Showing posts with label Renaissance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Renaissance. Show all posts

Saturday, 22 March 2014

Have you seen...a Small Sign of Peace?

The Sandon Pax, c.1500, beechwood, watercolour on vellum, (Photo: A Barker) 
Tucked away in a corner of rural Essex there is a tiny bit of exquisite history.  In fact, it is relatively unknown and will not have been seen by many.  It is almost unique, being one of only two extant in the country.  Five hundred years ago, however, it was one of hundreds that were known by all.  Every Sunday it would be first kissed by the Priest, then passed reverently from hand to hand and kissed by each member of the congregation in turn as a sign of peace.  It is the Sandon Pax.

I was given the rare privilege of seeing this beautiful object, safely kept in the place where it was used all those years ago. It is a small wooden rectangle, of twenty-six by twenty-three centimetres.  The frame is finely carved and was originally gilded, although this has, to a great extent, worn away.  Recessed in the centre is a miniature work of art, smaller than a playing card and painted in watercolour on vellum.  It shows Christ on the cross, head bowed, with the Latin sign above declaring him to be Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.  On his right stands Mary, his mother, and on his left, stands John, into whose protection he gave his mother.

The style of the watercolour has been pronounced as Gothic [1] with decorative pastel colours and highlights in gold, picking out the folds of Mary’s robe, the waves of John’s idealised hair and the rays of Christ’s halo.  There is some similarity here with the intricately wrought illuminated manuscripts and Books of Hours of the thirteenth and fourteenth century, the Luttrell and Ormesby Psalters being two such examples.

Luttrell Psalter, c.1320-40, British Library, London
  
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Ormesby Psalter, c.1290-1340, Bodleian Library, Oxford

Although this comparison firmly places the Sandon Pax in the Gothic tradition, I would argue that some small flowering of Renaissance form can be seen. The sidelong glance of Mary, her head inclined downwards but subtly turning towards John, shows some understanding of anatomical realism.  This is not simply a full frontal, flat image, but one with shadow and depth.  Furthermore, Mary’s slightly parted lips seem to me to display emotion, something that Renaissance artists were striving to represent at this time.  Mary’s eyes have been painted non-symmetrically, one slightly larger than the other, a technique used by artists such as Holbein to give character to a face [2].  Although these are small points, they are worth noting. It has been suggested that the artist was French [3] and certainly England received some Italian Renaissance ideas through a French filter. 

detail of Mary, The Sandon Pax, c.1500, (photo: Alison Barker)


The Sandon Pax was created during the reign of Henry VII, a self-pronounced Renaissance Prince and man of letters and culture.  His mother Margaret Beaufort was a humanist who founded colleges, patronised art and helped establish chapels.  Catholicism was firmly established as the religion of the country, a situation unchanged for hundreds if not a thousand years meaning that the Sandon Pax is, in fact, a Catholic object.  It would no doubt have been used throughout the next King’s reign too, as Henry VIII was staunchly Catholic on his accession in 1509.  Although in 1529, Henry broke from Rome and declared himself to be Supreme Head of the Church, that Church was still Catholic in doctrine and the King, Catholic in belief until his death. 

Protestant rumblings began to be felt, however, and at the new King’s accession in 1547 everything changed.  Edward VI, son of Catholic Henry had nonetheless been tutored by humanists with Protestant leanings and the nine year old boy was a devout Protestant.  The Pax had now become a sign of Papist belief instead of peace and was at risk:  Iconoclasm had arrived.  Maybe it was at this moment that the precious Sandon Pax was smuggled into the home of a Catholic parishioner to preserve it from the wholesale destruction of idolatrous images.  It lay undisturbed for three hundred and sixty years when it was rediscovered in 1910 by the downstairs fireplace of a Tudor cottage in Sandon [4].

Looking at it now and seeing the wear from the fingernails of hundreds of hands, the evidence of faith from fifty years unbroken use, it strikes me how precious this small sign of peace really is.  I cannot entreat you to go and see it for yourself as it is not, as yet, on public display.  However, measures are being taken to ensure just that, and I will let you know when this happens.



Alison Barker

Coming Next: Have you seen...the Kiss of Betrayal?




[1]Marks R & Williamson P(eds), Gothic Art for England, 1400-1547, V & A Publications, 2003, p.415
[2] Foister, Holbein in England, Tate, London, 2006, p.54
[3] Marks R & Williamson P (eds), 2003, p.415 
[4] Bush R, Sandon - A Village History, 1999, p.26

Friday, 14 March 2014

Have you seen...the Set of Deadly Playing Cards?

The Duchess; seated in her bed, while Death pulls her blanket at the r end; another skeleton stands next and plays the violin; first published with text in Les simulachres & historiees faces de la mort, avtant elegamment pourtraictes, que artificiellement imaginées ..., Lyon, M. and G. Trechsel (for Jean and François Frellon), 1538 (8°); this impression is part of the so called proofs, a set without text, probably published by M. Trechsel, Lyon, 1526.  c. 1526
Woodcut
Hans Holbein the Younger, The Duchess, The Dance of Death Series, c.1526, British Museum, London

These cards are quite intriguing but I don’t think you would want to play ‘snap’ with them!  Here, a skeleton with flowing locks pulls a blanket from a startled woman who sits up in bed, whilst another skeleton, half in shadow, plays a violin. It is a macabre little scene and represents the death of the woman, a Duchess, when she least expects it.  The skeleton personifies Death who is there to escort her from life.  

Hans Holbein the Younger designed this illustration along with forty-one others, making a complete set [1] called The Dance of Death which now resides in the British Museum. They are actually smaller than standard size playing cards at 6.4 x 4.9 cm and although their original purpose is unknown [2], it has been suggested that images like these were intended to teach moral principles [3].

Another card shows Death removing a man’s valuables before removing the Rich Man himself. On the table a candle has just burnt down indicating the snuffing out of life.  The moral can be clearly seen: the hoarding of wealth and the attempt to secure them behind iron bars and strong walls are no defence against death.

Hans Holbein the Younger, The Rich Man, c.1526, The British Museum, London

The intricate detail, the delicate lines and precision cutting that went into each woodcut is truly incredible.  Holbein designed the images, but another craftsman, Hans Lutzelburger, actually cut the wood to create them.  It may be his signature, HL, that we see on the bottom left of the Duchess picture, carved into the base of the bed [4].

These images were often copied at the time in stained glass windows, murals, carvings and printed books.  We can also see many references in much later works, such as Henry Wallis’ Chatterton, where the smoke of the candle indicates the passing of life from the man on the bed.

Henry Wallis, Chatterton, 1856, Tate Britain, London

Part of this strangely beautiful and intriguing set of woodcuts can be seen in the current exhibition at the National Gallery, Strange Beauty which finishes on 11th May this year.  If you get a chance, go and examine these tiny works of art for yourself.

Alison Barker

Coming next: Have you seen...a Small Sign of Peace?



[1] William M. Ivins, Jr.Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, Vol. 14, No. 11 (Nov., 1919), pp. 231- 235, Hans Holbein’s Dance of Death, p.231
[2] Ibid p.232
[4] William M. Ivins, Jr., 1919,  Hans Holbein’s Dance of Death, p.231