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Object of the Month: August 2019

Vashti Refuses the King’s Summons

Oil on canvas

Edwin Long, R.A.

English, 1829-1891

 

Vashti showcases Edwin Long’s interest in archeological discovery, religious history, and female beauty on a grand scale, interests that reflect those of the Victorian era in which he lived. And the story of the two queens of Xerxes, king of Persia, is tailor made for both his interests and his skills. Like other religious painters of the era, such as William Holman Hunt, Long actually visited the Holy Land to gain firsthand knowledge. He combined this trip with various print sources such as volume III of George Rawlinson’s The Five Great Monarchies of the Ancient Eastern World (1862-67) and Austen Henry Layard’s studies from Nineveh in order to create this painting of convincing Orientalism. Originally exhibited at Burlington House in 1879 with its companion piece, Queen Esther, the two paintings taken together (though not exhibited side by side) offer food for thought both on the characters of these impressive women and the critical period in which they lived. 

Vashti opens the story of Esther with a dramatic refusal to appear at her husband’s banquet for the rulers of the Persian kingdom. Whether she refuses out of modesty (her crossed arms seem to support this position) or because she herself is hosting a banquet for the wives of the rulers, her refusal is seen as a harbinger of marital unrest in the kingdom if her disobedience goes unanswered. So the king is persuaded to depose her as queen and seek a new one. There are several indications that Vashti recognizes the serious implications of her rebellion. She is remonstrated by her maidens, there is an apparent altercation at the door between those delivering her refusal and those demanding her acquiescence, and her body language suggests that she is afraid of what is to come. 

The symbolism so greatly loved by the Victorians comes into play through the great lion on which she sits. An emblem associated by the Persians with their great power, the lion reflects both the power that has made her queen and the power which she will be unable to thwart. Though the lion is itself slain and has lost its power over her, even serving as a bench cushion; one lone woman cannot stand against an Eastern potentate. Her name which means “Beautiful One” in Persian appropriately reflects her physical beauty, likely the avenue to her queenly position. However, beauty is hardly a weapon against the mighty Persians. Or is it?

Consider the story of Hadassah or Esther as most know her today. An entire book of the Bible, one in which there is no direct mention of Jehovah, chronicles a few brief years of a young Jewish maiden who had “come to the kingdom” (Esther 4:14) at a crucial time, not just as a result of the whim of the queen. Long means for viewers to examine these women in light of each other.  A cursory glance reveals that the two paintings are meant as companions: the matching frames, the seated central figures, the inquisitive gaze and pose of the servant girl, the visible sandaled foot of both women. Even the “X” created by the arms of Vashti and the jewelry of Esther juxtapose these two women and their plights: one is apparently guarding her beauty from the ravaging eyes of the rulers, the other finds her beautiful figure emphasized in the king’s competition. 

Both women are “caught” by their positions though their gazes differ: Vashti’s gaze foreshadows her fall from favor while the frank gaze of the powerless girl (even her beauty is no match for an unextended scepter) foreshadows her strength of spirit.  The adorned Esther has put down the mirror, rejecting the offer of more jewels. Instead, just prior to being veiled and taken to Xerxes, she looks directly at the viewer. This gaze, though solemn, reveals no fear in the innocent young girl (notice the lilies on the wall relief behind her) who by the next day will be either a mere concubine or the queen. The mythical griffins embroidered on the hem of her gown were figures used to guard the gold of the Persians and are another indication both of the marketplace contest she is part of and her inability to escape. Yet Esther has an inner strength that enables her to risk death at the hands of the king—in order to invite him to dinner! 

Though Vashti is gone by the end of the first chapter of Esther, she begins the rising action of the story whose crisis is faced by her youthful successor. Without the brave action of Vashti, Esther would not have been in place to rescue her people. And without the brave action—and clever thinking—of Queen Esther, the Israelites would have lost their stand against the “divine” power (note the stylized sun on the end of the mirror handle and on Vashti’s belt) of the pagan Persians at the hands of Haman. If “the king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord” (Proverbs 21:1), it is certain the hearts of queens are as well. Edwin Long’s works draw attention to both the historical tensions in the Persian royal court and the metanarrative of the Israelites’ position as God’s chosen people. 

Dr. Karen Rowe, M&G Board Member

 

Published in 2019

Object of the Month: July 2019

The Four Evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John

Oil on Canvas, 1630s

Guido Reni

Bolognese, 1575-1642

The painter of this elegant series of the Four Evangelists is Guido Reni. Reni is not only one of the most revered 17th-century painters but also one of the Baroque era’s most fascinating personalities. His friend Carlo Cesare Malvasia wrote an illuminating biography acknowledging the painter’s paradoxical character.  Although deeply religious, Reni was plagued by an addiction to gambling; although renowned for his generosity, he was notoriously thin-skinned, and although labeled conventionally “prim,” he was one of the few artists of the time willing to mentor female painters (most notably Elisabetta Sirani). Regardless, throughout his life Reni is said to have “cut an impressive aristocratic figure, always fashionably and expensively dressed and usually attended by servants.”

Born in Bologna in 1575, Reni began his training in the studio of Denys Calvaert. In his late teens, he entered the Carracci Academy where he continued studying until 1598 when he embarked on an independent art career. Despite his initial success, he soon realized that to expand (and solidify) his reputation he would have to study in Rome. He left for the “eternal city” in 1601, and for the next thirteen years he immersed himself in Rome’s rich artistic heritage. He returned to Bologna in 1614 and remained there for the rest of his life. His thriving Bolognese studio received commissions from all over Europe, and Ian Chilvers notes, “Rubens was the only contemporary painter who had a more glittering international clientele.”

Reni’s 1611 Slaughter of the Innocents reflects the tight brushwork, pristine finishes, and rich coloration of his early work. While in Rome, he did flirt briefly with the popular Caravaggesque style (as seen in the Crucifixion of St. Peter). However, he soon returned to his classical roots. David Steele observes that as his style continued to mature, “his colors become progressively more silvery and his brushwork more free.”

We see evidence of this tonal shift and looser brushwork in M&G’s gospel writers—particularly in the renderings of Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  The more vibrant coloration of the St. John figure relates to his iconography. This “beloved disciple” is often dressed in red and green garments (red symbolizing his love for Christ and green representing his faith in the resurrection.) Also apparent in the upper right of John’s canvas is an eagle; this identifier symbolizes the “soaring inspiration” mirrored in the artful imagery that opens his gospel and illuminates his book of revelation. This attribute is derived from the “four living creatures” surrounding God’s throne (referenced in both Ezekiel and Revelation). Each of the gospel writers has an identifier related to these tetramorphs as they are called: Matthew’s is the angel (clearly visible in his portrait), Mark’s is the lion (in the lower right of his canvas), and Luke’s the ox (faintly visible in the upper right of his portrait).  Irenaeus of Lyon was the first to associate these mystical creatures with the four gospel writers, but it was the Church Father Jerome who assigned each their specific identifier. 

By the end of his life, Reni had become the most famous Italian painter of his day. His style is still regarded as “perfectly poised between formal precision and expressive density” (Baroque Painting, p. 82)  Although he briefly fell out of favor during the 19th century, his reputation as the “divine Guido” remains firmly intact. 

Donnalynn Hess, Director of Education

 

Published in 2019

Object of the Month: April 2019

Christ with the Roman Centurion

Oil on canvas, c. 1712, Signed with initials, lower left: J.J.

Jean Baptiste Jouvenet

French, 1649–1717

An anonymous but astute artist once said, “Creativity lives at the mercy of self-discipline; without self-discipline, creativity is just a flight of fancy.”  Perhaps no one better illustrates the truth of this aphorism than painter Jean Baptiste Jouvenet. Taking in the visual textures, architectural detail, and life-like figures in his Christ with the Roman Centurion, it’s hard to believe that during the creation of the work Jouvenet’s painting hand (right hand) was in the final stage of paralysis. He began losing control of his right hand in the last decade of his life. Undeterred he trained himself to paint with his left hand and continued to work!  

Jouvenet was born in Rouen, a port city on the river Seine whose skyline is still dominated by Gothic cathedral spires. He entered Charles Le Brun’s studio at twelve (1661) and a year later was admitted to the Rouen painters’ guild. Throughout his teen years he helped Le Brun, King Louis XIV’s chief arts leader, with designs and decorations for some of France’s most opulent dwellings, including the Salon de Mars at Versailles. 

Jouvenet would go on to become the greatest French religious painter of his generation. Christ and the Roman Centurion highlights some of the reasons why. The work combines the opulent technique of his early training with the subtle realism of his later work. The result is a tempered emotionalism that actually enriches the dramatic power of the scene. The smaller size also indicates that it is a modello for a larger altarpiece Jouvenet painted for the church of the Récollets at Versailles. Artists like Jouvenet presented these smaller, meticulously painted versions to their wealthy patrons for final approval before completing the commissioned masterpiece.

At the end of his life Jouvenet would use his “new” painting hand to complete a group of eight paintings for the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in Paris. Like M&G’s Christ with the Roman Centurion it is signed and dated. For the cathedral, however, he departs from using his traditional initials of J.J., choosing instead to sign and date the work as follows: J. Jouvenet dextra paralyticus sinistra fecit 1716 (J. Jouvenet right palsy uses left, 1716). To read more about this grouping and to see the signature visit Notre-Dame de Paris. (The signature is clearly visible on the step in The Visitation Painting at the end of the article.)

Donnalynn Hess, Director of Education 

 

Published in 2019

Johann Friedrich Overbeck

The Visitation

Johann Friedrich Overbeck

Below the image, click play to listen.

Object of the Month: December 2018

The Visitation

Oil on canvas

Johann Friedrich Overbeck

German, 1789-1869

Friedrich Overbeck began art instruction at age 15 under the tutelage of Joseph Nikolaus Peroux. He then learned from artists in Hamburg and through close study of Italian Renaissance works on display. The move to Vienna in 1806 enabled him to study at the Akademie and learn the principles of drawing in the academic tradition. This traditional approach, however, led him to reject those principles and adopt the teachings of Eberhard Wächter, particularly in the area of moral tone. One of the fascinating concepts about the sister arts (writing, drawing, music, and sculpture) is that principles from one art often apply to another. So, the idea of moral tone, usually applied to literature, is quite appropriate to discuss in the area of painting.  Overbeck infused his religious beliefs into his beginning work in oils, an emphasis which became a hallmark of his work, especially following his 1813 conversion to Roman Catholicism. His family heritage was religious as well; the three previous generations of men in his family were ministers. It was Friedrich who broke with the family calling. 

Although, it would be wrong to say that he abandoned the ministry; his works “preach” in merely another medium. In 1809 he and friends began the group Brotherhood of St. Luke, also known as the Nazarenes. Living in an abandoned monastery and adopting a biblical style of hair and dress led to “Nazarene” becoming a derogatory term. The Brotherhood’s motivation to reject the sensuality and artistic virtuosity of artists beginning in the sixteenth century was accompanied by a belief that all art should serve a moral purpose. Their work emphasizes Christian symbolism and bright clear colors which are hallmarks of the later Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood members such as William Holman Hunt and Frederic James Shields.

While Overbeck embraced the art before Raphael, he also admired Raphael’s style. A look at The Visitation drawn c. 1517 by Raphael (in the Prado since 1837), suggests that Overbeck may have seen the master’s composition. The headdress of Elizabeth is strikingly similar to that in Overbeck’s painting as is the hairstyle of the Virgin. But there are purposeful differences as well. Raphael’s Virgin has no ornamentation on her dress; however, Overbeck chooses to give Mary a gold band of ribbon or lace, contrasting her gown with the matronly garb of her elderly cousin, Elizabeth, and showing her superiority.  

Overbeck also indicates Mary’s elevated position as the mother of the Lord Jesus Christ through the physical positioning of the figures. Though Elizabeth is heavily pregnant at the time of Mary’s visit, she is positioned kneeling toward her younger relative. Luke 1:39-56 details the interaction between the women. Filled with the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth proclaims a three-fold blessing on Mary: she is blessed as a chosen woman, she is carrying the blessing of mankind’s Savior, and she is blessed for her faith in the promise of the Lord through Gabriel.  Then Luke records Mary’s praise of the Lord, the Magnificat.  Appropriately enough, Elizabeth gazes into the distance while Mary looks heavenward in a sign of her understanding of the privilege and position she has been accorded by God. John’s movement in Elizabeth’s womb at the arrival of his Lord is undoubtedly one of those things that Mary will keep and “ponder in her heart.”

In another work, Overbeck features Mary and her cousin, Mary and Elizabeth with Jesus and John the Baptist.  The title indicates the characters in the painting; yet the accepted iconography and religious symbolism of the time provides clear and immediate identification.  Mary is found in her blue robe holding her missal. John the Baptist wears his clothing of camel’s hair and grasps a sheep, signifying his task of proclaiming that his cousin Christ is the “Lamb of God.”  Christ, sitting on the lamb, could not be more closely identified as that “Lamb.”  In addition, He holds John’s cross-shaped staff indicating the manner in which the “Lamb of God” will be sacrificed for the sins of the world.  The background of this painting is more reminiscent of Raphael’s work with its Italian landscape; such scenery suits this family portrait. However, Mary’s Magnificat focuses on the Lord God, so this portrait-like composition of The Visitation directs the viewer’s attention to her message by eliminating a distracting setting. 

Overbeck’s biographer, Joseph Beavington Atkinson (1822-1886) records the artist’s mission in life: “Art to me is as a harp of David, whereupon I would desire that psalms should at all times be sounded to the praise of the Lord.”  The sacred mood and expression of Christian piety, the beautiful colors, and the clean lines found in The Visitation fulfill his mission well.

Dr. Karen Rowe, M&G Board Member and Volunteer Membership Coordinator 

 

Suggested Reading: Overbeck by Joseph Beavington Atkinson

 

Published in 2018

Object of the Month: November 2018

The Repentant St. Peter

Oil on canvas, circa 1664

Carlo Dolci

Florentine, 1616-1686

This powerful portrait of the penitent Peter is by seventeenth-century Florentine artist Carlo Dolci. A child prodigy, Carlo entered Jacopo Vignali’s studio as an apprentice at the age of 9 and by 13 was independently completing noteworthy commissions. Throughout his lifetime Dolci’s paintings would continue to garner praise and to attract the patronage of luminaries like the Grand Duchess of Tuscany Vittoria della Rovere and her son Cosimo III.  

However, Dolci’s aspirations went beyond a desire for fame. His lifelong friend and biographer Filippo Baldinucci wrote: “From early childhood, Dolci frequented the Benedictine Order, and his devotion ever increasing, he made a firm vow never in all his life to wish to paint anything other than sacred images or religious stories, and to represent them in such a manner that they would inspire Christian piety in those who saw them.”  It is not surprising, therefore, that aside from a few portraits, Dolci’s entire oeuvre is comprised of devotional works. 

One of those rare portraits is this 1674 Double Self-Portrait.  This work not only highlights the artist’s technical skill but also insinuates his temperament.  Dolci was a meticulous artist. Baldinucci commented: “It may seem strange to hear that he completed so many works, having worked so slowly, or more accurately having taken so long to complete them, since sometimes a single foot occupied him for weeks.” We see that obsessive attention to detail in this work—both in its execution and in the handling of the subject. In a sense it is a visual pun. In the miniature portrait we see the bespectacled Dolci leaning in to delicately apply brush to canvas while the larger, central figure holds this miniature up for viewer examination. Notice the wistful expression of the dominant Dolci. It’s as if he is inquiring of the viewer, “I’m not sure I’m satisfied with my ‘image.’ Are you?” Numerous sources site that throughout his life Dolci suffered from melancholia, an archaic term describing (among other things) bouts of extreme depression. Perhaps this malady contributed to his ability to render powerful emotion convincingly. Regardless, it is this quality that evokes the pathos readily apparent in the Museum & Gallery’s portrait.  

Although the subject of this work is derived from the gospels, it’s popularity during Dolci’s time was due in part to Counter-Reformation dogma.  For example, one of the many objectives of the Council of Trent was to urge Catholic painters to reaffirm through art the salvatory function of those sacraments dismissed by the Reformers—including the sacrament of penance (the private confession of sins to a priest).  Art historian and curator David Steel notes that as a result “the repentance of Peter became an especially popular subject since it depicted the Prince of Apostles, and the first pope, in the sacramental act of doing penance; Peter’s tears became a symbol for that sacrament.”  

The compositional details mirrored in Dolci’s work were first codified by the Mannerist painter Domenikos Theotokopoulos, called El Greco. El Greco completed numerous variants and at least five autograph versions of this subject, including the one pictured here from the San Diego Museum of Art.  His dark background, grotto-like setting, and figural pose became standard, and we see these elements mirrored in Dolci’s rendering.  Both artists also clothe the figure in his traditional yellow-gold mantel of faith.  However, Dolci’s elegant brushwork and jewel-like coloration add what one historian describes as a “fresh, objective approach.”  

Although naturalistic in the handling of light and the depiction of Peter’s weathered face, red-rimmed eyes, and tousled hair and beard, there is none of the severity characteristic of such Baroque naturalists as Caravaggio. Dolci’s vital realism seems free of despair. As art historian Michael Bryan observed, “Nothing is harsh or obtrusive, all is modest and harmonious.” This seamless integration of the natural and the sublime creates a wonderfully moving image. 

To learn how Protestant painters sought to affirm their faith read about Lucas Cranach, the Younger’s Allegory of the Fall and Redemption of Man. 

Donnalynn Hess, Director of Education

 

Published in 2018

Object of the Month: August 2018

The Martyrdom of St. Perpetua and St. Felicitas

Oil on canvas, Signed and dated, Félix Leullier, 1880

Félix Louis Leullier

French, 1811–1882

In this arresting example of the nineteenth-century Romantic style, Felix Louis Leullier uses all the forces of paint and position to create a gruesome depiction of one of the most famous martyrdoms of the Christian church. Little known outside of France, Felix trained with Antoine-Jean Gros, renowned for his depictions of some of Napoleon’s famous battles: Battle of Arcole, Napoléon on the Battlefield of Eylau, and Battle of Abukir. Gros leaves little to the imagination in the spheres of conflict and conquest, so it is no wonder that his student, Felix, would choose to depict a martyrdom in a context resembling the twisted forms often found on a battlefield.  

The painting’s setting is the Roman Amphitheatre in Carthage, the North African center of Christianity in the early centuries following Christ’s death and resurrection; there is little more than an outline remaining today of the prominent structure that seated 30,000. Although Felix most likely did not travel to that part of the world, he could have easily participated in a Grand Tour, a customary excursion in the 18th and 19th centuries for men coming of age, to see and learn from the culture and histories of antiquity. Such a broadening and experiential trip included significant time in Rome, where the Colosseum was a chief point of interest and which is very similar to Carthage’s own great amphitheater. The combined influence of travel and exposure to prominent depictions like Granet’s Interior View of the Colosseum in Rome, 1804 and Towne’s The Colosseum, 1781, Leullier opts to create only a faint representation of an outdoor arena.  

On March 7, 203 AD, under the rule of the Roman emperor, Septimius Severus, the noblewoman Vibia Perpetua, was executed with her handmaid, Felicitas, and fellow catechumens, Revocatus, Saturninus, and Secundulus. Just a few years earlier in 197 AD in his treatise Apologeticus, Tertullian had posited that “the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” As providence would have it, Tertullian himself was eyewitness and later chronicler to the gripping event portrayed in this work.  

In addition to Tertullian’s account and Perpetua’s own prison diary, Passio Perpetuae et Felicitatis, in which she captures much of the detail up until the hour of her entrance into the arena, many attempts to present the event have been created in various media formats. It is contained in older volumes like Foxe’s Book of Martyrs (1563), as well as in more recent accounts like Thomas J. Heffernan’s The Passion of Perpetua and Felicity (2012). It is visible in paintings, drawings, mosaics, stained glass and illuminated manuscripts like Menologion of Basil II; and it has been presented in investigative journalism in the PBS Frontline series, From Jesus to Christ (1998). 

Leullier’s visual rendering is indeed grand both in presentation and size, measuring nearly seven feet high by nine feet wide. Though literary works relate that Perpetua and Felicitas were martyred separately from the men, Leullier deviates from the historical account and instead depicts the entire company—the martyrs, the men that assaulted them, and the many animals that mauled them. By placing the massacre in the forefront of the work, the purity and testimony of these Christians’ story cannot be ignored.

Bonnie Merkle, M&G Database Manager and Docent

 

For further enrichment:

 

Published in 2018

Object of the Month: April 2018

The Ascension

Oil on canvas, 1883

Gustave Doré

French, 1832–1883

Louis Auguste Gustave Doré (1832-1883) is justly known as the greatest illustrator ever. His genius was recognized when he was a child, and his photographic memory allowed him to include minor details often overlooked by others. 

He began his prolific professional career at the age of 15 as an illustrator for the humorous magazine Journal pour Rire. During his relatively short life, he produced at least 8,000 wood engravings, 1,000 lithographs, 700 zinc engravings, 100 steel engravings, 50 etchings, 400 oil paintings, 500 watercolors, 800 mixed-media sketches, and 30 major works of sculpture.

While many admire Doré’s work, few people actually recognize his art, even having grown up seeing his pictures. His New and Old Testament illustrations became the most widely used and familiar images in twentieth-century Bible literature. He also created several large series of engravings for classics including The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Don Quixote, Paradise Lost, Perrault’s Fairy Tales, The Divine Comedy and more.

Historically, illustrators have received little recognition for their artistic careers compared to their “fine art” counterparts. Doré was equally productive in creating oil paintings and sculpture, and his greatest ambition was to be respected primarily for his painting career; however, he is best remembered as an illustrator. 

M&G’s Collection has two of his most important religious paintings—The Ascension and Christ Leaving the Praetorium, both completed in 1883. 

As is typical of many artists, Doré created multiple versions of his works. His first version of The Ascension was completed in 1879 and measures almost twice the size of M&G’s painting, which is an imposing 11’ 11” tall by 7’ 8” wide!  The original Ascension hung with other religious works in the German Gallery of London (later called the Doré Gallery) where the great preacher Charles Haddon Spurgeon frequented and encouraged his congregation to visit. 

Sketches that Doré made while riding the newly invented hot-air balloon with his photographer friend, Felix Nadar, probably inspired The Ascension’s aerial perspective—the viewer is on the plane of the ascending Christ with the disciples small and distant standing on the ground. The rich greens and golds in Doré’s thick brushstrokes create excitement and energy at the end of Christ’s earthly ministry and the beginning of His heavenly role. The angels’ response in Acts 1:11 voices the painting’s story, “Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven?  This same Jesus which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven.” 

John Good, Docent and Security Manager

Erin R. Jones, Executive Director

 

Published in 2018

Object of the Month: March 2018

The Instruments of the Passion of Christ

Oil on panel

Unknown Dutch

Dutch, 17th century

Genre painting could best be described as a painting that depicts everyday life without idealization.  There are many subject matter that fall under the category of genre painting including interior, landscape, and still life.  But what sets genre painting apart from other categories is the narratives or moral tales hidden in plain sight.

It is during the seventeenth century in the Netherlands, known as the Dutch Golden Age, that Dutch painting, sciences, military, and trade flourished.  Genre paintings were a favorite of every class, which reveals both the increasing urbanization of society and the people’s intense love of their national culture and way of living. Still life genre paintings use symbolism to portray common themes such as vanity, the passing of time, the brevity of life, or specific character qualities (vice or virtue).  From the fourteenth century to today, still life paintings use flora, fauna, household items and personal possessions to symbolize ideas, which add depth and meaning to the narrative.

Throughout the Museum & Gallery’s collection, there is only one painting that falls within the category of a still life genre painting.  Painted by an unknown seventeenth-century artist, The Instruments of the Passion is filled to the frame with symbolism.

Instead of painting the entire narrative as recorded in the Gospels, the artist depicts objects as a symbolic and literal reminder of Christ’s sacrifice. Each individual element, painted in great detail, references a part of the greater story. The objects included are: a hammer,
nails, dice, pliers, spear, sponge, lantern, halberd (a sixteenth-century spear-like weapon), brass pan, broken reed, wine flasks, crown of thorns, scarlet robe, purse with 30 silver pieces, and an inscribed parchment (translated “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews”).

While this painting may not be one of the biggest or the prettiest in the Collection, the grouping of these objects provides a powerful representation of Christ’s suffering through the simplicity of symbolism.

KC Beach, former M&G staff member

 

Published in 2018

Object of the Month: February 2018

St. Ambrose and St. Augustine

Oil on panel

Gaspar de Crayer

Flemish, 1584–1669

Gaspar de Crayer spent much of his career as a painter for the elite of the Spanish Netherlands. In addition to numerous portraits, he completed a large number of altarpieces. Matthias Depoorter notes: “The motifs that he borrows from the work of Rubens are so specific that people suspect that he had contact with Rubens’s studio.” For example, the figurative influence, coloration, and brushwork of Rubens’s Entombment (figure 1) is also clearly evident in De Crayer’s Deposition (figure 2).

Depoorter goes on to point out that later in De Crayer’s career the influence of Anthony Van Dyck (Rubens most noted pupil) emerges. Critics observe that Van Dyck’s portraits are characterized by a “relaxed elegance.”  But this elegance is enriched by a subtle emotional sentiment that intuitively connects the subject to the viewer. These qualities are readily discerned both in Van Dyck’s Self-Portrait (figure 3) and in De Crayer’s portraits of St. Ambrose and St. Augustine from M&G’s collection.

Ambrose was a revered Greek scholar, poet, lawyer, and orator. Trained in politics and law he was literally thrust into an ecclesiastical life. When Auxentius, Bishop of Milan, died in 374 the Arian heresy was on the rise. During the election for the new bishop a violent outbreak seemed inevitable until the 35-year-old Ambrose stood up in the public square and gave an impassioned speech “exhorting the people to proceed in their choice in the spirit of peace.” Following his plea, the whole assembly took up the cry “Ambrose for Bishop.” Although his election astonished him, he determined to take up the task with vigor. Aware of his theological limitations he embarked on an arduous study of Scripture. He also read extensively the writings of the church fathers, especially Origen and Basil. Before long he was revered by both low and high born as a “good shepherd.” The garments he wears in De Crayer’s portrait symbolize his ecclesiastical station.

Although Ambrose is still counted as one of the great doctors of the Western church, his reputation is overshadowed by his most famous convert, Augustine of Hippo. It is not surprising, therefore, that Gaspar de Crayer would do a companion portrait of Augustine. This work, also part of the M&G collection, was featured as Object of the Month in February 2016.

Augustine acknowledged that Ambrose was the key figure in bringing him to Christ. He records in his Confessions that, “This man of God welcomed me, as a father. As a result, I began to love him, not because of his teaching, but because of his warm and loving personality. I enjoyed hearing him preach, not in order to learn from what he said, but in order to admire and learn to imitate his eloquence. Indeed, I still despised the doctrines he taught. Yet, by opening my heart to the sweetness of his speech, the truth of his teaching began to enter my soul, little by little.”   Ambrose would baptize Augustine on Easter morning in 387.  Soon after Augustine returned to North Africa where he eventually became Bishop of Hippo, ruling in that turbulent African diocese for 34 years until his death in 430.

 

Donnalynn Hess M&G Director of Education

 

Published in 2018

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