who is best known for his dramatic, colourful Lamentation scenes, had been commissioned to design the tomb of Henry VII, and two extant estimates20 identify him as the originator of the royal 17 Gaurico, 1886, p. 162: “Ac ne minutala forte fides habeatur, parum experto adilescenti, existimes uelim, huius rei authorem, non Pomponium, Sed grauissimos olim Philosophos Aristotelem atque Adamantium.” 18 Ibid., p. 162: “Colore uero Nigri Glauci, scilicet iidem ac Cesii, queique de iis fiunt Subnigri, quei ob graciosam uenustatem a graecis |charopoi|, a nobis uarii dicunter, Et Subglauci quei ab illis |aigopoi|, a nobis caprini nominantur, Item Ruffi, Flaui, Fului, unde Cognomina familiarum, Pallidi, Punicei, Lucei, Virides, Rubicundi, Ignei, Flammei, Sanguinei, Crocei, Ostrini, Aurei, Lactei, atque id genus reliqui”. 19 Ibid., p. 172, “Quei Glaucos oculos, minimasque acies habuerint, Illiberales, auari, callidi.” 20 BL, Harl. no. 297. Date uncertain. Verdon suggests c. 1500–05. The detailed estimates were, firstly, for a full-scale wooden mock-up done by English craftsmen and, secondly, for the finished tomb of black and white marble with gilt bronze and

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monument for the funerary chapel at Westminster Abbey. Another Italian sculptor, Piero Torrigano, who had exiled himself after a physical assault on the young Michelangelo and hence came to work in England, provided new designs and supervised the execution of the tomb. Guido Mazzoni was commissioned to make the Bust of a Laughing Child, now at Windsor Castle.21 22 The conservator John Larson, who supervised the cleaning of the bust in 1989,23 was able to shed more light on the original eye colour of the portrait. He wrote: Before conservation the irises of the eyes had been painted a flat dull black. During cleaning it was discovered that they were originally a clear blue (a mixture of azurite and lead white) with the pupils of a dense carbon black. The whites of the eyes, like the teeth, were painted with a subtlety that one normally associates with panel paintings and with miniatures of a much later date. In the eyes, the painter merged blue with the white and grey to give light, shade and depth to the eyeball. For the teeth, he used an impasto of white highlights to give sparkle.

The true rendering of the child’s complexion is also vouched for by his eye colour, blue, common to eyes of this part of Europe but less so to those of the southern parts whence Guido Mazzoni and Pietro Torrigano had come. *** I want to bring into the discussion the idea, based on a general impression, that there is roughly a north–south divide regarding eye colour. On viewing the eye colour given to European medieval (and Renaissance) images, a mental map of colour distribution across this large geographical area may indeed impress itself upon the viewer’s mind.24 He will notice that painters in northern (especially Nordic) countries tended to paint the eyes blue; those well south of the Alps and in Spain chose medium to dark brown pigments; and artists trained in France, Germany polychrome figures for which Mazzoni provided a model. See Verdon, 1978, p. 279. 21 Helen Dow dated the bust to 1498 in her article “Two Italian Portrait Busts of Henry VIII”, Art Bulletin, 42, 1960, pp. 291–94. 22 See also above, chapter 4, pp. 101 and 102. 23 “A Polychrome Terracotta Bust of a Laughing Child at Windsor Castle”, in The Burlington Magazine no. 131, 1989, pp. 618–24. 24 See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eye_color. The article discusses the Martin scale on which Carlton S. Coon based his map showing the distribution of light eyes (blue, green, grey) in Europe in the middle of the twentieth century.

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and the Netherlands tended to opt for shades characteristic of both lightcoloured and darker eyes.25 This rough guide also seems to agree with the eye colour of the indigenous population across the three zones. But does the eye colour, especially blue, always stand for the generic shade of the population, or need we be on the look-out for other factors? A cursory survey of twelfth- and thirteenth-century representations, in particular those of Christ or the Virgin, suggests that in northern Europe such images reflect the eye colour of the native population and the eyes are therefore predominantly blue – irrespective of the fact that these historical persons originated in a geographical region where dark eyes tended to be generic.26 Was this an oversight on the part of the painter? No doubt these images may in one respect have been adapted to northern conventions.27 Still, their blue eyes do not necessarily reflect the same idea as do those of the laughing boy at Windsor Castle, there the colour may be taken as a mark of identity. Colour may be employed to convey a particular meaning28 or point to an extraneous situation, as was frequently the case with religious images. The blue eye colour often connoted heaven, the spiritual abode of Mary29 and Christ. To learn more about it we need to turn to Hildegard of Bingen, the twelfth-century German abbess, who gave those visions she had of colour a spiritual dimension. The following two short passages are taken from Christel Meier’s article “Die Bedeutung der Farben im Werk Hildegards von Bingen”, in which she quotes certain key phrases (in Latin) as given by Hildegard. “The sapphire blue eye is, due to its significance as a colour, useful when trying to understand God’s work in creation and redemption.”30 Ecclesia sees with such eyes.31 They form the contrast to the red, black or 25

A Medieval Painters’ Handbook, the Strasbourg manuscript, trans. by V. & R. Borradaile, 1966, advises the painter how to do eyes: “first outline with burnt ochre and black to which a little bistre has been added”, then, “the irises of the eyes must be put in with indigo to which a small quantity of verdigris (spangrün) has been added.” No other eye colour was considered. 26 Could the Crusaders, on their return from the Levant, have reported seeing blueeyed people among the native population? 27 In Nordic literature the eyes of heroes and gods were often described as being blue, hence we look to the continuation of an ideal. 28 See chapter 2, p. 50. 29 In Black Madonnas, where another ideological concept was at play, allusion to heaven via eye colour could obviously not be accommodated. 30 Christel Meier, in Frühmittelalterliche Studien, 6, 1972, p. 268, n. 102. “Quis tangit intellectum istum aut quis comprehendit eum, nisi ille qui videt in sapphirino oculo … ?” (370CD). 31 Ibid., “Ecclesia, oculi tui similes saphiro sunt” (C 118).

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(more rarely) white of the eyes of Satan and the Antichrist and the eyes of wicked people; the colours are an expression of the particular way in which these beings express their insights and intentions through their eyes.32 Blue like that of Ecclesia is, above all, that of the eyes of the Godcentred Virgin because of her love and purity.”33 34 In her second passage Meier expounded the several interpretations of colour given by Hildegard and then returned to the eye, saying that the abbess likened the colour and form of the eye to the mirror of the firmament.35 The eye is made up of the elements. In as much as it consists of water and fire, its colour is the result of the influence of the other elements, air and earth. Colour is the outer characteristic of the many kinds of eye, which encompass grey,36 fiery eyes, eyes with colours which cannot be determined,37 restless, lack-lustre eyes38 and black eyes.39 The sapphire-blue eyes that so frequently appear in Hildegard’s spiritual exegeses are not indexed in the manuals of medical teaching; because of their colour, they seem therefore to belong entirely to the spiritual sphere.40 The colours of eyes as related to human sciences and illnesses are

32 Ibid., p. 269, n. 103; also p. 277, where Hildegard further comments on the colour of the devil: “Demgegenüber herrscht im Bereich des Teufels das Rot des verderblichen Feuers. Das Feuerrot an Augen, Gesicht und Händen einiger Lastergestalten, des Antichrists und des Teufels …” (559A). (In contrast to [what has just been said], there dominates in the sphere of the devil the red of the destructive fire, e.g. the fire-red of eyes, face, and hands of some evil-doers, the Anti-Christ and the devil …) 33 “ad Deum aspiciat, et non ad alium virum … in thalamum superni Regis se collocat, et … ipsum Regem dulcissima charitate amplectitur, nolens colere officium carnalis ardoris in concupiscentia, sed volens vultum animi sui ponere in Deum” (372A and 372BC). 34 The sculptural group of the Golden Madonna of Essen (c. 1000) exemplifies this well. The Virgin was given large blue eyes in enamel; their brightness is due to the glass fusion, and their stare to size and narrow placement of the eyes. 35 “pupilla oculi similitudinem solis habet, et niger seu griseus color, qui circa pupillam est similitudinem lunae, et exterior albedo similitudinem nubium” (CC 92,6ff). 36 “griseos oculos, aquae similes” (CC 92,24f). 37 “qui similes sunt nigrae nubi iuxta solem sitae” ( CC 92,32f); “diversi coloris; similes nubi … , in quae iris apparet” (CC 93, 1f). 38 “similes turbidae nubi, quae nec ad plenum ignea nec ad plenum turbida est, sed aliquantum glauca” (CC 93,12ff). 39 (“nigros seu turbulentos oculos … ut aliquando nubes et”; (CC 93,25f.) 40 See Meier, p. 268.

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all further analysed in the light of cosmic appearances; these explanations lead into the sphere of pathology.41 42 Interpreting eye colour to identify its possible intended meaning is far from being a straightforward matter. This may be demonstrated by considering the Capital Lion from Vossestrand in Norway, a late twelfthor early thirteenth-century polychrome wood carving.43 It was given white eyeballs with black pupils and blue irises. Was this creature visualized or based on the lion of David, thus obliquely alluding to Christ and hence to heaven, or was the polychromed carving just part of the colourful ornament of a porch, with no particular meaning attached to it?44 Since ancient times color glaucus (a shade between blue and grey-green) has been the eye colour of dragons, lions and eagles, of Athena Glaucopis, and of Nero.45 The Norwegian conservator Unn Plahter, who analysed the

41

Ibid., Meier, p. 293 (CC 170ff). Gudrun Schleusener-Eichholz, 1985, Vol. 1, p. 45, draws on two other sources besides Hildegard von Bingen, who thought that the four eye colours niger (turbulentus), varius, griseus and glaucus, were caused through cosmic influences. But both Bartholomeus Anglicus and Albertus Magnus believed that the colour of the eye depends on the amount of crystalline liquid or humour present in the eye and whether there is too much or too little of either the white but turbid humour or the black one within the uvea (Traubenhaut). The two light and dark humours, when well balanced, effect the two shades black and white, but if there is an imbalance – for example, too much of the black humour – then the eye colour will appear grey-green (glaucus), and too much white accounts for the greenish (varied) appearance of the iris. 43 Unn Plahter, “The Capital-lion from Vossestrand in Norway, an Investigation of the Polychromy”, Pigments et Colorants, Éditions du CNRS, Paris 1990. 44 It belonged to the carved portal of a stave church. 45 See Christel Meier, “Gemma Spiritalis. Methode und Gebrauch der Edelsteinallegorese vom frühen Christentum bis ins 18. Jahrhundert”, 1977, p. 170: “als Farbe der Augen wirkt glaucus schrecklich, furchteinflössend; denn Drachen, Löwen und Adler besitzen sie, an Nero wurde sie wahrgenommen und die Strenge der Athene, der Schirmherrin des Krieges, war von ihren Augen dieser Farbe abzulesen. Die Deutung auf das Jüngste Gericht geht aus solchem Ansatz überzeugend hervor: Si ergo glauci oculi pro terrificis ac formidandis sunt habiti, quis color esse potuiit aptior ad eius proprietatem gemme, que extremi iudicij diem representat” (as an eye colour, glaucus appears terrible and scary; dragons, lions and eagles have them, on Nero they were noted, also on Athena, the patron of war, indicating her severity. These also pointed convincingly to the Last Judgement. If, therefore, [blue-grey] eyes are suitable for terrifying and dreadful beings, which colour could better represent the quality of that jewel which depicts the day of the Last Judgement?) 42

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pigments of the Lion Capital, found that the blue was costly lapis lazuli46 and thought that the lion “compares well with the densely coloured polychromed sculptures of this period”. The blue may have been too strong to be likened to color glaucus, mentioned above. The lion was clearly not meant to be associated with evil forces as the eyes were not painted red, a shade reserved for ferocious or demonic creatures. The reds here were allocated to the tongue, mane and crown on its head,47 not used to convey fierce-looking eyes. Apart from the charcoal black and the lead white, also used on the eyes, the painter applied orpiment, green earth, red lead, vermilion and red ochre – all pigments which have been used in painting since ancient times – to the body of the sculpture.48

Fig. 6–1 Detail of a Christ face, panel painting (fourteenth century), Ganthem, Gotland (SHM); clear irises, eyelids emphasized.

46

Fig. 6–2 Detail (head) of a crucifix; calligraphic eyes, large black pupils encircled with a thin blue band, polychromy (probably c. 1300); Lojsta, Gotland

Fig. 6–3 Detail (head) of a Madonna figure (early fourteenth century); Hallingeberg, Sweden; grey irises and thin black contours for eyes.

The shade of blue depended on whether the pigments were finely or coarsely ground. The finer the pigments, the poorer their refractive properties, hence their loss of intensity with regard to the hue. See also Tångeberg, 1986, p. 240, stating that the finer the grain of blue, the paler is the shade. 47 The crown may provide a clue that relates this particular lion to the house of David. 48 In Plahter’s view lapis lazuli was probably not used before the sixth or the seventh century and reached its peak during the twelfth century, trailing off during the thirteenth century; this corresponds with the trade fluctuation of such goods from the east.

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*** The idea of eye colour as a likely distinguishing feature for north and south needs to be further considered, for as certain types of image migrate their possible adaptation to a different locale and its prevalent social conventions must not be overlooked. The Veronica image seems to be a case in point: firstly, it is used as a “proof” because of the impression Jesus Christ left on the cloth;49 secondly, the believer may model his image of Christ on criteria pertinent to his own society. A small painting by Matthew Paris, the thirteenth-century English chronicler from St Albans, perhaps illustrates how, by changing just a small detail of an orthodox image, a different ideological concept may be visually introduced. He probably based his face of Christ on a traditional Veronica image derived from Byzantine art which, it seems, he adapted to northern ideals.50 Although he did not change the colour of the iris, for he adhered to brown as found in older Byzantine images, he nevertheless slightly altered the earlier type of the Christ face. The change he made was to the size of the iris; he reduced the coloured area he first designated to the iris, which agreed more with the seemingly larger, dark-eyed Byzantine type of eye. In a photographic reproduction of the image, the initial size of the iris appears outlined as if a faint pencil mark had been drawn in, suggesting that the iris was intended to be altogether larger than the chromatic area. This puzzling feature arose, as the painting shows, when the painter covered the original area with a layer of white pigment of almost luminous quality.51 The paint produces a slightly raised surface, and thus the edge casts a shadow that is perceived as an outer circle circumscribing the wider white band or disc; that in turn encompasses the reduced brown iris and the black pupil, which has a slightly irregular shape. As the iris seems to have been intentionally made smaller, the question is, why? Unlike his other illustrations for the Chronicle this 49

Although the holy face is conventionally a flat image, there are some examples in which the sculpted Veronica holds up a cloth on which is carved, in relief, Christ’s face. See, for example, the Veronica with the Sudarium, Liège, early sixteenth century, Liebieghaus, Frankfurt, inv. no. 363. The wooden statue is (now) monochrome. Christ’s face is carved in high relief. 50 Described as a “copy” of the Veronica, or “holy face”, by Matthew Paris, and dated c. 1250, from fol. 49v. of The Chronica Majora manuscript (ms 16); Parker Library, Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. 51 Lewis, 1987, described the shade as “almost imperceptible bluish-white irises … painted around the large dark brown pupils to intensify their already hypnotic gaze”.

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image was painted on a separate piece of vellum and glued into place in the manuscript.52 Could it be that Matthew Paris painted the image while in Norway during his one-year mission there (1248–49)? The Chronica Majora had not yet been completed – he was to do that on his return to St Albans. His contact with the north may have had some bearing on his perception of the image of Christ.53 But what would he have been able to see while in Bergen, where he had been sent? Probably very little, as at the point of his arrival the town was engulfed in a huge fire that destroyed the church and much else. This did not prevent him from travelling in Norway, where he was probably seeing holy images that reflected the local traditions.54 Whether in his own little painting we see a compromise between the Nordic blue-eyed and the Byzantine dark, large-eyed55 Christ cannot be determined. Still, the late thirteenth-century depiction of a Veronica by the painter of the Book of Hours of Yolande de Soissons – although considerably later – demonstrates how the image had by then been assimilated into a local tradition, albeit French, which transformed its gaze. The conventionally mild-looking Byzantine face of Christ became one with a more penetrating look, largely because here the pupils were isolated by an inner near white and an outer blue band, which makes them appear more prominent. I shall be looking at other French examples of eyes on polychrome statues in due course, but I want first to discuss how in Sweden the eyes of carvings were painted. *** In 1986 Peter Tångeberg published his well-documented book on medieval wooden sculptures and altarpieces from Sweden, a study of form, material and techniques. He provided several close descriptions of painted eyes that he had analysed and I include here some of his observations, based on polychromed carvings from the early twelfth century to the end of the fifteenth century. About the Crucifix of Hemse, 52

The gluing-in of an illustration is unusual in an illuminated manuscript. The St Albans style favoured dots for eyes; at St Albans was the Byzantine type of Christ image adapted to the style of this local school before Matthew Paris saw any Nordic images? 54 Martin Blindheim, Oxford 1998, p. 13, mentions a visit to Bergen and Trondheim. 55 Here size may also be more a matter of perception. Where there is little colour differentiation between the pupil and the iris, the two tend to merge into one larger, dark area. With light-coloured eyes the pupil stands out and its size becomes more apparent, but see the discussion on pupil size below. 53

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Gotland (c. 1170), for example, we learn from him that the eyes of the dying Christ are half-shut, and that the eyelids have dark brown rims that follow the carved, swinging form.56 The small, visible eyeballs have a slightly greyish coat; the irises, of which only half may be seen, are pale blue, the pupils black. The undulating eyebrows are semi-lacquered and of a brown colour.57 The figure of St Olof of Kullerstad58 was given white eyeballs; each iris consists of a blue outer ring and a white one adjacent to the black pupil. The shape of the eye was laid in with a strong, regular yellowbrown colour. The same colour was also used for the eyebrows. Hair and beard were of a golden colour, but due to the use of zwischgold they are now brownish. The fourteenth-century Crucifix from Hälsingtuna59 has white eyeballs and clear-blue irises which get lighter towards the pupil. Small black dots60 are painted on to the blue of either iris.61 It is most unusual, Tångeberg points out, for the lines marking the eyelids and eyebrows to be overlaid with metal foils; these are strips of zwischgold laid down with oil. He also described the twelfth-century Crucifix from Lojsta, Goteberg,62 and said of its eyes that they appear singularly calligraphic in design. The strong lines for the lids are dark brown; they thin out towards the outer corners of the eyes, without the upper and lower lines meeting each other. The white part of the eyeball has been first painted with the flesh colour that was used for the whole face. The black 56

See Tångeberg, 1986, p. 105. In a personal communication (letter dated 13.1.2000), Kaja Kollandsrud, conservator of paintings and polychrome sculpture at the University of Oslo, cited this figure as one of a number of “typical examples of blue eyed statues”. She also mentioned as instances the Virgin from Hauve, dated to the first half of the thirteenth century, MA 27, Bergen Museum, Norway; and the Crucifix from Årdal, dated 1220–30, SM 3113, Stavanger Museum, Norway. However she referred to the Virgin from Veldre, dated 1250– 75, no. 9064, Universitetets, Oldsaksamling, as an “untypical example” because of its brown eyes. The dating of the polychroming is uncertain; she believes it is medieval but could be later than the dating suggested. See colour plate 39, reproduced in Blindheim (1998), and also Kollandsrud’s article on the Haug Crucifix, on which Christ has brown-red pupils and blue irises. 58 See Tångeberg, 1986, p. 109. 59 Ibid., p. 109. 60 This is unusual, for any marks on the iris are normally in white and suggest highlights. 61 Why black rather than white if these dots denote highlights, the reason is not quite clear. 62 Ibid., p. 110. 57

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pupil is relatively large; a very thin blue outer ring refers to the iris, whereas on the surface between the ring and the pupil flesh colour shows through.63 The eyes of the fourteenth-century Madonna from Hallingeberg (Småland) are still of the characteristically elongated shape of early Gothic images, which have the iris set in the centre of the eye with clear space round it. The white paint covering the eyeball is again laid over flesh colour and, as Tångeberg observed, the pink underneath shines through. The iris is grey and has a black, unevenly painted-in thin contour which here is partly fused with the wet light-coloured band surrounding the pupil. The drawing of the eye shape – that is, its two eyelids – is no more than a simple outline in grey-brown, the lower line being thicker. The sculpted eyes of the twelfth and thirteenth century were by and large still schematically paint-finished, sometimes just minimally for they often lack one or other characteristic feature. The pink inner corner of the eye64 and the eyelashes are sometimes barely hinted at; more often they were omitted. None of these wooden sculptures has incised pupils or irises, although on French stone figures of the same period we find drilled pupils, probably done by the master carver. Incised eyes in wood carvings are rare and relatively late – that is, not much before the end of the fifteenth century.65 By that time the painted facial features of statues blend and harmonize. In Nordic countries the monotony of blue eyes is occasionally broken by the brown eyes of a saint, thereby acknowledging the diversity that exists in eye colour.66 A weeping Virgin Mary from Skederid, Uppsala 63

Similarly, the Haug Crucifix (c. 1225) shows masterly drawn-in lines. In this instance the painter also applied a thinner line above the thicker one for the eyelid or eyelashes, thereby suggesting the presence of a fold. Likewise, a short thin line runs from the inner corner of the eye parallel to the line for the lower eyelid. See illustration in J. Larson, “Sculpture Conservation: treatment or reinterpretation” in Sculpture Conservation. Preservation or interference? ed. Phillip Lindley, 1997. 64 Matthew Paris, on the other hand, gave each eye two pink corners, although only the one nearer to the nose is correct. 65 St Nikolaikirche, Kalkar, high altarpiece by Master Arnt (c. 1490). See “Die spätgotische Altarausstellung der St Nikolaikirche in Kalkar – Aspekte einer Entwicklung zur monochromen Fassung der Spätgotik am Niederrhein” by Christa Schulze-Senger in Flügelaltäre des späten Mittelalters, ed. H. Krohm and Eike Oellermann, Berlin 1992. 66 Altarpiece, Bollnäs, Hs. See Tångeberg, Munich, 1986, colour plate 24. The polychromer paid particular attention to facial hair. With a few delicate brush strokes he hinted at some eyelashes; the eyebrows, brushed-back hair and the darker skin with day-old stubble give the face a natural appearance. The pink of the caruncle and the white of the orb contribute a plausible look to the eyes.

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(about 1470),67 has golden-brown irises surrounded by a dark brown or black ring; the black pupils are of standard size.68 Her upper eyelids are outlined in black, probably to represent eyelashes; the lower lids, on the other hand, have a pinkish rim that matches the colour of the tear (lacrimal) glands. The tears appear to be made of a resinous substance.69 Her gilded hair, dress and halo are set against a blue, star-spangled sky, but her eyes do not match the firmament as one might expect of the queen of heaven. Tear-filled as they are, the warm tones of brown and pink relate to the hot tears of passion that exude from her eyes. In comparison, the Dangolsheim Madonna, which is attributed to Nicolaus Gerhaert of Leyden and dates back to about 1460, represents a calm, clear-eyed young mother with a frolicking child in her arms. The eyes of Mary and of the child originally matched each other; the eyeballs were white-grey, the irises grey-blue and encircled in black, the colour also of the pupils. The upper eyelids were given a dark brown outline, whereas the eyebrows were drawn in with delicate light brown lines. However, the second polychromy, of the second half of the seventeenth century, deviates in certain respects from the first. In Berlin, at the Sculpture Department of the Staatliche Museen, two scholars, Bodo Bucziensky and Hartmut Krohm,70 have examined the statue closely during conservation work. They found that the eye colour of mother and child differed. Although the Virgin still had grey-blue eyes, the infant was given light brown irises that were outlined in dark grey. The upper eyelids of each were brown, the lower ones dark grey. The light brown eyebrows were also made broader and the previously white teeth and pink tongue of the child were painted over with the same dark red as the mouth. Clearly, the eyes of Mary and the child now denote the individuality of each person, whereas before their kinship was reflected in their eye colour. Probably at the beginning of the nineteenth century the piece of sculpture was polychromed a third time after much of the second and some of the first polychromy had been removed. It was found that, unlike the second polychromy, the third hardly relates to what was there before. This also applies to eye colour and flesh tone. The irises are now changed to grey67

Tångeberg, 1986, colour plate 12. Skederid, Uppsala (SHM). See below for further discussion related to size of pupils, p. 165, n. 97. 69 The head of the Virgin, carved in high relief, is inclined towards the hand with the shawl with which to mop away her tears. The sculptor of this image has not felt the need to lower the eye on the inclining side, as noted on the Riemenschneider carvings. On the contrary, he may well have overcompensated for the downward shift by raising the eye very slightly. 70 Buczinsky/Krohm, 1989. 68

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green, the eyebrows to dark brown – matching the hair, which also had been darkened. The flesh was overpainted with dark pink, toning down the lighter shade, with its smooth and porcelain-like finish, of the original polychromy. Altogether, the colour scheme had by then been dramatically altered. The coauthors fully described their analysis of these shifts of colour values in their article. *** In France conservators examined some samples of polychromy found on sculpture from their own national heritage. These were fragments from thirteenth-century stone carvings belonging to Notre-Dame in Paris that were recovered in 1977.71 They prove, conjectures Myriam Chataignière, the importance of colour in sculpture during that period. She was able to determine the several layers of colours given to these pieces.72 The preserved traces of pigments are all of a very vivid nature: azurite, vermilion, lapis, yellow, ochre, red and green; and according to Chataignière their combination is rare. When these intense colours are juxtaposed they effect a certain luminosity. She paid close attention to the eyes and how they were represented; the pupils, for instance, were usually engraved and marked in red to show the area to be painted in black; the position of the eyebrows was similarly indicated. Where the light rested on the eyes of reliefs, the artist painted in the shadows, thus giving the impression of greater depth. Chataignière discerned three types of iris: firstly, light green with a large black pupil encompassed by an almondshaped eye, painted in with a mixture of carbon and lead white; secondly, a black disc within the lines for the upper and lower lids; and a third version combining a larger black disc followed by a gap in a light colour, which in turn is demarcated by a thin dark contour. Again, the iris is centrally placed between the eyelids. In comparison with the realistic body colouring given to the figures, her hair and eyes appear schematic. Chataignière suggested that, as in the case of the eyes, they probably were based on techniques of inlaying (lead or silver into stone) or enamelling (cloisonné, niello, etc.). She noted the high standard of professional skill: “les détails sont exécutés d’un seul coup de pinceau, très sûr, sans retouche ni hésitation ou reprise (dans le cas contraire, elles sont 71 Myriam Chataignère, “Etude technique de la polychromie”, in Les Sculptures de Notre-Dame de Paris aus Musée de Cluny. Catalogue by Alain ErlandeBrandenburg, Paris 1982. 72 They came from statues made for pillars, tympani and architraves (voussures). Some architectural fragments were also found to have been polychromed.

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facilement décelables sur les parties usées.)” (the details are executed straightforwardly with one confident brushstroke, without retouching, hesitation or by going over – should it be the case, they can easily be picked out from the areas where placed) This suggests that someone competent in the craft of painting was employed to do the polychromy. Even a handful of examples demonstrate that over a period of about three hundred years the sculpted eye, with the help of pigments, gained a physical presence resembling the natural eye more and more. *** As noted earlier73 Pomponio Gaurico reiterated an ancient belief (or superstition) that eye colour was a pointer to somebody’s personality. Hugo Magnus however refuted the idea that the colour of the eye could be used as a key with which to access the nature of a person’s temperament.74 He did agree that people tend to respond subjectively to eye colour and often express their sentiments in literature or more generally in folklore in those terms. Magnus explored the aesthetic aspect of the eye, its shape and colour, in order to explain the likely parallels between eye colour and character – for instance with regard to appeal and unease. He wrote that in general it seems that those eyes that attract and are considered most beautiful are the ones that have a distinctive shade. He thought that pure blue and strong brown were for that reason appreciated as the most beautiful eye colours. Those shades of colour that lack character because they are indistinguishable or transient, he claimed, make us feel uneasy. We are unsure regarding our judgement of such colour nuances – we do 73

See chapter 4, p. 91. Hugo Magnus, “Die Sprache der Augen”, p. 43: “Im Allgemeinen scheinen uns diejenigen Augen die anziehensten und schönsten zu sein, welche einen bestimmt ausgesprochenen Farbenton besitzen; deshalb gelten ein reines Blau und ein kräftiges Braun als die schönsten Farben der Augen. Alle diejenigen Farbentöne aber, welche einen bestimmt ausgeprägten Character vermissen lassen und zwischen ungewissen schwer bestimmbaren Übergangstönen schwanken, er[r]egen Unbehagen in uns. Wir fühlen uns in der Beurtheilung solcher Farbennuancen unsicher, wir wissen nicht recht, wohin wir mit ihnen sollen ...’” (In general, it is those eyes that appear to us as [being] the most attractive and the most beautiful because of their definite shade, that is, having a pure blue and a definite brown, they are thought of as the most beautiful eye colours. But all those shades which have no distinct character but waver between uncertain transitional shades that are difficult to make out, they generate discomfort in us. We are unsure when judging such colour nuances, we don’t quite know what to make of them.) 74

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not quite know what to make of them. Magnus mentions the ancient physiognomist M. Antonius Polemo (88–144 AD), who apparently said that one should avoid those people with grey-blue eyes because their owners are untrustworthy. Similarly, Paracelsus (1493–1541) believed that grey eyes suggest a false, unstable personality. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, however. Perhaps inspired by a tradition75 or aspiring to certain ideals, he may uphold as beautiful a colour that is less common or even unusual. For instance, in medieval Portugal green eyes were idealized, notably by minstrels who probably spread through their songs the idea that those were more beautiful than black eyes. But the lyricist76 occasionally laments the contrariness of human nature, and so one moment the greeneyed damsel is lauded for her beauty while the next she is called a greeneyed monster, meaning that her jealousy is marring her beauty.77 While the beholder may admire the beauty of execution, the content of a work of art may, of course, express the ugliest action and suffering. Some of the vilest and most pitiful scenes represented in medieval art are the Flagellation, the Crucifixion and the torturous executions of saints that nevertheless may express a still – albeit an artistic – beauty to which the contemplative is drawn. Romanesque religious art omits blood-shot, broken eyes; tears do not yet flow; no contorted body movements speak of the agonizing pain either of the crucified Christ or of the Marys. These 75

Robert Kugelmann, 1983, chapter 2, pp. 70–71, quotes from Richard Banister’s One Hundred and Thirteene Diseases of the Eye (1622, 1971r ), which links green eyes with glaucoma and says, “in olde times, and even in these days also, greene or gray eyes, called in Greek glauci, in Latin coesii, were much commended in women, whereupon Homer in Minerva [sic] is always surnamed glaucopis, that is, having greene or grey eyes”. Kugelmann expands on this by saying “Glaucomatous eyes are glauci, the color of beautiful eyes, the color of the eyes of the keen-eyed daughter of Zeus. The disease seems discordant with its name. Glaucomatous eyes are blind and deathlike, in contrast to the bright eyes of Athena and the beautiful women. The confluence of brightness and blindness, beauty and disfigurement, haunts the name of the disease.” He also refers to Hippocratic Aphorisms (p. 72), quoting: “If the pupil becomes sea-coloured sight is destroyed and blindness in the other eye often follows.” The connection between glaucoma and the sea that Kugelmann points out echoed through the centuries. 76 Edgar Glässer, “Die grünen Augen im portugiesischen Mittelalter und das galizianische Schönheitsideal” in Germanische-Romanische Monatsschrift”, NF, ix, 1959. 77 Whether in medieval Portuguese sculptures green eyes occur often enough to underscore what the minstrel so freely expressed remains an open question. “Green” may, as Glässer suggested, be a wider term, covering the light-coloured eye (in contrast to the black one).

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images are like windows that open unto “the hope set before us”.78 By the late-medieval period there was a change of perspective. Images now encompassed the natural and the realistic, and in extreme instances caricatured or distorted human failings and weaknesses. Many an Easter cycle presents the beholder with a vision that takes him from hell to glory. Artists of that period were well trained in naturalistic representation and were able to present the beautiful as well as the vile and frail side of mankind. Flagellation and Crucifixion scenes often combine exquisite nature studies (in particular of the body) with imaginative yet frightful details of human debasement and suffering. Distortions of character and assaults on the body were shown to exist in all manner of detail, and the eyes were no exception. Art historian Ruth Mellinkoff explored the topic of otherness in northern European art of the late Middle Ages. She writes that “by the fifteenth century, blemished eyes appear in the visual arts as attributes of the persecutors of the Christian faithful”.79 80 But she also points out that “not all eye distortions or eye diseases indicated badness of character. In idealized contexts they were meant to be viewed with sympathy – though we cannot know how viewers really interpreted them”.81 Whether eyes were bulging, popping or crossed (as in the mocking figure of the Flagellation of Christ from the Rostock carved and polychromed altarpiece), they added to the drama. In this context red became the designated eye colour for demonic creatures and sometimes evil men. Mourners were also often shown with red-rimmed eyes, suggesting soreness from weeping – here the artist relied on the context to safe-guard his intentions and make explicit the reading of any character. To return once more to the color glaucus, this raises yet another issue, namely the eye-disease glaucoma.82 We have already learned from Mellinkoff that damaged or diseased eyes represented otherness; she referred to works of art that featured this. In two types of image the dysfunctional eye is clearly meant to awaken sympathy rather than result in castigation because it was a sign of evil: the suffering Christ, whose eyes were sometimes rendered blood shot; and the blind man who came to

78

AV, Hebrews 6:18. See Ruth Mellinkoff, 1993, p. 123. 80 e.g. The one-eyed mocker in the Crowning with Thorns by the Master of the Sterzing Altarpiece (1453–59). 81 Mellinkoff, 1993, p. 124. 82 Glaucoma, a disease of the eye, if untreated results in a blue-grey film developing over the cornea. 79

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Christ for healing. Blind people83 were not shown with their eyes open so we might discern the type of disease they had – the particulars of the disease were irrelevant to the portrayal of these characters.84 Yet, eye diseases such as glaucoma and cataract with its several stages (all recognizable by their different colour aspects) were well known and even operated on. By the second half of the sixteenth century the German eye surgeon Georg Bartisch not only successfully removed cataracts but also wrote an illustrated book on eye surgery – when he published his work in 1583 he gave it the impressive Greek title Ophthalmodouleia, meaning “eye-service”. From the sculptor’s point of view neither the text nor the explicit illustrations were of much use. To the historian however the work Bartisch produced provides a valuable insight into how the natural eye was understood and viewed at a time when in sculpture the skill was there to represent physical abnormalities but chromatic colouring had lost its general appeal.85 86 The description of each eye abnormality is accompanied by a woodcut based on his own drawing.87 Each type of cataract had its specific colour, which in fact is a discolouring when compared with the healthy eye. With each stage of the disease there is a shift towards another shade – grey, green, blue (coerulea), yellow and black are mentioned and painted-in hues, and they sometimes give the eye a weird, uncomfortable appearance. The coloured plates alone are exceptional documents, for they demonstrate both the ophthalmologist’s and the illustrator’s aptitude in conveying each problem precisely. On reading the author’s introduction and subsequent texts, one cannot doubt that he lived in an age when science and religion were still seen to stem from the same fount of knowledge. Bartisch was conscious of the fact that he exercised a God-given gift, the healing of people’s eyes; he therefore acknowledged God’s grace openly. In fact, his introduction reads very much like a sermon about the gift of sight and the ability to cure; he interspersed it with appropriate biblical references. He did not write as a 83 Representations of Tobias and other blind people were usually shown with their eyes closed. Homer, the blind bard, was however always depicted with his eyes open. 84 With the exception of Longinus, to whose inner blindness the viewer’s attention is sometimes drawn. 85 In partial polychromy the eyes were painted in for much longer, but these were healthy eyes. 86 Except in Spain, where the intention was to increase the effect of the eye by glazing or even inserting glass eyes. 87 D. Blanchard (trans. and ed.) thinks that the plates were coloured by a contemporary hand, possibly under the author’s supervision. In his own preface Bartisch mentioned that he relied on his ability to paint.

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visionary like Hildegard of Bingen or Nicolaus Cusanus, but as a man who saw with his heart. In that respect he probably followed an earlier ophthalmologist, Benvenutus Grassus.88 89 Benvenutus probably wrote his treatise during the late thirteenth century and appears to have acquired his anatomical knowledge of the eye by dissection, although he was clearly also schooled in earlier theoretical writings. It is probable that he learned of the four eye colours and their connotations90 (“oculorum colores sunt quattuor, silicet: niger, subalbidus, varius, et glaucus”) from a ninthcentury Arabic text.91 A cataract develops outwards from the centre of the eye; thus the dark pupil is affected by it primarily in two ways: the channel of vision92 becomes insensitive to light, hence the blinding of the eye; and if untreated the eye loses its dark centre owing to an initial grey-blue overlay93 and with it its significance as the focal point of the eye. This, of course, affects the viewer, who perceives a diminished gaze, just as when looking at an overcast sky that is hiding the sun. The pupil of the healthy eye, too, may reveal certain changes in a person’s emotional state and reactions. Scientific tests have shown that the pupil responds to emotional disturbance either by enlarging or contracting. Also, with advancing age the size of the pupil gradually diminishes.94 I want to digress for a moment and explore what is now known about pupillary behaviour. Modern researchers studying pupillometry have been trying to find out how and why the eye behaves as it does. Some of the “tell-tales of the eye”, as the scientist Eckhard H. Hess called them, had been observed by Charles Darwin,95 who noted the dilation of the pupil in such emotional states as fear and surprise.96 Children, despite their smaller

88

He was also known as Benvenutus of Jerusalem. Another version of his name is Grapheus or Graffus. He may have been inspired by the ninth-century Arabic physician Hunain ibn Ishaaq, known in Europe by the name Johannitius. 89 Apart from the anatomical references to eye colour, Grassus also mentions the four types of curable cataract, which are distinguishable by colour. 90 Johannitius’s Ysagoge, repeated by Benvenutus. See introduction to L.M. Eldredge’s edition, 1996, and to Benevenutus Grassus, p. 12. 91 See above, p. 150, for Hildegard’s remarks on eye colour. 92 The aperture or opening which is responsible for regulating incoming light. 93 This type of cataract is known in German as der graue Star. 94 Peter A. Howarth of the Visual Ergonomics Research Group (VISERG) of Loughborough University, quoted from the abstract of an article by Barry Winn et al. (http://www.mailbase.ac.uk/lists/ pupil/1999-06/007.html). 95 Charles Darwin, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, 1872. 96 Eckhard H. Hess, New York 1975, p. 24.

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physical stature, have a larger pupil than adults do.97 Also important is a reference to the relationship between iris colour and pupil size. In the 1960s and 1970s it was still thought that colour had a bearing on pupil size. But the researchers Janisse and Peavler98 pointed out the real problem, writing as follows: very dark irises are difficult to distinguish from pupils and practically impossible to measure accurately using visual techniques. For this reason, many studies have used only blue-eyed or other light-irised subjects, on the assumption that iris colour is unrelated to pupillary activity. Yet there is a varying response in the irides of different colour as one particular type of experiment has shown.99 When ephedrine, an alkaloid, was administered to the eye, the pupil dilated.100 They also found that Europeans with light coloured irides were the most sensitive to stimuli such as ephedrine, belladonna or light, although those with brown irides were considerably less so.

How can any pupillary response be shown in sculpture? The size of the pupil of images may indeed vary, but for different reasons. In practical art it is a matter of judgement, skill and aesthetics. A detail such as the pupil has to fit in with the overall concept the artist has of his subject. At best, size and colour are a matter of approximation and not of scientific accuracy. Nevertheless, how the artist handles such minutiae that in nature are of great importance remains of interest.101 97

Darwin compared the measurements of the pupil in young adults between 15 and 20 years of age with those of adults who were over 50 years old. In moderately bright illumination the pupils of the young adults were slightly over 4 mm in diameter, whereas in the older group the diameter of the pupil was almost 3 mm. In people between 20 to 50 years of age the pupil gradually reduced from 3.6 mm to 3.1 mm. 98 M.P. Janisse and W.S. Peavler, “Pupillary Research Today: emotion in the eye”, Psychology Today, 1974, vii (February), pp. 60–63. 99 A Glasgow Caledonian University research group confirmed in 1994 that “pupil size decreased linearly as a function of age at all illuminance levels. … Pupil size was found to be independent of gender, refractive error, or iris colour.” 100 H.O. Obianwu and M.J. Rand, “The Relationship between the Mydriatic Action of Ephedrine and the Colour of the Iris”, British Journal of Ophthalmology, 49, 1965, pp. 264–270. 101 Ibid., p. 265. “The irides of Indian, Chinese, and African subjects were decreasingly less sensitive, and the subjective impression gained was that the most heavily pigmented iris was of Africans and that the hue of the irides of Chinese was deeper than that of Indians, but within each of these groups the iris colour was more homogeneous than in the group of Europeans with brown irides; these included subjects with hazel eyes and rays of blue-grey colour in the periphery of

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To remind ourselves, the sculptor resorts to methods of resolving a problem depending on his material, the technique he wants to employ and the expression he intends to give to his work. In polychrome wooden sculptures the pupil was as a rule indicated by a painted-in black centre of varying size; this also applies to partial polychromy. On the whole, wood carvers refrained from cutting or boring into the eyeball to mark the pupil. Even on monochrome wooden figures, if and where incised,102 the markings of pupil and iris are relatively shallow.103 However, in stone carvings drill holes of varying depth and diameter are not unusual, although this needs qualifying. In France, for instance, during the late Romanesque and early Gothic period many statues attributed to the “headmaster of Chartres” received deep drill holes of varying size.104 In some instances the dark paste fillings for the irises are still in place, but whether all the drillings were done in order to take inlays it is difficult to say. The dark shadow cast by the bored pupil is by itself quite effective owing to the contrast achieved, and does not necessarily require an infill. Still, polished and lustrous inlays may be very potent, as may be seen on the figures of a Romanesque tympanum, a Rhenish work.105 These dark inlays are probably pieces of obsidian. All these figurative works are now, and were probably always, monochrome apart from their inlaid eyes, and this placed greater emphasis on their direct gaze. In those instances where the statues were fully polychromed, the smoothed, uncut eyeballs also served as a paint surface. There were other aspects of the eye which the sculptor could never convey. The eye was to the medieval natural philosopher a world of wonder and speculation, to superstitious people a symbol of their the iris.” Leaving aside the question of whether and why the dark-coloured iris has a smaller opening than the one which is light coloured, the fact remains that blue irises are more discernible and therefore show better when the pupil dilates or constricts, alerting us to the subject’s response to either an induced stimulus or to emotions. 102 See above, p. 158, n. 65. See also the twelfth-century crucifix from Vänge, Goteberg (now stripped of its polychromy), which probably once had inlays; see Tångeberg (1986), p. 6, ill. 1. 103 The cutting into the eyeball was still rare in Germany at the beginning of the sixteenth century. 104 See Chartres Cathedral, the priory church of Notre-Dame at St La Charité-surLoire, and the priory church of St Peter at Souvigny. 105 The tympanum of the north portal of St Cäcilien of Cologne, c. 1160, now in the Schnütgen-Museum at Cologne, shows figures of St Cecily in high relief, together with SS Valerianus and Tiburtius, and also an angel above. All four representations still have their dark, glass-like inlays.

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incomprehension, and to the gifted scientific observer an object to be analysed, described and drawn or operated on; but it was to the sculptor instrumental in revealing aesthetic, expressive and psychological nuances. However, in all spheres the understanding of the eye was related to the concerns of the enquirer or beholder. To the artist the eye was always part of a whole, albeit an important one, and as such he attempted to represent it. Sometimes he decided that it should serve some symbolic notion; at other times he was after a naturalistic semblance of the eye. We become aware of the same dualistic tension when comparing problems that preoccupied the natural philosopher or scientist with some of those that the sculptor had to face – or sometimes just ignored. Johann Tauler, a fifteenth-century German theologian, wrote that in order for the eye to see colour it must itself be colourless, and therefore no food that may possibly colour the eye must be eaten.106 This is an intriguing idea. It seems, however, that he was not referring to the different-coloured humours ascribed to the eye by various ancient and medieval writers, or to ordinary food. His remark has a theological basis, for he was preaching on another aspect of seeing as he based his sermon on the text “Beati oculi qui vident quae vos videtis”.107 He likened the human will, which is coloured by worldly things, to a pelt or cover which affects the way the eye sees (and feeds the heart); while those who are spiritually blessed will see things in the colour (or light) unique to the will. Still, the physical eye with its clear coloured lens is unaffected by what is seen or eaten, and the pupil itself is basically a deep hole which widens or narrows depending on the causes already mentioned. In visual terms it is perceived as a black centre and as such the sculptor often represented it, simply adding black pigments or dark inlays and thereby omitting any reference to the glass-like lens which is ordinarily part of the physiognomy of the eye. By so doing he denied the physical existence of the lens that, of course, cannot be plausibly rendered in an opaque material. Even more contrary to reality seems the situation when the sculptor, for the sake of achieving the effect of contrast or colour, removes layers or scoops out the material where the iris is wanted and thus replaces substance neither with pigment nor with any other matter but with something quite ephemeral: 106 Schleusener-Eichholz, 1986, Vol. 1, p. 123: “Voraussetzung für das Sehen der Farbe ist, dass das Auge selber keine Farbe in sich hat ... wie das Auge arm und bloss ist von aller Farbe und empfänglich aller Farben, so ist derjenige arm im Geist, der auch empfänglich ist.” (Conditional to the seeing of colour is that the eye itself has no colour … just as the eye lacks colouring yet is receptive to it, so is the person who is poor in spirit still able to receive it.) 107 NIV, Luke 10:23 “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see.”

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the shadow which the engraved or sunk area is now bound to cast. Since the Renaissance the pigmented section of the natural eye was in sculpture once again often rendered as a material void. The light breaking at the rim of any such dip cast a shadow over the indented or hollowed irides of the sculpted eye. By leaving a little marble or clay islet within the iris, highlights could be incorporated, which further likened the contrived eye to the real one. Although the play of light and dark achieved is itself real and actual, the allusion to normal eye colour is a matter of illusion and depends more on associative thinking than on visual perception. This way of simulating the iris was not a fifteenth-century invention however, but the revival of a Roman technique.108 It is from one of the foremost sculptors of the Baroque period that we learn more about the reason why cutting away marble rather than adding pigments may give a portrait its reference to colour. Gianlorenzo Bernini discussed this problem with Monsieur de Chantelou, one of the king’s stewards, while working on his bust of Louis XIV in Paris in 1665. He explained that, because it is difficult to achieve a resemblance in a marble portrait due to its white colour, it is sometimes necessary to represent features in marble that are not in the sitter. To explain this paradox Bernini pointed out this instance: in order to represent the bluish colour which people have round their eyes, the place where it is to be seen has to be hollowed out, so as to achieve the effect of this colour and to compensate in this way for the weakness of sculpture which can only give one colour to matter. Adherence to the living model therefore is not identical with imitation.109

Rudolf Wittkower, who also quoted this passage, remarked further: from the sculptor’s point of view, the most difficult part of the human head (and perhaps even of the entire human figure) to render in sculptural form is the eye. This is, of course, due to the fact that, of all the parts in the human body, the eye alone has a design in it that exists only in terms of colour and not of shape: the iris and the pupil.110

The paradox, which Bernini pointed out to his questioner, is in effect the tension that exists between form and colour – or rather, the beholder’s perception of these two aspects of the sculpted image. In this particular instance the true physiognomy of the sitter was, when carved, adjusted to 108

See chapter 1, p. 30. Wittkower, 1979r, Sculpture, p. 185. 110 Ibid., p. 185. 109

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what enhanced the appearance of the portrait. The volume of the soft parts round the eyes was reduced in order to simulate a bluish shade that the crystalline marble tends to cast when light breaks on its surface. This was the effect Bernini was after, for he observed in his sitter that there was likewise a bluish tinge round his eyes. By cutting away more material than the sitter’s fleshy face merited he achieved a tonal value which gave the bust a more natural appearance, for the dead white of the material was now enlivened by the exaggerated shadow he had created round the eyes of the portrait. Bernini was clearly approaching the limits of the material bounds essential to conveying a physical image; moreover he had entered into a new phase of image-making as he began to rely on the shadows cast by cutting deeper into the material. What occurs here is an exchange between the physical form in favour of gaining an illusory colour value, albeit by sacrificing substance. As I see it, this was a move from the tactile or haptic to the visual or perceptual image, and from the natural to the illusory presence of a certain colour value, thereby eclipsing realism of the kind that only polychromy and inlays make possible. Another extreme solution for the sake of gaining a life-like semblance is the use of glass eyes. Here, one substance is exchanged for another and chosen for its exceptional qualities, which closely resemble those of the natural eye: lustre and colour. *** During the Counter-Reformation in Spain a new trend set in which emphasized certain physical aspects of the figure. Dress, real hair, glass eyes and tears, crowns of thorns and other attributes had all become part of a new, more demonstrative cult, thereby exacting a heightened awareness on the part of the beholder and an intensely realistic image, which was used mostly in a religious context. These realia supplemented rather than displaced conventional polychromy. As for glass eyes, they had, in artistic terms, become the latest state-of-the-art technique, for prior to the sixteenth century neither technology nor commerce had much encouraged the making or trading of these specialized objects, although glass was manufactured and had an established history. Before discussing some Spanish examples I want to consider two factors relevant to the production and adoption of such items. Throughout the medieval period the methods of production of glassware were closely guarded secrets and hence encouraged a tightly controlled monopoly for which, for example, the Venetians were renowned. From a practical point of view most glass workshops, the Glashütten of central Europe, were set up in forested areas as not only was

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wood an essential ingredient, but alkali gained from the ashes of beech was also needed for the process of melting silica and recycled glass.111 Although by 1621 Spain exported barilla, a Spanish plant ash containing a high proportion of soda that acts as a flux and therefore is essential to the making of high-quality glass, there seems to be no evidence that Spain herself produced clear glass, probably due to the lack of suitable fuel.112 Blown, spherical glass eyes depended on skilled glass blowers and also on the demand for such articles, which may at first have arisen when preparing wax models of humans for teaching purposes.113 Also, as mentioned above,114 the funerary cult in ancient Rome had already utilized wax images, glass eyes and real clothing; hence we look at the revival of such practices. In Spain the demand for glass eyes was, however, a natural progression from the painted glossy eye suggested or favoured by artists such as Francisco Pacheco and Juan Martinez Montañés. They pursued an aesthetic ideal that required of the eye a glossy, glassy look. Glass eyes were an obvious solution to realizing such an ideal.115 How to produce artificial eyes was described in two different books. One of the earliest references, though short, may be found in the copious writings of the eye surgeon Ambroise Paré, published in 1579 in Latin and reissued in English in 1649 by his translator Thomas Johnson. His type of eye replacement was, however, not yet of blown glass but made of gold or silver, polished and enamelled – the kind of eye insert which seems not so different from those eyes already discussed in connection with some early medieval reliquary statues,116 yet without painted-in details such as the veins, which appear to have been a feature of the Paré type of eye. In Haudicquer de Blancourt’s expansive text, The Art of Glass (1699), the author dealt with the specific problem of making glass eyes; he discusses 111

Christel Moser’s catalogue Glas: Mittelalter – Biedermeier, Hanover 1979, p. 25, lists the earliest fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Glashütten in forested parts of Germany that produced green glass. From the seventeenth century Bohemian glass producers added chalk (calcium) to the glass mix to improve its quality; it gained in transparency and lustre. 112 See Kurt Pittrof, Böhmisches Glas im Panorama der Jahrhunderte: Eine Kultur- und Wirtschaftgeschichte, Munich 1987, p. 33. Bohemia exported glassware to Spain by the end of the seventeenth century and during the next hundred years. 113 e.g. the medical faculty in Padua displayed most realistically modelled and coloured human cadavers of wax for teaching purposes. 114 Chapter 1, p. 26ff. 115 See also wax portraits; e.g. Grand Duke Cosimo II (d. 1621) by P. Tacca, which was finished with real hair and crystal eyes. 116 e.g. St Foy and the Essen Madonna.

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all practical aspects under the heading “Containing Exact Instructions for making Glass-eyes of all Colours”. He first described the tools needed and then gave a step-by-step account of the procedure of blowing, shaping and finishing. A drawing of a blowpipe and the outline of the form of the eye and its coloured parts were included. De Blancourt referred throughout these pages mostly to crystal rather than to glass. Whether he did so in order to imply its colourlessness is unclear, but what becomes apparent is the fact that glass blowing is a very exacting and skilful art. He summarized the procedure as follows: A glass blob, which the craftsman takes with his long blowpipe from the molten mass, is gradually transformed into an orbicular form as he gently turns and blows it into the growing sphere. The black enamel for the pupil, about the thickness of a duck-quill, is then fused on to where the pupil needs to be. The glassblower must avoid too much heat as otherwise the black will spread. Over the crystalline part of the eye (the lens) a solid piece of crystal of about the thickness of a goose-quill is heated and blown as before to give it its due form. With the thread of white enamel the contour of the (visible) eye is followed and filled in.

De Blancourt was very careful to point out that this process demands skill and judgement, for he urges that “you must proportion your Heats and Quantities very exactly, still continuing the work in the Flame, and gently blowing as often as you’d restore it to its Shape”. Finally, he says, “any surplus material must be removed by cutting or filing”. As a replacement for a live eye such a glass orb was but the beginning of a long process of experimentation. Its shape, weight, and implantation into the eye-socket underwent several modifications during the subsequent period in order to find the most comfortable prostheses for a highly sensitive cavity. It was, of course, different with glass eyes intended for sculptures, whether made of wax, wood or terracotta. As long as the eye appeared right and could be held in place, nothing else mattered. Due to thorough examination and restoration of some sculpted Spanish figures, it has been possible to investigate inserted glass eyes more closely. Three of the figures are by Pedro de Mena, an important seventeenth-century Spanish sculptor who took full advantage of the novelty of blown glass eyes. His innovative approach to sculptural realism is evident in a Magdalene figure that he carved in 1664 and one of St Francis (c. 1663);117 both have been fitted with glass eyes. In the case of the Magdalene X-ray photography confirmed the use of glass globules. 117

Toledo Cathedral treasury.

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The standard practice of fitting wooden and terracotta sculptures with glass eyes was to insert these through openings into the hollowed head, as may be seen in a small terracotta head on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum with its top removed.118 The fragile spheres were fixed from behind the face and sealed in with wax. The two eyes here were quite obviously inserted at different stages. Indeed, a close inspection revealed that the right eye is a replacement. It had been painted on the outside, whereas the colour of the left eye seems to be integral to the glass; however, they match well for, large and expressive as they are, they relate to an intensely emotional moment.119 A dated and signed Christ at the column figure by the German monogrammist IPS 1697 received glass eyes which were also sealed in, but with red wax. The intention was, of course, that the red should simulate the pink flesh into which the eye is bedded, thus adding to the realism of the face. The plasticity of wax makes it an ideal adhesive and sealant. Wax is of course also used as a material in its own right by wax modellers, and also in metal casting.120 Coloured wax became a popular medium during the seventeenth century and thereafter121 – firstly, because there was a need for anatomical demonstration models for newly established schools of medicine; secondly, the cult of offering votive figures was developing. These representations were usually fully clothed likenesses of a deceased person. Again, glass eyes were the ideal solution as their glossy appearance enhanced not only the eye but the entire figure. Yet the general trend in sculpture during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was neither for polychromy nor for wax, but for white stucco, white marble and cast bronze images. From then on polychromy was especially associated with Spain, south German Baroque and wax modelling – that is, it became an expression of a local rather than a general, epoch-making finish, as was the case during the Middle Ages. From the seventeenth century onwards, and parallel to artistic changes specific to the eye, the study of the visual organ gained in momentum.122 But, as we have seen, it was well before the beginning of the scientific age, even before the Renaissance, that two practical solutions to eye problems – namely spectacles and glass eyes – appeared as novelties in 118

St John of God from Granada; sculptor unknown. See Marjory Trusted, 1996. 120 The method is known as cire perdue. 121 See chapter 1, p. 27, on the Roman ancestry cult. 122 It is interesting that in modern times it was once again ophthalmologists (Magnus, Reitsch, Trevor-Roper and others) who showed art historians what to look for in the sculpted eye. 119

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art. Technology met, if not an actual need, at least the desire to make the image look more real and as much part of people’s everyday experience as possible. Glass technology produced the means for opticians to improve people’s failing eyesight; it also benefited the person who lost an eye and longed for some kind of substitute, however optically useless. In art, first painters, then also sculptors, occasionally referred to glasses in association with Bible reading, thus implying that spectacles were to vision what the word was to spiritual acuity. This double reference to spectacles also appeared on something as utilitarian as coins. A thaler minted in Brunswick in 1589 depicts an old man with a pair of glasses, and the inscription reads: “Of what avail is lens and light to him who lacks in mind and might”. An earlier coin, a ducat from Denmark, also shows spectacles; the inscription there reads “Behold the wonders of God”.123 As far as the artificial eye was concerned, it was the sculptor who took advantage of its development. The painter and polychromer, on the other hand, relied on improved glazes and, in the case of Spanish artists, they may have benefited from the advice given by Pacheco.124 *** This concludes the subject, apart from some studies of unusual examples that open up another chapter. Indeed, in art we look as much to what seems unusual as to the repetitious detail in order to establish rules and stylistic trends. The context of the created eye and its role as a cultural concept will be examined next.

123

See Julius Hirschberg, History of Ophthalmology, 1984, which has a reproduction of both coins. 124 See above, p. 148.

CHAPTER SEVEN “WHAT THE EYE CANNOT SEE” THE PROBLEM ONCE MORE: SOME UNUSUAL EXAMPLES What nature denies to human sight she gives to the eyes of the soul.1

Visual discernment is essential in a subject such as art history, yet not everything of relevance is always plainly visible. Circumstances and time may distort or obscure the original appearance and hence also the meaning of a work of art. Still, any observed inconsistency in style and documentation may lead to an object being examined more closely. Often it is owing to thorough inspection by conservators that accidental or deliberate changes to the created eye of a figurative piece of work have been noticed or technical aspects fully appreciated. This, in the case of the Quadriga of San Marco in Venice, led to revised dating. The incised crescent (lunula) located on the eyeball provided the vital clue. The Scherenberg Monument, too, revealed that at some stage after it was made its gaze was altered.2 In the Dangolsheim Madonna and Child3 and the Bust of the Laughing Boy4 we have two examples where overpainting of the eyes resulted not so much in a shift of gaze but of colour. The disclosure of any of these changes is often difficult to appreciate when seeing them as they are now, yet eye openers they were nevertheless. An interesting example is the Crucifix of Biberach, which deserves fuller discussion, for here the words “eye opener” take on a double meaning.

1

Ovid, Metamorphoses, 5. See chapter 3, p. 76. 3 See chapter 6, p. 159. 4 See chapter 6, p. 150. 2

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Fig. 7–1 Biberach Crucifix (c. 1220), and enlarged detail: head, prior to removal of second, late Gothic, polychromy.

In 1958 a first attempt to restore this once heavily overpainted early thirteenth-century wood carving was made by removing what was thought to be its last polychromy. This proved unsatisfactory. During a more thorough conservation programme several historic paint layers emerged, most of which could be dated. The last polychromy was applied in 1860, the penultimate in 1820; an earlier layer was dated to 1655 and another goes back to around 1525. There were signs of even older overpainting, but very few traces of the original polychromy could be ascertained. Certainty regarding one of the dates came when filtered ultra-violet light was used in deciphering the motif discovered on the loincloth. This particular design of a pomegranate pattern was introduced during the last third of the fifteenth century and was part of the repertoire of late Gothic painters and polychromers. During the Baroque period it went out of fashion, and in this case it was overpainted. But the real surprise came when the face of the statue was studied. The art historian Johannes Taubert5 pointed out that the Gothic polychromy showed Christ with his

5

J. Taubert, “Zur Restaurierung von Skulpturen” in Farbige Skulpturen, 1978.

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eyes wide open, in continuance of the Romanesque (and earlier) tradition.6 However, the Baroque paint finish presented the piece of sculpture with a white loincloth, pale flesh colour, half-closed dimmed eyes, and bluish, blood-drained lips. The Crucifix of Biberach is today stripped down to its polychromy of 1525, when it was still adored as an Andachtsbild (devotional image) similar to the Romanesque Forstenrieder Crucifix.7 In 1655, with just a few brush strokes, the theological significance of the crucifix was changed.

Art and pedagogy In an age when the sermon schooled the beholder in looking for and seeing the theological statements made by artists, especially in early Netherlandish paintings, the knowing eye may well have picked these out without any problem. To a modern viewer perceiving realistically rendered items and scenes, any visual pointer may be harder to tell apart from the unfamiliar setting. Studying a single topic, such as the eye, often makes a particular theme stand out, as will be demonstrated by the following examples. In the left wing of the Werl Altarpiece,8 a painting by a follower of Robert Campin,9 the item of interest is a simulated carving. Incorporating sculptural elements enabled the painter to extend the iconography of the 6

At Sansepolchro Cathedral the polychromed Volto Santo image of about 1200 is a fully robed, open-eyed Christ figure on the cross, with outstretched arms which look like a gesture of welcome. Two earlier images of a crucified Christ with open eyes come from quite different geographical regions: the small crucifix on the cover of the Codex Aureus (c. 870) is the work of a goldsmith at the court school of Charles the Bald at Reims, and is set amidst a jewel-studded design (New York, Pierpont Morgan Library). At Romsey Abbey in England a stone rood (c. 1010) also shows the living Christ. The Christ crucified, with wide-open eyes, may be traced back to the fifth century; see the relief panel of the once polychromed doors of Santa Sabina in Rome. Clearly, the intention was to show not a suffering Christ but the risen Christ. See also Gerhart B. Ladner, London 1995, p. 123, who gives two sources regarding open eyes (the Rabbula Gospels of 586 AD and Physiologus). 7 Dated c.1200, a painted wood carving from the Roman Catholic parish church of Forstenried near Munich. Colour reproduced and analysis in Buchenrieder, 1990, pp. 40–41. 8 Painted in 1438. Both wings are in the Prado Museum, Madrid. Inv. nos. 1513 and 1514. 9 See NGA Catalogue, London 1998. Lorne Campbell assigned the panel to a follower of Campin rather than to Campin himself.

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altarpiece, a device frequently used by Flemish artists of the early fifteenth century. The layered meaning with which these altarpieces were enriched presents theological and exegetical implications all in one; the visual references alluded to were made to look as if they were part of the daily life of the holy personages featured. Here, the main figure is St Barbara, who is absorbed in reading scripture while sitting on a bench with her back against an open hearth. On the chimney ledge above her stands a small piece of sculpture showing the Holy Trinity. The monochrome object appears, like all the other items in this room, functional and unobtrusive. The cast of its shadow on the wall behind it and the small pedestal point to its haptic and sculptural quality. In this devotional object10 God the Father holds up the crucified Christ, above whom the dove representing the Holy Spirit is hovering. The detail that catches the attention is the manner in which the painter handled the eyes of the figure of God the Father. The left eye is shown open whereas the right one seems to be shut.11 What is the meaning of this?12 In the tradition of the Church the open eye sometimes symbolizes the Church itself, while the left one denotes the synagogue.13 Another interpretation, to which the painter may have been alluding, is God’s benevolent aspect – his open eye watches over those whom he loves; by closing one eye, the artist may have been hinting at God’s final judgement on mankind.14 During the seventeenth century the single open eye of the God the Father figure was taken up as a symbol with some specific connotations, as we shall see later.15

10

Its counterpart, a small Virgin and Child figure, is shown in the other wing of the altarpiece, above what seems to be a doorway. 11 I know of no other sculpted Trinity group which similarly draws attention to the eyes. 12 See Anton Legner (1977). He included an enlargement of this detail of the panel, and commented on the preciseness and realism with which the painter handled the sculptural piece, but did not comment on the eyes. 13 See “Auge”, RDK, Vol. 1, p. 1242. 14 In this respect we are reminded of personifications of justice, which are shown with their eyes blindfolded. See Ernst von Moeller, “Die Augenbinde der Justitia”, in Zeitschrift für christliche Kunst, 1905, Vol. 17, pp. 108–52 15 See below, p. 180.

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Fig. 7–2 Werl Altarpiece (1438), right wing with St Barbara, detail of a Trinity group, Robert Campin.

The pedagogical dimension of religious works of art clearly depended on the grasp the artist had of theological issues, for which he had to find a visual language to satisfy the intellect and the emotions. We may recall Peter Thurmann’s thesis that Cusanus’s thought may be traced in the work of Michael Pacher. Thurmann’s16 analysis of space within Pacher’s fictitious church interiors exposes the mathematical construction and the relationship between the various sculpted figures and groups that reflect Cusanus’s fundamental ideas about vision and visibility. Also in Pacher’s work God the Father is far from being an abstract, invisible entity – on the contrary. This is a father figure who, together with his son, the Christ, 16

De mathematicis (Mathematische Schriften, 1445–59).

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crowns the Virgin as she kneels between the two seated figures, her eyes downcast. In the Bolzano-Gries Altarpiece (1471 – c. 1475) the focus is on the act of crowning. The scene which Pacher carved is self-contained and intimate; everything comes together in an intense moment of fulfilment in the saint’s life. Indeed, the crown symbolizes for the Christian the reward for being faithful to God. Thus, Pacher placed her crown in the very centre of the altarpiece, where all the lines of construction converge – except for a horizontal line which is slightly above the crown and indicative of the level from where God the Father and Christ jointly gaze down on Mary. The imaginary circle brings into its orbit all earthly and heavenly witnesses of this scene: the patron saints and the angels who surround the family; the triad of Father, Son and Mother of Jesus; and the Holy Trinity as represented by God, Christ and the dove of the Holy Spirit.

The Trinitarian image The doctrine relating to the Holy Trinity was, and still is, one of the more difficult teaching points of the Christian Church as it contains some seemingly contradictory elements. This is demonstrated in particular when trying to compress into a static image what was a drawn-out process of revelation. To the ordinary believer the dogma is about the invisible yet all-seeing God, the one who revealed himself through three equally significant expressions in the three divine persons. The Catholic Encyclopedia of 191217 summarized under the following headings the principal revelatory aspects on which the Nicene Creed (381 AD) was based: (a) foreshadowing of plurality of persons (Old Testament); (b) action of triune godhead (New Testament); and (c) plurality of persons as mentioned in the New Testament. Holy Trinity images are particularly interesting examples of how religion and art, with their different responsibilities, came to terms with such difficult ideas as, for instance, the invisible made visible and one God but three persons. From the book of Genesis to the book of Revelation, we are led to see and learn how an invisible yet all-seeing creator and God made himself knowable and visible. The word which became flesh initiated God’s descent in human form through the birth of Jesus Christ, while finally, in the apocalyptic vision of St John the Evangelist on the isle of Patmos, everything points to the ascended Christ who will be sitting at the right hand of God the Father to judge the living and the dead.18 In the New 17 18

G.H. Joyce, “Trinity”, Vol. 15, Robert Appleton Co., New York. The Nicene Creed, AD 381.

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Testament the audible God of the Old Testament has become the God made visible through Jesus Christ, his only begotten son. Biblical statements such as “man made in the image of God” and “he became man” pointed the way towards a representational God; the question that remained was whether the Holy Spirit too could be shown personified. Since the fifth century the dove was accepted as a Christian symbol, in keeping with the event of Christ’s baptism, for the Holy Spirit descended then like a dove. God’s presence, however, was perceived not visually but audibly as an uttering: “This is my beloved son”. At this historical moment the Trinitarian relationship was fully revealed for the first time. The Holy Trinity was not understood as being three persons in one, a concept that the early Church still had to define.19 This led to a conflict between those who adhered to the symbolic image of the Holy Spirit as a dove and the defenders of the personhood of the Holy Spirit whom, they believed, had to be represented in the form of a person. The personhood of God was deduced from the words “God created man in his own image”.20 The two earlier and popular versions of the Holy Trinity, the Seat of Mercy and the Trinity Crowning the Virgin, which we have already encountered, do not plausibly demonstrate the parity between the three aspects of God, for the Holy Spirit was shown by the dove symbol. However, there are images showing the Trinity as three persons21 – for instance in an English alabaster panel of the second half of the fifteenth century, where three crowned male figures bless and crown the Virgin Mary.22 19

Chalcedonean definition, fourth Ecumenical Council, AD 451. NIV, Genesis 1:27. 21 The Hortus Deliciarum of Herrad of Landsberg (12th century) is a miniature showing the Holy Trinity as three identical persons (reproduced in Lexikon christl. Kunst, ed. J. Seibert, Herder Verlag, 1980/82r). 22 See exhibition catalogue Les sculptures anglaises d’albâtre au musée national du Moyen Age Thermes de Cluny, ed. Christiane Prigent, Paris 1998, Cat. 13, Cl. 19348. The sculptor of a polychromed wood carving, the Landshuter Marienkrönung (1520), used a similar arrangement for the four figures, but he made some subtle changes to various details. The three holy persons all place the crown on Mary’s head; their action is of one accord. Mary’s hands, however, instead of being raised high in order to receive (as she does in the other panel), are now folded; her attitude appears more humble and introverted. On the polychromed wood carving the painted-in gaze of each figure is still discernible, hence we see the two side figures both focusing on the crown; the third (God) is placed between the two at a higher level and gazes straight out of the scene at the beholder. The polychromy has worn off the alabaster group; hence the subtler points, such as the gaze, were also lost. All four figures have the same semi20

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Fig. 7–3 Coronation of the Virgin, 15th century. Alabaster with polychromy and gilding.

One other approach to the problem of representing the Trinity was by uniting the three divine persons under one cloak, showing three heads but only one body. This led to yet another version in which the three heads were also merged into one, but retained their individual facial aspects. For example, in St Peter’s church at Basel is a mural painting of a triune God, dating back to around 1400. The three faces within one head are set side by side, with the middle face overlapping at two crucial points: it shares its spherical eye shapes; the eyes appear downcast due to the missing details. What we therefore see is an incomplete work.

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eyes with the face on either side. Although there were still three mouths and three noses, the three pairs of eyes were reduced to two.23 We find this iconographical peculiarity, the tricephalus, as late as the CounterReformation, when the idea was taken up by some sculptors who carved statues with one head but three faces and two sets of eyes. As they were usually polychromed they appeared quite realistic and vivid. But despite this enhancement the image failed – not so much visually, but as a theologically valid expression of the Holy Trinity.24 In 1628 Pope Urban VIII expressly forbade this kind of “monstrum”,25 and in 1745 Pope Benedict XIV repeated the earlier interdict that forbade the making of images which showed the Holy Trinity as three dressed men.26 A dove or an eye within an equilateral triangle replaced any human form and allusion to the Trinitarian personification; these were henceforth accepted as fitting symbols by the Roman Catholic and the Protestant Churches.

Fig. 7–4 Symbolic painting of a hand holding a triangle within which is shown an eye.

23 Whether intentionally or accidentally, this type of image suggests yet another interpretation: the two sets of eyes (Christ and the Holy Spirit) could be read as being instrumental to the invisible power (God the Father). 24 The Erzbischöfliches Diözesanmuseum in Cologne has a seventeenth-century carved and polychromed limewood statue of the Trinity, perhaps from south Germany. 25 See Lexikon christlicher Kunst, 1980, 1982r, p. 83. St Antonius of Florence (d. 1459) heavily criticized artists for perpetuating this type of image (Opera III, chapter 4), see RDK, Vol. 4, p. 420. 26 The idea of God as three persons goes back to the Old Testament account when Abraham received three visitors (Genesis 18: 1–2). The Byzantine Church included in its iconographical canon the image of God as three persons.

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The eye as a symbol The eye as a symbolic expression was by no means new; what was novel was its context.27 Symbolism takes us into the metaphysical realm. Leon Battista Alberti and Jacob Böhme (a post-Reformation German mystic)28 were both thinkers who touched on some deep-rooted ideas about seeing and being seen, about the visible and the invisible. Each used the eye metaphor illustratively; to the humanist Alberti it contained a personal world view; the God-centred theosophist Böhme however associated the eye with the alpha and the omega – the universe – but also regarded it as God’s eye, in which his creation is reflected.

Fig. 7–5 The Eye of God by Jacob Böhme, print. One of a series of similar symbolic illustrations for his book Theosophische Wercke, Amsterdam, 1682.

Fig. 7–6 Italian medal, with all-seeing eye; obverse: portrait of Leon Battista Alberti (c. 1450). The painter-architect-theoretician Alberti explained his device of the winged eye thus: “seeing all things and distinguishing each separate one”.

The 1682 Dutch edition of the collected works of Jacob Böhme is richly illustrated with copper-plate prints. These illustrations repeatedly show one or several eyes in diverse symbolic contexts. Christoph Geissmar, who discussed these prints in his book Das Auge Gottes. Bilder 27

Georg Stuhlfauth, 1937, states that the symbol of God’s eye in a triangle is a creation of the Baroque. 28 1595–1625.

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zu Jacob Böhme,29 expresses in the introductory note his surprise that the symbol of “the eye of God within a triangle” was created as late as the seventeenth century, when it first appeared in the writings of the Jesuit Athanasius Kircher, thus pre-dating Böhme’s illustrated opera omnia of 168230 Böhme’s work was already well known by then, and before 1663 most of his writings had been translated into English.31 Forty years earlier, in 1623, Böhme wrote his Mysterium Magnum, in which he explained the “drey Principia Göttliches Wesens”. However, his first illustrated published work was his 40 Fragen (1632),32 in which he described his model of the world, graphically illustrating it as an orb (later referred to as the “Philosophische Kugel oder das Wunder-Auge der Ewigkeit”). The copper-plate of the title page to 40 Fragen shows a pyramidical shape with Hebrew letters in its midst.33 Geissmar noted that of the twenty-two copper-plates of the 1682 edition, fifteen show motifs of eyes that relate to eight basic types. The two examples of special interest here are the winged eye and the eye in the triangle. The eye metaphor suggests a Christian, and also a cabalistic, reading34 and in this connection Geissmar wrote that the eye in a triangle motif is the product of different ways of thinking; the Trinitarian dogma is the essential, but not the singular reason for bringing together the eye of God and the triangle.35 The reference to God’s eye – that is, the all-seeing, divine eye – is based on a long Judeo–Christian tradition. What is significant however is its combination with the abstract triangular configuration and the period when it was adopted as a symbol.36 Did the Protestant Jacob Böhme, the Jesuit Athanasius Kircher and Pope Urban VIII independently show a way forwards in reforming the Trinitarian 29

Christoph Geissmar, 1993. Geissmar, “Das überraschenderweise erst im 17. Jahrhundert neuentstandene Symbol ‘Auge Gottes im Dreieck’, bei Böhme extensiv verwandt, ist für die Bilder zu Kircher erfunden worden, soweit es bisher nachweisbar ist.” 31 Translated by John Sparrow. 32 Excerpts were already in circulation as early as 1624. 33 The Hebrew for “Holy, Holy, Holy”, avoiding naming God. 34 Geissmar, 1993, p. 59. 35 Das Bildmotiv “Auge im Dreieck” ist ein Kind verschiedener Denkrichtungen; das Trinitätsdogma ist das wesentliche, aber nicht alleinige, vereinzelbare Grund für die Zusammenkunft von Auge Gottes und Dreieck … The visual motif “eye in a triangle” is the child of divers tenets of thoughts: the Trinity dogma is the dominant but not the singular reason for bringing together God’s eye and the triangle … Translated HH. 36 e.g. ibid., ill. 41: “Irdisch und Himmlisch Mysterium”; ill. 89 “Ungrund ...”; ill. 95 “Raphael”. 30

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concept which, as an image, had visibly run its course? The eye within a triangle was not only a new useful mnemonic device but, perhaps more importantly, it replaced and thereby corrected the doctrinally conflicting idea of a God who manifested himself physically, and hence visibly, as three persons. Symbols are for the initiated and churchgoers became gradually used to seeing the eye within a triangle as part of newer iconographical imagery, without perhaps realizing that the motif of the eye, with its cabalistic connotations, also served as an emblem for a newly formed society, the Freemasons.37 Gudrun Schleusener-Eichholz,38 who has done much in highlighting and unravelling the medieval source material regarding the allegorical usage of the eye, draws our attention not only to the Bible and to apocalyptic literature, but also to patristic writings and medieval exegesis. Again and again the sources point to a seeing God, thus directing our focus towards the interactive presence of the Almighty, “who beholds and knows all things, that which was, is, and will come”. Although God revealed himself also as the one who hears and speaks, creates with his hands and walks the earth,39 it is above all else his eye (it is usually the singular that appears) that penetrates the darkest recesses of our existence. Seeing and judging come together in the visual act of God, as Schleusener-Eichholz puts it. Referring to St Ambrose, she quotes from his Hexameron,40 “uidi, et oculorum eius intentionem nullus aspexit nec quod ignorabat uidit nec id quod nesciebat ante aut non uiderat conprobauit”. But God’s eye, she comments,41 is to us different things at different times: knowledge (cognitio), justice, clemency, his ever effective emanating power42 (“effectus ejus potentiae”); and not least, Christ, who is in and of God and who is likened to “the apple of his eye”. These aspects of the God who sees all things have been interpreted and expressed through diverse traditions, some stressing his benevolence,43 others his wrath,44 while 37

The All-Seeing-Eye as a common Masonic symbol appears in England from about 1730 onwards, although the title page to Sir Walter Ralegh’s The History of the World (1614) also shows this device (perhaps because it was probably published on the Continent). 38 Her focus is on High German texts of the thirteenth century. 39 RAC, Vol. 1, col. 446–450, article on “Anthropomorphismus”. 40 Hexameron: “God’s work of the six days of Creation, who saw that it was good.” 41 Gudrun Schleusener-Eichholz, 1985, Vol. 2, p. 1078. 42 The emission theory, so important during ancient times and the early medieval period, probably stems from the idea of God emanating his power through the eye, like the sun and its rays. 43 Psalm 121:3. 44 Psalm 90:9.

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God’s eye is the eye of the ultimate judge who continually watches over us, for our sake.45 The idea of the ever watchful eye may be traced back to a cabalistic source,46 the Sohar,47 which says, “The eyes of the white head differ from [all] other eyes. They have no lids and no eyelashes, for, ‘Behold, the watchman of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps.’”48 The same text likens the lidless eyes to the fish in the sea, “which have neither lids nor eyelashes. They do not sleep and their eyes require no protection. This is even more true of the Almighty, who oversees everything.”49 Böhme, in his book Von den drei Prinzipien göttlichen Wesens, also alluded to the lidless eye of God, explaining that “His seeing was [like] day and night with wide-open eyes which have no eyelashes.”50 In sculpture eyelashes have only periodically been added to the eye, partly because that is not easy to do. On polychromed statues it was left to painters to complete this part in their own way. Sculptors tended to avoid them on the whole, although in antiquity they were cut from bronze platelets and inserted in the eye sockets of metal casts.51 Before discussing this issue, let us return to the winged eye which, as indicated above, features in some of the copper-plates engraved for Böhme’s 1682 edition.52 That these are the wings of a dove, the foremost symbol of the Holy Spirit, and not of an air-borne eagle, becomes apparent when reviewing the copper-plates. The familiar visual reference to the hovering dove, with its horizontally spread wings, is closely adhered to. Whether the illustrator knew of the much earlier impression of a winged eye (seen at the beginning of the Renaissance and known among a circle of Italian humanists), remains open. Alberti’s personal emblem, the winged eye, appears as if in flight. The two wings are seen sideways, one behind the other. The strong, streamlined ridge of the wings suggests a forward thrust. The wings are also indicative of the direction they take and hence suggest, however tentatively, that they carry a left eye, its eyebrow now a soaring wing. 45

Psalm 121. W.A. Schulze, “Das Auge Gottes”, Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, Vol. 68, 1957. 47 Sohar, 3, 129b; Schulze quoted from the German translation by Ernst Müller, Der Sohar, 1932, p. 60ff. 48 See Psalm 121:4. 49 See John Schulitz, 1993, p. 88, who also cites the passage from Der Zohar, 3, 129b. 50 See Böhme, Prinizipien …, chapter 10, p. 18. 51 See chapter 1. 52 e.g. Geissmar, 1993, ill. 38, “Die Gelassenheit”. 46

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Scholars have tried to unravel the hidden meaning of the Albertian empresa on a medal modelled in relief by Matteo de’ Pasti, probably between 1453 and 1455. While the obverse of the cast shows Leon Battista Alberti (1404–72) in profile, the reverse has a winged eye within a laurel wreath. The corners of the open eye terminate in thunderbolts. Below the lower lid there is a fringe of flames, and directly underneath it is inscribed the motto QVID TVM.53 This emblem also appears, but less prominently, on an oval-shaped bronze plaquette with Alberti’s self-portrait, which he did perhaps as early as c. 1432, when he produced also a series of short stories, the Intercoenales.54 Or he may have made the plaquette closer to the date when he completed his manuscript Della famiglia (c. 1438),55 for on its last page he drew in ink a winged eye within a wreath. The two words OVID TVM, written in large letters, bracket the image at its baseline. The association of flight and gaze that gave rise to the winged eye symbol was not entirely original. As Ulrich Pfisterer56 tried to show, it had much older sources than Alberti’s appropriated design.57 Pfisterer58 pointed out the close relationship between Alberti’s Intercoenales and the humanist Philoponus’s Anuli. The Anuli are stories that describe twelve seal rings, each with a sculpted allegorical image on it. As the legend goes, Philoponus showed his golden rings to an adviser, the Consilium, seeking his opinion because nobody wanted to buy them. Thus the listener (or reader) learns of the first ring and its image. It showed a wreath, and in its centre was an eye and eagle’s wings. The Consilium interpreted it as follows:

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“What then?” They were the type of narration given during a meal while the guests were drinking and waiting for the next course. 55 Alberti, author of Della famiglia (c. 1438) and of Sculptura (c. 1440s), ignores polychrome sculpture (see also Arnulf von Ulmann, p. 83, n. 191), whereas Gauricus acknowledges polychromy on wooden sculpture. 56 See U. Pfisterer, “Soweit die Flügel meines Auges tragen’. Leon Battista Albertis Imprese und Selbstbildnis”, Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Instituts, Florence 1998, p. 216. 57 John Gage kindly pointed out another interpretation of the emblem, given in Edgar Wind, Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance, Oxford, 1980r, p. 233. There, the wings and the eye are of an eagle; speed and sharpness of vision are the two concepts on which Alberti based his motif. 58 See also Renée Watkins, “L.B. Alberti’s Emblem, the Winged Eye, and his Name, Leo”, in Mitteilungen des Kunsthistorischen Instituts Florenz, Vol. 9, 1959, pp. 256–58. 54

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The winged eye chosen by Alberti as his personal emblem is neither about the eye of God nor the wings of the Holy Spirit, but about the inner, imaginative eye that can raise the beholder above and beyond his present, ordinary station in life in his quest for fame. It may also be about the trust Alberti placed in God, for besides the suggested humanistic source the image also reflects a likely biblical reference.59 Associative thinking is an artistic prerogative and a scholarly necessity. What may appear a mere flight of fancy may have its purpose, for visual and word images assist memory, act as mnemonics, facilitate seeing connections. Thus, the flutter of an eagle’s wing may remind us of the flutter of eyelashes and lead us to their representation in sculpture.

Eyelashes The healthy human eye has eyelashes for protection; they keep out the dust and shade the eye.60 In medieval images the simplest way of showing eyelashes was by painting two thick black lines and, occasionally, individual brush strokes. A marked rim finishing the sculpted eyelid also suggested a fringe of hair. On the whole, little was made of eyelashes. Sometimes the dark outlines of earlier medieval eyes, with their schematized features, hark back to those of metallic reliquary statues with their inlaid eyes and unbroken contours, similar to a cabochon setting. By the thirteenth century facial details in particular started to matter. They were added, not yet realistically, but to acknowledge that they existed. Only a close look reveals that, for instance, the polychromer of the Forstenrieder Crucifix completed the edge of each eyelid with a series of 59

See Deuteronomy, 32:10. See J.H. Prince, Ocular Prosthesis, Edinburgh 1946, pp. 34–35: “The eyelashes or cilia of the upper lid of humans are between 8 mm and 12 mm long and 100 to 150 in numbers, whilst the lower lid has 50 to 75 in numbers which are between 6 mm and 8 mm long. The blinking movements last 0.3 to 0.4 mm per second at a repeat between six and thirty times a minute.” See also n.18 given in Prince.

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individual eyelashes. With some care but little understanding, he painted with regular, equally spaced brush strokes the upwards and backwards curling lashes. They are not much longer than the width of the dark line painted first along the edge of the eyelid and would not have been visible from the distance at which the cross was to be seen.

Fig. 7–7 Forstenrieder Crucifix, detail (c. 1200), oak with original polychromy restored.

The next stage was to differentiate more between the upper and the lower eyelid.61 The upper eyelid was shown with the fringe of eyelashes denser, longer and darker. While still tracing the edge of the upper eyelid 61 The sixth-century mosaics of St Vitale in Ravenna show Empress Theodora and her court with upper eyelids bordered by dark eyelashes; the lower lids are of a lighter colour. Even more interesting is a Roman miniature painting, a roundel, which has been inset into a medieval pectoral cross. It shows a woman with her daughter and son. While the mother has clearly applied some make-up to the upper and lower eyelids, neither her daughter nor her son have had their eyes beautified. All three faces have thick, dark eyebrows.

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with a black line, just like make-up, painters modified the lower lid by using a lighter, if not a flesh-coloured shade, for the pink edge of the eyelid and the corner. By the beginning of the fifteenth century some mural and panel painters confidently added individual eyelashes to make it all look more convincing. In St Peter’s church in Basel (c. 1400) the angel of a mural Annunciation scene has long, upward curved and naturallooking lashes. The Flemish painter Jan van Eyck has shown how to paint the most difficult features and most delicate details of the eye, including the eyelashes. We need only look at how he handled these in his two representations of Adam and Eve on the inside of the outer wings of his Ghent Altarpiece (c. 1425–32). There, each eyelash and all other facial hair have the texture and springiness of hair that seems alive and still growing. Decades later, Hans Holbein the Elder rarely missed out the eyelashes, even in preparatory drawings for portraits; and Albrecht Dürer, another great master, also used this small detail to good effect. Nothing of the same kind may be found in sculptures. By 1462, when Nicolaus Gerhaert carved his figures for St George’s church in Nördlingen, the polychromer – despite having generally done a very good job – was still unable to do anything like what we have seen in paintings. To focus for a moment on the Nördlingen Christ figure, there the eyelashes look as if each single hair was bent backwards, clinging to the edge of either upper eyelid. These thinly painted vertical brush strokes grow out of the thicker curved baseline, which appears slightly wispy. The painter also paid attention to the growth of beard and locks of hair. However, as with the Forstenrieder Crucifix, such fine details may altogether escape the beholder under normal viewing conditions. Veit Stoss had the figures of his suspended Annunciation group in St Lorenz’s church at Nuremberg finished with eyelashes. Again, this seems an extraneous effort on behalf of the artist, for it was too far removed from public view to be seen properly. Yet, as with any new idiom, it is there to be remembered and used. On partially polychromed representations anything resembling or suggesting eyelashes appears to be missing; at the most there may be an engraved line running parallel to the edge of the eyelid. Riemenschneider did not attempt anything beyond that. It seems to have been a wellestablished convention to adhere in monochrome figures to fringeless eyelids; we need only compare Jan van Eyck’s exemplary and realistic manner of painting eyelashes with his renderings of unpainted statues to believe that this was how it was done. The modelling or carving of eyelashes appears to have been foreign to the northerners, whereas Italian sculptors occasionally alluded to them. Two of the earliest examples known to me are funerary effigies. There, the

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closed eyes made it easy to let the upper, longer eyelashes appear as if touching the bordering cheek or tear sac. On the effigy of Pope Adrian V (reg. 1276) Arnolfo di Cambio simply made the upper eyelid larger and then incised short lines resembling lashes along its edge. About two-and-ahalf centuries later, in 1525, Tullio Lombardo carved the effigy of Guido Guidarelli and gave it eyelashes. He took care to differentiate between the rim of the eyelid and the hair issuing from it.62 The eyebrows, too, have texture. Paint was neither applied nor necessary, for the physiognomy of the subject was fully rendered by means of the chisel. Likewise, some Italian Renaissance bronze images have eyelashes. They were modelled, not cut and inserted in the Greek manner.

Fig. 7–8 Effigy of Pope Adrian V, detail; early work by Arnolfo di Cambio (1245–1302).

Fig. 7–9 Oval impression of bearded man with articulated eyelashes; Greek inscription.

In 1447 Donatello produced his bronze cast of the equestrian statue of Gattamelata.63 Surveying from on high the field of action to the left, the look in his eyes betrays the thinker as he awaits the outcome. Under bushy eyebrows, rarely seen hitherto in portraits, his big eyes are shaded from above by almost tangible eyelashes; from below heavy tear sacs pull the eyelids slightly away from the orbs. The iris and pupils are indicated and the left eye diverges slightly. The other examples where eyelashes were included are two effigies from the fifteenth century. Bernardo Rossellino 62

Could it be that the Italians had seen carved or modelled eyelashes on ancient gemstones and other art works? A carved gem of the late fifth century BC, signed Dexamenos, realistically portrayed eyelashes on an open eye shown in relief. 63 1447–53; Padua, Piazza del Santo.

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carved a marble tomb of Leonardo Bruni in 1453–54. As if peacefully asleep, the laurel-crowned head leans to the side, resting on one ear and its laurels. His right eye seems more bulbous and hence the closed lids make a bigger, rounder curve. The eyelashes are singly and sparsely engraved, while the eyebrows are more bushy. The other effigy, which was created by Antonio del Pollaiuolo between 1485 and 1490, shows Pope Sixtus IV. The ornate tomb has much texture in relief. Sixtus IV, who wears his papal tiara, lies with his face upwards; his eyes are as closed as his lips are sealed. The dexterity of the sculptor may be judged by the way he has modelled the eyes. The thin skin of the eyelids is pushed out by the cornea, suggesting that the dying pope was looking upwards at the last. The eyelashes obscure the lower eyelids, yet soften the look of death on the face. In contrast to these attempts to embody eyelashes by sculptural means, Michelangelo’s youthful Christ in his Pietà (1497–1500) is portrayed without any eyelashes; in fact, the polished eyelids look quite bare. What are we to make of this? The psalmist says of the Lord: “His eyes see, his eyelashes examine mankind”.64 Did Michelangelo want the beholder to remember Christ as the sacrificial victim and not as the judge?

Fig. 7–10 Death mask (?) of a male with a pronounced fringe of lashes.

Fig. 7–11 Pièta (1498–99), detail, head of the dead Christ, eyes shown without eyelashes; marble; Michelangelo Buonarroti.

64 Psalm 11:4; the German version reads: Seine Augen schauen, seine Wimpern prüfen die Menschen. The English AV and NIV differ from this.

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Pattern of the iris There is one more aspect only an astute observer is likely to notice when looking at the living eye, and from a scientific point of view it remained for a long time a puzzling feature. It is the vascular, star-like pattern65 only visible in clear eyes and with the light falling on it. It was not until 1700–1702 that the anatomist Frederik Ruysch produced a correct representation of it. When he published his findings he included two drawings to demonstrate how it functions. They indicate clearly the inner ring of blood vessels that expand and contract, thus controlling the opening and the size of the pupil. From this inner ring more blood vessels radiate outwards, some bundled together and others more spaced out.66 With some rare exceptions this radial pattern was not referred to in the depicted eye, although here again Jan van Eyck did not miss out on the smallest detail. Not only did he give Adam67 eyelashes, but by aligning some brush strokes within an arc he aptly emulated iridial rays. Nor did Pacheco overlook such a feature.68 Sculptors, however, did not refer to it.

Conclusion As we have seen, the eyes of both the living and the dead were portrayed artistically in numerous ways in the period between the fourteenth and the sixteenth centuries, although I have briefly glanced in this chapter at some developments outside these time limits. The one 65

In German, the iris and pupil are often referred to as der Augenstern. The iris is much more complex, however. See the revised edition of Theodor Kriege’s Fundamental Basis of Iris Diagnosis. A concise textbook, 1969–75, where the author gives the following description (chapter 3, p. 20): “The iris appears blue when its surface layers are colourless, and the deepest dark layer of the iris (retinal epithelial pigment) shows through. If the middle vascular layer of the iris, the stroma, is coarse and compact, then the iris appears grey. However, the more the iris is darkened in its colouring, and is deposited in this stroma, the more the appearance tends towards brown. There are occasionally seen in a less pigmented iris, local accumulations of brown-to-black coloured substances which strikingly appear as dark-reddish flecks in the otherwise grey or blue iris. These are referred to scientifically as naevi irides (iris birthmark). We call them ‘toxin-flecks’ … In the case of albinos, the iris layers are completely transparent. There is a lack of all pigment. These eyes appear reddish, because of the visibility of the blood vessels in the deep layer of the iris – the retina.” See also R.G. Mazzolini, Bern 1980, p. 21, who summarized Ruysch’s description of the iris. 67 Ghent Altarpiece. See above. 68 See chapter 6, p. 111. 66

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image I should still like to reflect upon takes the invisible to its ultimate conclusion: the empty eye socket of the sculpted skull found on Renaissance and Baroque funerary monuments. Stripped of flesh and sinews, of anything that reminds of the breath that was within, the skull exposes the hollowness of human existence once the capacity to see and visualize has gone. The skull still guards the chamber which once enclosed the brain, but the two empty eye sockets hide nothing, least of all the irrevocable: death. The sculptor has no problem in representing this expressionless item; he needs no help from the painter to add colour in order to pretend it can see, cast glances, and animate the beholder by its ability to evoke a response. About eight thousand years ago it was the skull of a deceased person that was used as an image to mark the beginning of a tradition of creating human likenesses, for it had its eye cavities filled in; cowrie shells and paint transformed and completed the image. Similarly, we fill in what seems missing from our understanding and perceive that the physical eye feeds the inner eye, and that the inner eye senses the one eye that sees all.

Fig. 7–12 A genuine skull.

CHAPTER EIGHT THESIS AND COUNTER-THESIS: A SUMMARY In order that I might always hold fast to basic principles, I tried to find out in what way nature functions [in art] and in what [way] I could come close to her; how visual images reach the eye; how the power of vision functions and by what procedures; and in what way the theory of sculpture and painting should be worked out!1

In this final chapter it will be possible to analyse some of the findings and ideas that have emerged in order to draw some (perhaps still tentative) conclusions. Although the beholder’s view of the subject is largely that of an art historian, there are contexts and aspects relating to the eye which have their grounding in other disciplines. When included, they have been explained in those terms. It behoves us to keep it in mind that the living eye is an organ which is most colourful and expressive; indeed, it displays characteristics quite unlike most materials used in sculpture. And while every artist may have had his own idea of the eye, what it should look like and the purpose it should serve, on viewing sculpted images of it we may be amazed at the countless ways in which one and the same problem may be resolved – namely, how to represent the most delicate and sometimes transient features of the eye in materials as incompatible with it as wood, stone and metal. Then, there are the two modes of observing, the long stare and the quick glance, which encompass different ideologies and ways of seeing and thinking about the eye. Indeed, several branches of knowledge (science, technology, religion and aesthetics) have each contributed to the beholder’s perception of what the visual organ does and looks like. Vision and blindness, health and sickness, excitement and emotional stupor are some of the human states which the natural eye may embody and, to some extent convey, through artistic means. How sculptors resolved these problems was of interest to scholars during the late nineteenth century. The 1 Second Commentary, see John Gage: “Ghiberti’s Third Commentary and its Background” in Apollo, 1972, p. 364.

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topic was especially relevant for some ophthalmologists, who approached the depicted eye from their professional perspective. In particular Hugo Magnus, but later W. Reitsch and Patrick Trevor-Roper, analysed methodically the eye created at particular periods by individual artists. They were able to point not only to stylistic features and their development, but also to some deviations from their “model”, the natural eye. In the present context Hugo Magnus’s hitherto neglected texts proved especially useful in establishing a baseline. Another major impetus came from more recent research projects in which conservators were involved; their access to important works of art led to many new insights.

Fig. 8–1 Dresdner Skizzenbuch (1507–28); drawing of figures by Albrecht Dürer.

On seeing the works discussed either in situ or in museums, if not at special exhibitions, the researcher experiences their physical presence. Size and any relationship with the environment make their impact and generate their own meaning. On coming to these works of art as a modern viewer, the eye is exposed to a medley of regional, local or individual styles with specific characteristics. In order to appreciate what the sculptor may have initially envisaged, his cultural background and his understanding of the problem of vision – and of course of colour and form – had to be considered. This led to the choice of my original title, In the Eye of the Beholder, a metaphor providing an inclusive point of view: from the period eye to the eye of the maker, and to the person who either then or now analyses an image, or holds an opinion about works of art under scrutiny. Such opinions have many sources.

Thesis and Counter-Thesis

Fig. 8–2 Leonardo’s drawing of the eye as a camera obscura (c. 1490).

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Fig. 8–3 Development of the human eye from birth to mature age, after W. Reitsch, 1928.

Fig. 8–4 Modern analytical drawing showing five aspects of the eye.

In view of the fact that the material from which a statue or a bust may be made is basically monochrome, any intended chromatic effect has to be achieved by either adding pigmentation or incorporating inlays. There are,

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as we have seen, different reasons why a colour finish was often desirable in sculpture. Visibility, readability, aesthetics, mimesis, financial value, special effects, or simply a long-standing tradition for polychroming were all obvious considerations. The inducement to complement the sculpted form with additional shades may well have been focused on the eyes of a figure, with a serious gain in expression. The intrinsic pool of colour of the natural eye was sometimes the first to be acknowledged and the last to be ignored. Indeed, by cutting out colour and instead incising the eyeball, any chromatic tinge was exchanged for the cast of a mere shadow. Finally, any inclination towards using hue faded into oblivion with the blank eye of the Neoclassical bust, the ultimate move to exclude any reference to colour – perceived as the final accolade to good taste. G.W.F. Hegel, who was writing towards the end of the debate on polychromy, made a concession about this: the Greeks did paint the eye, since traces of paint have in fact been found. But this proves only that, in making sacred images, artists generally adhered to traditional usage at the expense of good taste. There are instances where it is clear that precious stones were set in place as eyes, and that surely was done with the intention of being as lavish as possible with one’s gods. On the whole, apart from exceptional cases, all of this belongs to the beginnings of art or to religious tradition; besides, colour cannot simply of itself give the eye that self-concentrated look which alone makes it completely expressive.

Fig. 8–5 Aspectival drawings of the eye by Odourelo Fialetti (1608).

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Hegel seemed convinced that in the genuinely classical statue or bust the iris, and hence the spiritual expression of the glance, was absent.2 The eye, as perceived and understood during the medieval period, presents to modern scholarship a number of concerns. One of these is whether particular interest in eyes in art and science converged at any stage. Also, because of what became known about the natural eye and its function, did the sculptor produce more convincing images of it? It would appear that artists absorbed and used in their particular medium primarily what they themselves had observed – that is, aspects of form, colour, light and spatial relationships. Sculpture, even more than painting, is a practical art. Leonardo da Vinci went as far as stating that painting required greater intellectual input. He was well qualified on matters relating to art and science, for he studied, among other things, perspective, the anatomy of the eye,3 and various problems concerning perception. However he was not the first among fifteenth-century artists enquiring into how space and colour are perceived. Lorenzo Ghiberti4 and Leon Battista Alberti, then half a century later Albrecht Dürer, all studied problems of perspective. But they had a different cast of mind from the medieval artist. In any case, sculpture depended less on theoretical knowledge, except perhaps when statues need to be viewed from a particular viewpoint5 or when, as within a relief, pictorial space is being created. There, the “arc of address”, that is, the interaction of gaze of the represented figures, may also reveal an underlying spatial construct. The carved triptych of the Volckamersche Stiftung by Veit Stoss demonstrates this well.6 2

G.W.F. Hegel / Paolucci, New York, 1979, p. 89 See Leonardo’s drawing of the eye as a camera obscura (c. 1490), MS D, fol.3v, Bibliothèque de l’Institut de France, Paris; reproduced in David C. Lindberg (1976), p. 165. 4 Lorenzo Ghiberti, Third Commentary (c. 1446), is a discussion of the sciences necessary to a sculptor, including optics, anatomy and the theory of human proportion, inspired by Vitruvius. K. Bergdolt comments (1988, 23, n. 125) that in the Middle Ages perspectiva or optica comprised all medical, psychological and physical factors that contribute to the act of seeing a visual object, hence also known as perspectiva naturalis or communis. 5 e.g. Ghiberti adjusted the proportions in statues where necessary to avoid visual distortions. This applied only to statues that were placed well above eye-level and had to be seen from a distance. 6 Sebalduskirche, Nuremberg, east choir, 1499. Veit Stoss showed how two disciples in a Last Supper scene are fully absorbed by what they are doing as they fasten their eyes on the flow of wine. Each gaze converges with the other at the point where the stream enters the bowl. As the beholder traces the scene presented with his eyes, his own eye movements establish a triangular configuration within 3

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Fig. 8–6 Volckamersche Memorial, central group of a Last Supper stone relief (1499) by Veit Stoss.

It is more difficult to assess to what extent any theoretical knowledge relating to the anatomy or physiology of the eye influenced its depiction. No specific evidence points to the fact that medieval sculptors were schooled in structural analysis – that is, in drawing the eye stage by stage prior to carving or in order to study its many facets. Such an approach was still foreign to their way of thinking and hence also to their method of working. Indeed, extant medieval model books7 include no examples of eyes drawn from different viewpoints. The earliest analytical drawings the given plane. In attending to the gaze of either man, he must follow the paths of the invisible straight lines which connect each pupil and their common focal point: the wine in the bowl. These projected lines also point at source to the angle at which they are set, thereby completing their basic spatial relationship. Although the stone carving was kept largely monochrome, the eyes and lips were picked out in colour, and it is the dark centres of the eyes that provide precisely the points from where we would draw the lines when reconstructing the internal relationship of this scene perspectivally. 7 See Jaap Bolten, 1985, Edition PVA, introduction, where he distinguishes between the model book and the drawing book.

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relating to the eye were, in fact, those of natural philosophers, who added to their texts an illustration of the visual organ.8 Still, these anatomical or mechanical sketches of the eye were of no use to the sculptor, for what he most needed was an understanding of the relationship between the eyeball and its setting. The eye of some cult images was sometimes quite intentionally only loosely based on the natural eye in order to express dramatic or symbolic aspects. Studies of nature have from the thirteenth century onwards conditioned artistic perception, but only by the beginning of the seventeenth century did painters rather than sculptors draw the eye analytically – that is, in all its physical and spatial details. This was in keeping with a wider interest in movement and space, which had become two of the most important ingredients in composition.9 This brings us to the second possible area where cross-feeding between art and science might be expected: the study and representation of eye movement. Again, there seems to be no direct link between eye movement as shown in art and the concerns which natural scientists may have had during the period under discussion. In painting and sculpture it is the degree and direction of the gaze that suggest a moving eye, which otherwise is static. In sculpture however a turned head often conveys a focal shift more readily.10 As the swift glance depends rather more on eye movement, it had to be shown in the eye, with the pupils located offcentre. In science eye movement is a modern concern, for such studies are based on sophisticated means of measuring the manner and speed of eye adjustment. As discussed in chapter 6, the colour of the eye mattered to the artist as well as to the natural scientist, but once again their objectives differed. Eye colour as a diagnostic feature, to which the eye-surgeon Georg Bartisch paid special attention, was irrelevant to the artist, who by then could refer to symptoms such as sore or blood-shot eyes or to the subtle difference in shade between the rims of the upper and lower eyelids. Neither was the natural scientist helped by turning to colour symbolism. Still, in their works the colour of the eye played no mean part. For example, it was a 8

See Gudrun Schleusener-Eichholz, Munich, 1985, Vol. 2, where several reproductions of early analytical drawings are included (ills. 2–5), the earliest being a tenth-century representation of the eye and its muscles as found in a text by the Arab physician Alhazen, De aspectibus, 1269. He illustrated graphically the spherical layers of the eye; reproduced in Bergdolt (1988), p. 69. See also Witelo (thirteenth century), Leonardo da Vinci’s Notebooks (1487–90), John Peckham (published 1504) and Andreas Vesalius (1543), De humani corporis fabrica. 9 To Ghiberti the emulation of nature (mimesis) was an artistic principle. 10 The turn of the head shows a shift of attention more clearly.

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long-held belief that eye colour related to the four humours, and also that it revealed a person’s natural disposition. More problematic were issues relating to light, which entered, shone from within or was reflected11 on the eye. Whether light entered or shone from within mattered especially in optics and required sound knowledge of the visual organ. Reflection was also explored in art in order to convey the theological implications of light. But sculptors also wanted to represent more realistically the reflection of light as it appears naturally on glossy surfaces, using the means and skills they possessed. The study of optics, light and vision posed immense difficulties, especially until the intermission–extramission controversy was more or less allayed by the Arab Alhazen during the eleventh century. The basic problem was whether the visual organ projects or receives perception. It was finally realized that an interaction of the two (intermission and extramission) was at work; this knowledge led to new advances in optical science. But the metaphysics of light continued to preoccupy medieval authors such as Roger Bacon, John Pecham and Witelo, who sought answers in the realm of theology rather than in the science of optics.12 Where there is light there is darkness and light disperses darkness. These are fundamental theological concepts with which the medieval artist grappled, although focusing rather more on reflected light – he could convey this in an actual and a symbolic sense. Precious stones that reflected the white light, and also gilding and glazes, appealed to the medieval mind. Polished inlays and painted-in highlights, even on polychromed eyes, suggested the presence of infinite light. Glazed surfaces or dabs of white for lustre changed the drab or dead appearance of dull substances and let them come alive. Eyes, always at the centre of such considerations, were finally made of glass, the material that had helped to advance optics. Science and art were bridged by spectacles which found their way even into sculpture, not only as a token of everyday needs but also as a symbolic gesture.

11

See John Gage, Vienna, 1983, “Lumen, Alluminar, Riant: three related concepts in Gothic aesthetics”, in Europäische Kunst um 1300. 12 As late as the Reformation, writes Lee Wandel, the extromission theory persisted, especially outside learned circles, in large part because it identified the physics of human sight with spiritual insight, connecting mortal viewers to spiritual forces through the power of the gaze. Wandel described this process more fully in “The Reform of the Images: new visualisations of the Christian community at Zürich”, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte 80, 1989, p. 108; quoted in Edward Muir, Ritual in Early Modern Europe, 1997, p. 193.

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Acuity of vision was at the core of several medieval tracts that addressed moral and spiritual issues. Authors such as Petrus of Limoges (d. 1306)13 and the thirteenth-century scholar Bartholomaeus Anglicus (1203–72)14 allegorized the eye by relating God’s eye to the inner eye of man – that is, his conscience. The divine light is thus mirrored in the world by introspection as much as by seeing its effect on nature as it transforms itself in the presence of light. During the Middle Ages most of the sculpted works were commissioned for churches and chapels; hence religion provided the conceptual framework and the images inspired by the sacred environment that were meant to instruct and uplift the beholder spiritually. Vision and visualizing are fundamentals in both religion and art; they cross-feed through verbal and visual images. The visionary, whether of a religious or an artistic disposition, sees into and beyond the ordinary. The eye seeks out, and is found out. This is perhaps what the sixteenth-century Flemish artist Jan Provost tried to show in one of his paintings, Sacred Allegory.15 However, the metaphysical aspect of the eye, to which the painter is able to allude, eludes sculpture for the corporeal nature of eye and body ties these in with the physical world. But by what token may any symbolic aspect of the eye be shown through the sculptor’s medium if it is already defined by its corporeality? From examples given in earlier chapters we know that those qualities that best express symbolism in sculpture are colour and size. Context, too, is a major factor when conveying things of an extraordinary nature that have symbolic meaning. As for the aesthetic ideal of eyes, there are two possible approaches to the issue: firstly, at a personal, subjective level, some shades and shapes of eyes are perceived as more beautiful than others. This has cultural associations, as eyes may represent a commonly accepted ideal that contributes to a period style. Examples of repainted, or “adjusted”, polychrome figures – with obvious colour-shifts and other “corrections” to the original Gothic conceptions – were discussed.16 In this and other respects, polychromy must be seen as a liability, for although it made it possible to achieve a visual ideal, it also often failed to sustain it.17 13

Petrus von Limoges, Tractatus de oculo morali, 5, 1496. See also Bartholomaeus Anglicus, De proprietatibus rerum, Book 12. 15 Musée du Louvre, Paris. RF 1973–44; oak panel. The eye of God; below it, the world held in a hand; an eye surrounded by clouds, with hands imploring, is at the level of the feet of the risen Christ and of the Virgin Mary. The iconography points to the book of Revelation, chapter 5, as a possible source. 16 e.g. Pilsen Virgin and Child, mid-fifteenth century, in the style of Beautiful Madonnas. 17 e.g. due to the loss of paint application. 14

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Partially polychromed images of the late fifteenth century, and Renaissance and Neoclassical monochrome sculptures, reflect more fully the intentions of sculptors and also their interpretations of eyes and their gaze.

Fig. 8–7 Pilsen Madonna, polychrome statue from the workshop of The Master of the Crucifixion Group of St Bartholomaeus in Pilsen (c. or after 1450).

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*** A cross-disciplinary approach reveals the subject’s rich and enriching cultural dimensions. Earlier studies of depicted eyes have shown that much may be learned by scrutinizing a detail, for it may contain the seed of a style, suggest a period or provenance, or reveal the veiled authorship of an overpainted image.18 One scholar must be mentioned here for having introduced a more rigorous way of examining art objects by paying particular attention to detail. In 1874 Giovanni Morelli, alias Ivan Lermolieff, a Swiss–Italian doctor turned art connoisseur, published his principles of what he termed “scientific methodology”. He was keen to improve the way in which undocumented or falsely assigned works of art were attributed, specifically by comparing closely selected details such as folds, hands or ears. Morelli had studied comparative anatomy before applying this new methodology to Italian painting. He and his closest follower, the art historian Bernard Berenson, were acknowledged art connoisseurs who had developed a “knowing eye”. Nevertheless, some of their critics disclaimed the method as either too scientific or just not appropriate to art. Whether Morelli’s method was as scientific as he claimed was questioned, especially in more recent times,19 but it was conceded that, in principle, his advocated “scientific methodology” served serious art connoisseurs well, even when they admitted that they had followed a hunch when unravelling an arthistorical knot. Scientists, too, must remain open-minded about hunches. Some scientists turned to art for their source material while studying problems related to their field of expertise, namely ophthalmology. Their methods were clearly rigorous, involving paying close attention to detail, as they would in their profession, while their approach was in keeping with Morelli’s requirement. His contribution has left its mark on art connoisseurship. When today art historians turn to the sciences for assistance, it is exactly that close collaboration that is needed for solving 18

Jaynie Anderson (1999), p. 56, quotes Jean Paul Richter (1847–1937), who summed this up thus “as a single little bone suffices to enable the anatomist to reconstruct a whole skeleton; as the shape of single letters enables the palaeographer to date a manuscript; as the turning of a phrase, the presence or peculiar use of a single word may reveal the authorship and date of a poem or philosophical treatise to a scholar, so a single apparently unimportant detail – a lock of hair, an ear, or even a finger-nail which has eluded the attention of the restorer – will sometimes reveal the veiled authorship of a repainted picture.” 19 Hayden B.J. Maginnis, “The Role of Perceptual Learning in Connoisseurship: Morelli, Berenson, and beyond”, in Art History, Vol. 13, no. 1, March 1990, see especially p. 108.

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problems related to the material aspects of the object. The main responsibility in tracing the provenance of works of art still rests with art history. The concerns of critics of the Morellian method, wondering how works of art could possibly be subjected to any scientific rigour, have long been overcome. The art object, and even the gaze of the beholder, have been handed over to the sciences and their various methodologies, with revealing, even exciting, results. These developments have not pre-empted the intelligent viewing of works of art by anybody who is prepared to enter into an object lesson when examining a depicted eye. However poorly it may match its live counterpart, the created eye helps the beholder to see certain characteristics, despite their minimalistic features – or sometimes because of them. In the first instance, it encourages the beholder to look and compare. It also allows him to speculate and engage the imagination, for it bridges the real and the not-so-real aspects of the eye and vision. A particular gaze, the omission of a detail such as eyelashes, the selected colour of the iris – all these may nudge the viewer into asking why the artist carved and finished the eyes of an image in the way he did. Sometimes the answer will be fairly obvious, while at other times the question may point to a specific problem. The depicted eye belongs in the first instance to the figure of which it is an integral part, but it also appertains to place and time. Topography and chronology, and what these stand for in cultural terms, are two important variables that contribute to the shape, the colouring and the expression of the eye. A period style has its regional and local variations, and workshops followed their tested formulae, which occasionally were set aside by an innovative individual whose masterpieces were adopted and adapted. While searching for a useful pattern regarding eye features, one becomes aware of various stylistic changes and subtle developments, some deliberate while others are more accidental. We perhaps see these as peculiarities, a kind of trade mark to look for when tracing related workshop pieces. In the light of my research this inevitably raises the question of whether a detail such as the eye can help to clarify problems of attribution. The answer must be yes, although this is not said unreservedly. Morelli focused entirely on paintings, each achieved by a single artist. Sculpture, especially medieval polychromed pieces, must be seen as a joint effort as two if not three different hands often contributed to the final appearance.20 Besides, later overpaints may have introduced changes. Nevertheless, a workshop product may be recognized by a stylistic quirk, a visual 20

The carver, the preparer and the painter.

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“signature”. Strong artistic individuals working in a close working community tended to leave their own characteristic marks. Unfortunately we know very little about how sculptors were taught, except from what may be gleaned from works left unfinished at various stages. It would be instructive to know how the process of carving was transmitted from master to apprentice. We may ask why sometimes a peculiar slant to the eye or some other unusual trait was repeated many times over within a workshop. The initial stage, the roughing out of facial features, points to techniques picked up early in a sculptor’s career, while probably still under the supervision of an experienced master whose concept of an eye was thus passed on. The handling of tools, the initial setting and angling of a chisel, probably determined the shape that was to emerge. When we meet such stylistic problems, the eye may well give us a clue as to the hand that shaped it, but it still needs to be seen together with other features. *** The depicted eye, with its claim to colour, has challenged us to examine the relationship of colour to form. Also, it has raised the issue of the function of colour and whether it really is essential to sculpture. Obviously, this depends on the period examined. Regarding the Middle Ages, the art historian Paul Phillipot remarked that in Romanesque sculpture colour was applied to emphasize and realize the threedimensional body, whereas in Gothic sculpture the body became the support for painting.21 This is a bold yet also a perceptive statement, for it points to an artistic “marriage of convenience”, which matured into a partnership of mutual gain; by the end of the period, the usefulness of this arrangement had finally petered out. Thus, the eye in medieval sculpture had gone through several significant changes, from the schematically fashioned eye of the twelfth century to the naturalistically conceived eye of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The realistically imaged eye depended on expression; this was fully achieved during the late-Gothic period, not least due to the art of portraiture, which drew on many subtle observations. For sculpture the most liberating move came when the glance became part of the expression. By the sixteenth century sculptors had at last completed the long process of gaining their independence from applied arts such as polychromy and inlaying, although (as Hegel pointed out) not without sacrificing the chromatic aspect of the eye.22 With this, another cycle had come full circle in the history of sculpture, for in Roman 21 22

Paul Philippot (1988), p. 51. See above, Hegel, chapter 5, p. 6.

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times, during the Antonine and Hadrianic periods, a similar conclusive moment was reached when finally the eyeball was cut en creux, which opened up new ways of representing the eye.

Fig. 8–8 Plaster cast of an eye for teaching purposes.

The material described and analysed here serves in the first instance a perceived need to explain how the natural and the depicted eye were intellectually and visually presented. The subject was further developed by exploring whether the artistic handling of the eye was in any way influenced by a growing body of theoretical knowledge appertaining to the visual organ. Then there was the coloristic aspect of the eye and its importance to the wider issue of polychromy. By approaching the subject thematically it was hoped to come more directly to the main question – namely, what the relevance of the eye was to colour in sculpture. That meant that a strictly chronological sequence of events had to be abandoned in order to maintain the flow of ideas. (An appendix outlining the sequence of important dates and events has been provided.) The inclusion of suitable visual material, when working with as small a detail as the sculpted polychromed eye, proved particularly challenging. In the end the problem is not what to include but how best to present flat images of threedimensional and coloured objects. Photographic techniques have their

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advantages, for they have opened up the possibility of examining visual aspects more closely than would have been possible with the naked eye. It is therefore in this area that further research might yield a rich harvest. Scanning and storage techniques already allow the comparison of objects that are physically and geographically apart; the viewing of the different layers superimposed over the original finish of the object also has historical significance. In conclusion, the subject presented here – the eye, and the manifold solutions arrived at in order to present it – is a recurring artistic problem. From looking at different perceptions and contexts, all based on the model which nature has provided, it has been determined that the artist is free either to draw on his imagination or to strive after what he perceives to be a truthful image of the eye. However, such a choice is context related, and it is the context that determined what part colour was to play. We began with a detail, the eye, noting how when wonderfully crafted it enhanced a face, indeed enlivened a figure. And the viewer, by responding to its gaze, would see beyond the immediate, materialized vision of its creator.

GLOSSARY apotropaic beryl brocade canthus caruncle cataract chryselephantine cornea Cycladic idols en creux esblepharon (pl. esblephari) Evil Eye extromission faber oculariarius fassen Fassmaler Gorgoneion grisaille holzsichtig

Supposedly has the power to avert an evil influence or bad luck. Semi-precious stone, also referred to as glass or crystal during the Middle Ages. Beryl became Brille, the German word for spectacles. (Italian “embroidered”) Heavy silk fabric with a woven design or pattern, sometimes of gold and silver threads. The outer and inner angle or corner of the eye, where the upper and lower lids meet. Pink, fleshy lump close to the tear duct – sometimes known as “lachrymal caruncle”. Partial or complete opacity of the lens of the eye. In ancient Greece the technique of combining gold and ivory when making statues (usually of gods). Transparent lens of the eye. Ancient marble figures from the Cycladic Isles (Greece). Some traces of pigments point to their formerly having had a polychrome finish. Indentation or cutting into a sculpted form. (Greek) Small painted bandage with which to conceal the cavity of a lost eye. Linked to a superstitious belief that a gaze may adversely influence someone on whom it rests. Ancient theory, refuted by Alhazen, that the eye while seeing sends out visual beams. In ancient Rome, a craftsman who made eyes for statues. (German) The process of polychroming or colourfully decorating a piece of sculpture. A craftsman (painter) employed to apply a finish. Representation of a Gorgon’s head. A method of decorative painting in grey monochrome to represent objects in relief. (German) Wood-visible.

The Eye and the Beholder

Holzsichtigkeit intromission iris kore lachrymal oculos reposuit statuis ophthalmology orant figure orbicularis oculi polychromy prophylactic retina Schachtelhalm

sclera sigillarii statuarum oculorum reprositor udjat (wedjat) eye ungefasst uvea Zwischgold

211

(German) Wood-visibility, seeing wood under a tinted or untinted glaze or wax finish. In ancient optics the theory that what is seen enters the eyes by means of rays. Coloured area surrounding the pupil of the eye. In ancient Greece, a girl or maiden. Also the pupil of the eye. Appertaining to tears. Inlaid eyes for statues. Branch of medical sciences relating to the eye. (ancient Near East) The sculpted cult image of a worshipper. Muscle surrounding the eye. (Greek) Of many colours; term applied to painted or otherwise multi-coloured sculpture and architecture. Tending to prevent diseases; a preventative medicine or course of action. Receptor of the eye; its function was unknown before Johannes Kepler’s time. (German; Latin: equisetum hiemale / equisetaceae) A stalky plant, otherwise known as shavegrass or pewterwort because its stalk was used for rubbing down surfaces and for polishing pewter. Sclerotic coat of the eyeball. Wax modellers in ancient Rome. In ancient Rome, craftsman who made artificial eyes using various materials for the inlay. (ancient Egypt) Eye symbol. Not polychromed. (grape skin; Traubenhaut) Layer of pigmented cells forming the posterior covering of the iris. (German) Beating together of a gold leaf and a silver leaf; the latter provides a back-up for the former, to save gold. While gold retains its lustre, silver tends to oxydize and blacken.

CHRONOLOGY (as related to the text) c. 6500 BC c. 3300 BC c. 2600 BC c. 2500 BC c. 2500 BC c. 2300 BC c. 1350 BC 6th century BC c. 500 – c. 430 BC 490–430 BC c. 470 BC 4th century BC c. 330 – c. 260 BC 1st century BC c. 27–25 BC 1st century BC AD 37–41 AD 130–200

Jericho head (skull): inlaid cowrie shells and pigments. Mesopotamia: eye idols (spectacle shaped). Egypt: seated scribe with inlaid eyes – use of crystal. Tell Asmar: orant figures, overlarge eyes of lapis lazuli. Cycladic marble figures: eyes only painted in (ghost pattern). Akkadian bronze head: inlaid eyes hacked out (iconoclasm). Egypt: Queen Nefertiti 18th Dynasty, painted workshop model. Archaic figures: eyes schematically painted in. Phidias, Greek sculptor. Empedocles: Greek pre-Socratic philosopher; citizen of Agrigentum, Sicily. The Charioteer: Greek bronze statue with inlays for eyes and eyelashes. Praxiteles, Greek sculptor. Herophilus: Greek anatomist; father of scientific anatomy. Syria: goddess Ishtar with ruby eyes. Bronze head of Augustus from Meroë, Sudan. Mark Antony (83?–30 BC). Antonine eye: characteristic thin lower eyelid, engraved and drilled eyeball. Head of Emperor Caligula: painted-in eyes. Galen of Pergamon: prominent Roman physician, surgeon and philosopher.

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Early 2nd century

213

Hadrian (AD 117–38): Roman eye, engraved outline of iris and depression of highlights within pupils (partly freeing sculpture from the dominance of colour – Donald Strong, 1976). fl. AD 100 Rufus of Ephesus (Rufus Medicus). 3rd century Philostratus Flavius, Greek philosopher. The early medieval period is omitted from this chronology. 12th century Chartres, La Charité and Sauvigny: drilled pupils. Hildegard of Bingen (1098–1179), abbess, mystic and writer (corresponded with St Bernard of Clairvaux, Pope Eugene III, Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, Richard of St Victor). c. 1245 Bartholomaeus Anglicus (d. 1272), encyclopaedist, wrote De proprietatibus rerum. Book 5, De hominis corpora, includes eyes; Book 19, De accidentalibus, includes colour. Between 1472 and the end of the 15th century a number of new editions were printed. 13th century Naumburg Master: carved twelve founder figures for Naumburg Cathedral, among them the smiling Regelinde. c. 1240 Psalter from Ghent (BR 5163–4) shows in its drolerie a dragon wearing spectacles. 1240 and Two Veronica paintings by Matthew Paris (in 1250 the 1250 version the eyes were “modified” – large, dark irises reduced). (Corpus Christi College, Cambridge) 1269 Alhazen (Ibn al-Haytham; 965–1039). Latin translation of De aspectibus. 1272 Witelo (Vitellonis): tract on optics (Opticae thesaurus Alhazeni Arabis libri septem). 1270s Petrus Hispanus, doctor, wrote Liber de ocula. Elected Pope John XXI, but died within a year (1277). 1282 Arnolfo di Cambio (fl. 1265–1302): monument of Cardinal De Braye; acolytes have painted-in eyes (glance).

214

Late 13th century

c. 1330 1360s Late 14th century c. 1400 1412 1415 1418 1430–38 c. 1432 1446 c. 1446

1452–54 1453 1454 1457

Chronology

Depiction of a Veronica with “clear” eyes (Psalter and Book of Hours of Yolande de Soissons (Pierpont Morgan Library). See also the Book of Kells. Italian polychrome wooden crucifix: from Bovara (Trevi) church of San Pietro; eyes shut with long eyelashes. New iconographical type of image: virgins and saints shown with their gaze lowered. Spectacles represented in paintings and sculpture. Claus Sluter (c. 1360–1406) had spectacles made for statue of Jeremiah (Well of Moses) at Dijon. Nicholas of Dresden wrote, while in Prague, De Imaginibus and/or Tabulae veteris et novi coloris seu Cortina de anti Christo. Czech reformer Jan Hus sentenced to death and burned in Constance. First dated woodcut in Europe: Madonna of Brussels. Master of Flémalle: painted Frankfurt Holy Trinity panel. Hubert and Jan van Eyck: Ghent Altarpiece, oil painting. Berlin Passion: Oldest dated copper plate engraving. Lorenzo Ghiberti (1378–1455): Third Commentary – discussion of sciences necessary to a sculptor, including optics, anatomy and theory of human proportions as inspired by Vitruvius. Johannes Gutenberg printed the 42-line Bible. Nicolaus Cusanus (1401–64): De Visione Dei. He corresponded with the monks of Tegernsee Monastery. Brussels guilds: changed regulations – sculptors gained the right to sell carvings independently of painters/polychromers. First three-colour print: Mainz Psalter (FustSchöffer).

The Eye and the Beholder

1458 1458–64 1456–59 1462 1463–65 c. 1460-65 1465–67 1468 1470 1471–81 1469–74 1471–75 1472 1473 1474 1477–78 1480 Late 15th century to early 16th century 1483

215

Nicolaus Cusanus: De beryllo. Enea Silvio Piccolomini becomes Pope Pius II. Hans Multscher (c. 1400–67): Sterzing Altarpiece (Tyrol), his best documented work. Nicholas Gerhaert (c. 1430–73): statues for Nördlingen Altarpiece, polychromy and painted panels by Friedrich Herlin. Nicholas Gerhaert active in Strasbourg. Nicholas Gerhaert: Dangolsheim Madonna and Child. Nicholas Gerhaert: altarpiece for Constance Cathedral, destroyed during iconoclasm of 1530. Entire court of Burgundy appeared in black, which also became courtly colour of Spain. Antwerp, Guild of St Luke: issued regulations on quality of wood and on polychromy. Michael Pacher (fl. 1462–98): carved and painted altar of St Wolfgang (Dormition scene and De beryllo). Syrlin the Elder (1420/30–91): choir stalls of Ulm Minster; Michel Erhart (active 1469– 1522) involved in carving. Michael Pacher: altarpiece for church in Gries near Bozen. Polychromed wood carving of Holy Trinity Crowning the Virgin. New editions of Bartholemaeus Anglicus’s Encyclopaedia (first published c. 1245), sections on eyes and on colour. Nicholas Gerhaert died in Vienna, where he spent latter part of his life. Benevenuto Grassi: De Oculis (perhaps first printed book on eye diseases). Veit Stoss (c. 1448–1533): Cracow Altarpiece. Michel Erhart: Madonna of Mercy (Berlin). Niklaus Weckmann (fl. 1481–1526: one of more important workshops in Ulm, with high turnover of religious wood carvings. Unknown master carved altarpiece of St Martin, Lorch (Rhine), its first polychromy dates to 1719.

216

1490s

c. 1490

1490–92 1493–94 1499 1499 1499–1504 1502

1504 1506 1506/07 1508

1510

Chronology

“From the 1490s on it was possible to choose between polychromy and monochromy, and some people chose the latter.” (Michael Baxandall, 1980) Kefermarkt Altarpiece (Austria): by unnamed master from Passau. Perhaps originally partially polychromed. Leonardo da Vinci: drawing of eye as a camera obscura. (MS D, fol. 3v. Bibliothèque de l’Institut de France, Paris) Tilman Riemenschneider (c. 1460–1531): Mary Magdalene Altarpiece, polychromed in 1504 by Veit Stoss. Dated high altarpiece of Blaubeuren by Syrlin/Erhart/Zeitblom, carved polychrome statues and panel paintings. Veit Stoss: stone carving of the Volckamersche relief, Nuremberg; eyes and lips only painted. Tilman Riemenschneider carved effigy of Prince Bishop Rudolf von Scherenberg. Tilman Riemenschneider: Heilig-Blut Altarpiece, Rothenburg, partial polychromy. Pomponius Gaurico: De Sculptura, first publication in Florence, Giunti (published in Anvers 1528, Nuremberg 1542, Bologna 1551, Ober-Ursel near Wiesbaden 1603, Strasbourg 1622 and 1630, Amsterdam 1649, Louvain 1701). John Pecham: Perspectiva communi published. Laocoon group: discovered in the vaults of St Pietro, Vinculi (Rome). Albrecht Dürer (1471–1528): began to paint “windows” in eyes of his subjects. Leonardo da Vinci: On the Eye, treatise in which eye compared to camera obscura. (MS D, fol. 3v, Bibliothèque de l’Institut de France, Paris) Daniel Mauch (Ulm 1477 – Liége 1540): Bieselbach Altarpiece with Holy Family scene, partially polychromed.

The Eye and the Beholder

1513

1510–14 1518 c. 1520 1520–23 1520–21 1523 and 1524

1525 1538 1539

1543 1545–63 1579

217

Sesselschreiber workshop, Innsbruck: preparation of life-size bronze casts for which he made wooden models. (Peter Vischer first to use clay models) Hans Leinberger (fl. 1511–30): Castulus Altarpiece, Moosburg – partial polychromy, texturized carved surfaces. Veit Stoss: Annunciation group, Lorenzkirche, Nuremberg. Painted “windows” in eyes, also divergent eyes. Daniel Mauch: partially polychromed altarpiece, Eislingen. Veit Stoss: Bamberg Altarpiece, remained wood-visible, as documented in contract. Albrecht Dürer: travelled to Netherlands (via Cologne), met sculptor Conrat Meit. Ulrich Zwingli (1484–1531) published his Sixty-seven Articles on 19 January; a year later Zurich was “cleansed” of organs, images, relics and religious houses by zealous citizens involved teaching reformed religion. Strasbourg: artists asked Magistrat for assistance while retraining for other types of work. Ein Newes Hochnützliches Büchlin von Erkantnis der Krank-keyten der Augen: anonymous pamphlet written for lay person. Leonhart Fuchs (1501–66): Alle Krankheit der Augen. 1539. In one large table he listed all the deseases of the eyes then known (64 altogether). Andreas Vesalius: De humani corporis fabrica, revealing first-hand knowledge of ocular anatomy. Council of Trent: “all sensual appeal must be avoided” (but note Counter-Reformation works such as court chapel at Würzburg). Ambroise Paré: pioneer of modern artificial eye (ocular prosthesis).

218

1583 1593 c. 1598 1600 1608 1611 1619 1619 and 1625 1622–25 1649 1664 1665 1682 1699 1700

Chronology

Georg Bartisch published his Ophthalmodouleia wherein he described and illustrated the several cataracts. Giambattista Della Porta: De humana physiognomonia. Oliver Cromwell: surviving plaster head of funerary effigy with glass eyes. Girolamo Fabrici: De oculo visus organo. Odourelo Fialetti: study of eye as a draughtsman. Johannes Kepler: Dioptrice, first analysis of the optics of myopia. Projection theory of stereoscopic vision. First anatomically accurate diagrams of human eye. Christophorus Scheiner: Oculus hoc est; in 1625 directly observed and described retinal image for first time. Gianlorenzo Bernini (1598–1680): Apollo and Daphne, marble carving (Rome). Francisco Pacheco (1564–1644): Arte de la pintura – treatise on painting advising how to paint eye (matt/gloss). Pedro de Mena (c. 1628–88): statue of Magdalene, glass eyes. Gianlorenzo Bernini: carved marble bust of Louis XIV, commented on eye colour and carving of eyeball en creux. Jacob Böhme: illustrated complete edition with many drawings alluding to eye of God and to Holy Trinity. Haudicquier de Blancourt: The Art of Glass, with section on how to make glass eyes. Ruysch: “model” of iris.

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INDEX ’Ain Ghazal, Jordan 2–3 Abra(ha)m 97 Adam 78, 87, 190, 193 Adoration of the Magi 57 Adrian V, Pope 191 Akenaten 22 Alberti, Leon Battista 147, 183, 186– 8, 199 Albertus Magnus 116 Alexander the Great 92 Alexandria 27 Alhazen 202 Anabaptists 123 Annunciation 81, 96–7, 98, 128, 129, 190; see also Virgin Mary Antichrist 151 Antonine period 208 Antoninus, Emperor 30 Antwerp 60, 115 Apollo and Daphne 136–7 Arena Chapel, Padua 107 Ariadne 16, 138, 139 Aristotle 11, 12, 91, 92, 93 Arnolfo di Cambio 145–6, 191 Artemis (goddess) 14 Ascension 50 Askeby, Sweden 112 Asmar, Tell 4 Aspoe, Sweden 112 Athena (goddess) 29, 152 Augustine 102 Augustus, Duke, of Savoy 88–9 Augustus, Emperor 28, 29 Aurillac 123 Aydin, Turkey 14 Bacchus 138, 139 Bacon, Roger 202 Ballestrem, Agnes 35

Bamberg altarpiece 62, 64, 77 Bamberg Cathedral 70, 95 Bamberg Dom 140 Bartholomaeus Anglicus 203 Bartisch, Georg 163–4, 201 Basel 130, 181–2, 190 Baudry, Marie-Thérèse 95 Baxandall, Michael 78, 139–40 Beaune, Burgundy 109 Bede 116 Behle, Claudia 67, 68 Benedict XIV, Pope 182 Benkö, Marlene 70 Benvenutus Grassus 164 Berenson, Bernard 205 Bergen, Norway 155 Berlingen 110 Bern, Switzerland 113–14 Bernard of Angers 123–4 Bernini, Gian Lorenzo 136–7, 168–9 %LDáRVWRFNL-DQ Biberach crucifix 174–6 Bieber, Margarete 20 Bieselbach altarpiece 75 Bingen 150, 164 Boccaccio 43 Bohemia, “Beautiful Madonnas” 129 Bohemian Brethren 87 Böhme, Jacob 92, 183–6 Bol, Peter C. 24–5 Bolzano-Gries altarpiece 178, 179 Bonaventura 116 Boockmann, Hartmut 74 Books of Hours 72, 155 Bourges Cathedral 109 Brachert, Thomas 38 Braq, Tell 4 Breckenridge, James D. 6 Bregno, Andrea 86, 87

256 Brixen, South Tyrol 86 Broederlam, Melchior 44 Brunelleschi, Filippo 51 Bruni, Leonardo 192 Brussels 60, 71 Bryson, Norman 120, 126 Bucziensky, Bodo 158 Byzantium 52, 154 Caesar Augustus 28, 29 Caesarius of Arles 102 Caligula, Emperor 29 Campin, Robert 68–9, 177–8 Cana 97 Carpenter, R.H.S. 135 Carus, Carl Gustav 100n Castulus altarpiece 67–8, 70 Chapel of Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows, Berlingen 110 Charles VIII, king of France 148 Chartres, “headmaster of” 166 Chartres Cathedral 94–5 Chartreuse of Champmol see Dijon Chataignière, Myriam 159–60 Christ Adoration of the Magi 57 Ascension 50 Biberach 174–6 Byzantine face 154–6 and/on cross 52, 57, 155–7 Deposition 110 Descent from the Cross 109–10 and disciples/friends 103, 128, 141 eyes/gaze 125, 128, 172, 175–6 face 83, 153 Entombment 110 Epiphany 52 first miracle 97 and God 69, 185 and Holy Family 57, 128 Lamentation(s) 105, 112, 115, 148 and laughter 97 in Majesty, medieval representation 52 and Mary Magdalene 113

Index Master of 1504 129 and mother 109–10 Nördlingen 190 Pietà(s) 105, 110, 111–13, 192 Resurrection 52 Slaughter of the Innocents 105, 107 suffering/weeping 57, 103–4, 105, 111, 161–2 as true vine 111 twelfth/thirteenth century 150 Veronica image 154, 155 see also Crucifixion, Holy Trinity, Virgin Mary Citeaux 107 Constance 73–4, 80, 96–7, 130 Constance, Lake 115, 116 Conze, Alexander 10, 13, 19–20 Crucifixion Christ’s clothing 51 depiction of sorrow/suffering 105, 161–2 Erhart 140 fifteenth century 142 mocking 103 Pisano 107 see also Christ Cumae, Italy 26. 27 Curtius, Ernst 14, 17 Cusanus, Nicolaus 69, 84, 86–8, 92, 164, 178 Daedalus 9 Dangolsheim 158, 174 Daphne, Apollo and 136–7 De Blancourt, Haudicquer 170–1 De Braye, Cardinal Guglielmo 145–6 De Chantelou, Monsieur 168 De Corconmeuse, Jean 76 De La Tour, Georges 122 De Marville, Jean 107 De Mena, Pedro 171 De St Cher, Hughes 85 De Soissons, Yolande 155 De’ Pasti, Matteo 187 Del Pollaiuolo, Antonio 192

The Eye and the Beholder Delphi, Greece 24 Descent from the Cross 109–10 Desiderio da Settignano 138 Dieulafoy, Marcel 36–7 Dijon 44, 85, 108 Diodorus Siculus 9 Dominicans 113–14 Donatello (Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi) 51, 138, 191 Dormition 113 Dürer, Albrecht 78, 91, 134, 190, 196, 199 Duyse, G. van 27–8 Ebla, Syria 10 Ecclesia 150, 151 Ecclesiastes 97 Editha, Empress 99 Egypt 21–4; see also specific places Elworthy, Frederick 19 Ely Cathedral 97 Empedocles 11, 12 Ephisius Medicus 12 Epiphany 52 Erasmus, Desiderius 102 Erhart, Gregor 134 Erhart, Michel 71, 113, 129, 139, 140, 141–2 Eve 78, 190 Evil Eye xxi, 5, 18, 32–3, 100n Feuchtwangen 85 Fialetti, Odourelo 198 Fiedler, Hans 100 Flagellation 161–2 Flaui family 148 Fontevrault 36 Forstenrieder crucifix 176, 188, 189, 190 France 159–60 Freemasons 185 Frey, Dagobert xxi Frinta, Mojmir S. 54–5 Führer, M. 88 Fului family 148

257

Gabriel see Annunciation Galen 11, 12–13 Ganthem, Gotland 153 Gattamelata 191 Gaurico, Pomponio see Pomponio Gaurico Geissmar, Christoph 183–4 Gerhaert, Nicolaus and Constance 73–4 Dangolsheim Madonna 158 Job 118–19 portrait bust 74 St George’s church, Nördlingen 190 self-portrait 79–80 and Strasbourg 73–4, 116–17 Germanica 28 Ghent altarpiece 68, 190 Ghiberti, Lorenzo 147, 199 Giotto 107 God the Father Christ’s relationship with 178–9, 185 eye(s) 127–8, 184, 186 gaze 128, 179 Robert Campin / Master of Flémalle 69 see also Holy Trinity Golgotha 111 Gorgons 33 Greece 24–6; see also specific places Green Man 142 Gregory the Great 102 Guidarelli, Guido 191 Hadrian, Emperor 30 Hadrianic period 208 Hallingeberg, Småland, Sweden 153, 156, 157 Hälsingtuna, Sweden 156 Haynes, Denys 25 Hegel, G.W.F. 120, 121, 126, 143, 198–9, 207 Heinrich II 70 Hemse, Gotland 155–6 Henckel, Hans 86

258 Henry of Burgundy 102 Henry VII 148 Henry VIII 99, 101, 149, 150, 174 Hera (goddess) 14, 16 Heraeum 14 Herder, Johann Gottfried 16–17 Herlin, Friedrich 125, 127 Herodotus 19 Herophilus 10–11 Herz-Jesu-Kirche, München Neuhausen 113 Hess, Eckhard H. 164 Hieronymus 102 Hildegard of Bingen 150–1, 164 Hoffmann, Martin 118, 130 Holbein, Hans, the Elder 103–4, 190 Holy Family 57, 128 Holy Spirit 179–80; see also Holy Trinity Holy Trinity Crowning the Virgin / Seat of Mercy 180 doctrine 179–82 panel by Campin / Master of Flémalle 68, 69 Werl altarpiece 177–8 Homer 13 Horace 19 Horus (god) 7, 18, 31 Hosea 140 Hus, Jan 74, 75 Huth, Hans 37, 44, 46 Ikn(n)-Shamagan, king 10 IPS 1697 172 Isaac 97 Ishtar (goddess) 6 Isidore of Seville 102 Istanbul 104, 107 Jacobs, Lynn F. 79 Janisse, M.P. 165 Janov (Matthew of) 87 Jeremiah (prophet) 85, 108 Jericho 2, 3 Jerusalem 86

Index Jesus 98, 103, 140; see also Christ, Holy Trinity, Veronica image Job 118–19 Joel (prophet) 72 John, king of England 36 Johnson, Thomas 170 Jonah 140 Jordan see ’Ain Ghazal Joseph 128 Judas 141 Kalkar 88 Kircher, Athanasius 184–5 Koblenz 83 Kobler, Friedrich 38 Koller, Manfred 41 Krohm, Hartmut 158 Kunigunde 70 Kuttner, Ann 30–1 Lamentation(s) 105, 112, 115, 148 Laocoon group 104, 136, 137 Larson, John 149 Last Judgement 98, 105, 109 Last Supper 87, 115, 140–1 Leinberger, Hans 67, 76 Leonardo da Vinci 197, 199 Lermolieff, Ivan 205 Leuven, St Michael’s church 112 Lill, Georg, Castulus altarpiece 67–8, 70 Lincoln Cathedral 97 Lippold, Georg 20–1 Lojsta, Goteberg, crucifix 153, 156–7 Lombardo, Tullio 138–9, 191 Longinus 140 Lorch am Rhine, St Martin’s church 72 Louis XIV, king of France 168 Lucas, Alfred xx, 21, 22–3 Lucerne 85 Lucifer 53 Luther, Martin 102 Lutherans 123

The Eye and the Beholder Madonna 99, 153, 157, 158, 174, 204; see also Virgin Mary Madonna and Child, divergent eyes 129 Madonnas, beautiful 98, 129 Magdeburg 97, 99 Magnus, Dr Hugo art versus science 120 and Conze 13 divergent eyes 130–1 eye colour 12, 160–1 eyelashes/eyelids/iris 12, 15, 16 lectures and publications 10–12 light reflection 16–17 portrayal of eye xx, 9, 13, 17, 196 soul and eye 100–1 Mainz Cathedral 95, 97 Maler, Hans 128 Malines (Mechelen) 60 Mandragora 144 Marcus Antonius Polemo 161 Marcus Aurelius 29 Mari, Syria 5, 10 Mary 51, 76, 112, 113, 128, 142; see also Annunciation, Pietàs, Virgin Mary Mary Magdalene 71, 113, 141, 142, 171; see also St Mary Magdalene Mary of Burgundy 72 Marys, three 112 Master Arnt 88 Master IP 78 Master of 1504 128, 129 Master of Flémalle 68–9 Master of the Crucifixion Group … in Pilsen 204 Mauch, Daniel 73, 74, 75, 76, 128 Mazzoni 101, 148–9, 174 Mechelen 60 Meier, Christel 150–2 Meissen 99 Mellinkoff, Ruth 162 Meroë, Sudan 28 Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni 51, 149, 192 Mino da Fiesole 138

259

Montañés, Juan Martinez 170 Moosburg 67 Morelli, Giovanni 205–6 Müller, Dr Johannes 130 Multscher, Hans 45, 56, 98, 99 München Neuhausen 113 Munkthorp, Sweden 112 Münnerstadt 61 Münnerstadt altarpiece 76, 132 Münster 123 Murner, Thomas 114 Naumberg Cathedral 94, 97, 98, 101 Nicodemus 109 Nicolaus of Hageneau 116–17 Nicolaus van Leyden see Gerhaert, Nicolaus Nofret, Princess 22 Nofretete 22, 24 Nördlingen 58, 80, 190 Norwich Cathedral 142 Notke, Bernt 56 Notre Dame, Paris 97, 99, 107, 159 Nuremberg 44, 61, 77, 82, 128, 190 Obadiah (prophet) 72, 73 Oellermann, Eike 71–2 Olympia, Greece 14, 24 Oribasius 12 Ovid 19 Pacheco, Francisco 146–7, 170, 173, 193 Pacher, Friedrich 56 Pacher, Michael 56, 84, 178, 179 Padua 107 Paracelsus 161 Paré, Ambroise 22, 170 Paris, Matthew 154–5 Paris, Notre Dame 97, 99, 107, 159 Peavler, W.S. 165 Pecham, John 202 Petrus of Limoges 203 Pfisterer, Ulrich 187 Phidias 8, 24, 29 Philip the Bold 107

260 Phillipot, Paul 207 Philoponus 188, 189 Philostratus Flavius 30 Pietà(s) 105, 110, 111–13, 192 Pilsen 204 Pisa 99 Pisano, Giovanni 99 Pisano, Nicola 107 Pius II, Pope 86 Plahter, Unn 152–3 Pliny the Elder 19 Pliny the Younger 26–7 Plotinus 31 Plutarch 19 Poland 77 Pomponio Gaurico 91, 92, 147–8, 160 Poseidon (god) 24 Pot, Philippe 107 Praxiteles 18 Proske, Beatrice Gilmore 147n Provost, Jan 203 Quadriga of San Marco, Venice 174 Rahotep, Prince 22 Ravensburg 58 Regelindus 98, 101 Reims Cathedral 94, 97 Reitsch, W. 196, 197 Resurrection 52 Reuterswärd, Patrik 35 Riace, Greece 8 Riemenschneider, Tilman copper engravings 78 and divergent eyes 128, 131–3 early career 129–30 eyelids 190 Last Supper 140–1 Münnerstadt altarpiece 76 and Nuremberg bronze workshop 77 Scherenberg tomb 76 and Ulm 133–4 and wood-visibility 71 Würzberg altarpiece 61

Index Romanini, Angiola Maria 146 Rome 26–31, 86–7, 170 Rosenfeld, Jörg 70, 74 Rossellino, Bernardo 191–2 Rostock 162 Rothenburg 141 Ruffi family 148 Rufus (Ephisius Medicus) 12 Ruysch, Frederik 193 St Albans 154, 155 St Ambrose 185 St Augustine 87 St Barbara 177, 178 St Francis of Assisi 50, 142, 171 St George 50, 88, 190 St Gerald 123 St Ignatius of Loyola 142 St Jakobs-Kirche, Rothenburg 141 St Jerome 101 St John the Baptist 68 St John the Evangelist and Crucifixion scenes 142 Jesus and 115–16 and Last Supper 115 sleeping 118, 141 tearful 107 vision of 58–9, 179 St Katharinental, Antwerp 115 St Lorenz church, Nuremberg 82, 128, 190 St Luke 132 St Martin’s church, Lorch am Rhine 72 St Mary Magdalene 50–1; see also Mary Magdalene St Michael’s church, Leuven 112 St Nicolai church, Kalkar 88 St Olof 156 St Paul 94 St Peter 115, 118, 181–2, 190 St Veronica 50, 83, 125; see also Veronica image St Wolfgang 56 St Zeno 99 Salzburg 56, 129

The Eye and the Beholder San Pietro in Vincoli, Rome 86–7 Saqqara, Egypt 6 Sara(h) 97 Satan 151 Schäufelin, Hans 128 Scherenberg, Prince Bishop Rudolf von 76, 174 Schleusener-Eichholz, Gudrun xxi, 185 Schlosser, Julius von 26 Schongauer, Martin 78 Schultze-Senger, Christa 88 Siena Duomo 107 Sigismond, Archduke 86 Sigmaringen 115 Simeon 86 Simon (cross-bearer) 57 Sixtus IV, Pope 192 Skederid, Sweden 11, 157–8 Slaughter of the Innocents 105, 107 Sluter, Claus 44, 85, 107–8 Soe (polychromer) 112 Spain 142, 170–2; see also specific places Sterzing altarpiece 56 Stoss, Dr Andreas, contract for Veit Stoss 61–2 Stoss, Veit Annunciation 81, 128, 190 Bamberg altarpiece 62, 64 as designer and overseer 56 divergent gaze 139 Job 118–19 Last Supper 200 Mount of Olives 118 mourning Virgin 113 and Nuremberg bronze workshop 77 and Strasbourg 130 and Ulm 129 Volckamersche Stiftung 199, 200 and Würzberg altarpiece 61–2, 64 Stothard, C.A. 35–6 Strasbourg Cathedral workshop 116

261

Chancellery 117 fashion/shoes 58 and Gerhaert 73–4, 80 guild regulations 45–6 and Riemenschneider 130 and Veit Stoss 130 Strong, Donald 30 Sudan see specific places Suetonius 28 Sweden 38, 155; see also specific places Sybils 129 Syria see specific places Syrlin the Elder 71, 72, 73, 118–19, 129 Tångeberg, Peter 37–8, 112, 155–7 Taubert, Johannes 70, 175–6 Tauler, Johann 167 Tegernsee, Bavaria 55, 84 Tell Asmar, Syria 4 Tell Braq, Syria 4 Tertullian 75 Thamar 43 Theophilus 145, 146, 147 Theophilus Presbyter 42 Theux 76 Thralles (Aydin), Turkey 14 Thurmann, Peter 84, 178 Tobit 117 Todi 86 Toledo Cathedral 99 Tomaso of Modena 85 Torrigano, Piero 149 Tournai 46 Trevor-Roper, Patrick 120, 131, 196 Trinity see Holy Trinity Ulm choir stalls, 118–19, 129 and Erhart 113 and Gerhaert 72–4 luxury law 58 and Maler 128 and Mauch 128 monochrome altarpiece 71

262 and Multscher 45, 56, 98 partial polychromy 73 and Riemenschneider 130 and Veit Stoss 129 and Weckmann 57 Urban VIII, Pope 182, 184–5 Valerius Maximus 42 van der Weyden, Rogier 82, 109–10 Van Eyck, Jan 190, 193 Van Eyck brothers 68 Vandamme, Eric 37 Venice 52, 174 Venus (goddess) 17 Verona 99 Veronica image 154, 155 Verrochio, Andrea del 138 Vienna 74, 80 Virgil 19 Virgin, White, Toledo 99 Virgin and Child 42, 43, 98, 140 Virgin Mary Annunciation, colours 50 blue eyes 151 colour iconography 50 Coronation 178–9, 181 Descent from the Cross 109 Dormition 113 downcast eyes 128 fear 98

Index guild regulations 46 as handmaiden of God 141 in heaven 50, 53 twelfth/thirteenth century as Virgin of Mercy 50–1 weeping 112, 113, 114, 157–8 as young mother 98 see also Madonna, Mary Vischer, Peter 77 Vischer family 77 Vöge, Wilhelm 94–5 Vossestrand, Norway 152 Watts, Pauline Moffitt 82 Weckmann, Niklaus 57, 73 Wedjat eye 7 Weingarten 85, 86 Well of Moses 85 Werl altarpiece 176–8 Wertinger, Hans 67 Werve, Claus 107–8 Willemsen, Ernst 70 Wilm, Hubert 37 Wilson, Rowland P. 21 Witelo 202 Wittkower, Rudolf 168–9 Würzberg altarpiece 61 Yselin, Heinrich 85, 86