I’ve never been big on Halloween. I’m more of a Christmas person, but Halloween is an opportunity to explore some of the creepiest Baroque art I can think of. Trust me, I’m sure there are spookier examples in Baroque than the following, but the work of Juan de Valdes Leal was the first artist to pop into my head. I also found a neat little church in Italy called the Chiesa dei Morti, or The Church of the Dead on Google. I know nothing about this church apart from what Atlas Obscura says about it… but it was definitely the creepiest thing I’ve seen today, so it deserves mention. Both of the works that I’ll briefly explore today are memento moris, or reminders that we will all die.

Juan de Valdes Leal, Finis Gloriae Mundi, c. 1671-2.

Juan de Valdes Leal painted Finis Gloriae Mundi as a pair with In Ictu Oculi for the Hospital of Charity in Seville. The first thing that jumped out at me was the eerie way he painted the skeletons. They’re almost too happy to be dead. Finis Gloriae Mundi, or The End of Worldly Glories is a vanitas meditation on the inevitability of death. In the foreground is a bishop skeleton, fully regaled. (I’m going to be non-academic for a moment and just say that the bishop creeps me out!) Near him is a nearly skeletal body – a figure dressed as a knight of Calatrava, possibly the patron himself. The three skeletons depicted refer to the medieval legend of the 3 living and the 3 dead. The 3 living come upon 3 skeletons who present them with the riddle, “What you are we were, what we are you will become.” Eerie. Can you figure out what it means? It’s clever and fairly self-explanatory.

At the top of the work, there is a hand holding a balance scale. The two trays of the balance are labeled in Spanish: Nimas & Nimenos, or Neither More Nor Less. Nimas, at left, weighs animals that represent the deadly sins: a peacock for vanity, a dog for anger, a goat for avarice/greed, a monkey for lust, a hog for gluttony, a sloth for laziness (or sloth, ha, ha, ha), and a bat perched on a human heart for envy. “Nothing more [than these] is needed for damnation.” In contrast, the Nimenos scale, at right, contains objects of penitence and mortification. A harp monogram for Jesus’ name is most easily seen, but the scale also holds a scourge, nails, shirt made of hair, (holy) books, and a rosary. These are the physical objects of salvation: “Nothing more is needed to be saved than what’s here.”

Our patron, Miguel de Manejara, was obsessed with death after he converted to Catholicism. In his 1671 book about his devotional life, he writes:

Juan de Valdes Leal, In Ictu Oculi, c. 1671-2.

Finis Gloriae Mundi and In Ictu Oculi were the first paintings you’d see as you walked into the hospital. In Ictu Oculi, or In the Blink of an Eye, is also a vanitas painting, a visual commentary on the shortness of life. Worldly jewels are shown strewn about the canvas: crowns, gold, swords, books. (An interesting side note: Scholars have identified what the books are.) The painting represents the ephemeral nature of earthly accomplishments, including the Papacy! Leal depicted the Papal cross & Papal tiara on the marble tomb in the center of the piece. They are two of several riches piled on the tomb. Other objects of desire shown include textiles, armor, jewels, swords – signifiers of worldly power. The skeleton rests his foot on the globe at the bottom right, perhaps signifying that death has its shadowy hold on the entire world. The painting, a pyramid composition, culminates with the skeleton’s hand, which is snuffing out the flame of a candle (life) “in the twinkling of an eye,” as the inscription directly above his long, bone-y hand tells us. The message? Be on your guard. Wordly treasures, possessions, and accomplishments will not matter in the face of eternity.

Chiesa dei Morti, Urbino, Italy.

A more harrowing reminder of death lies in the Chiesa die Morti, or the Church of the Dead, in Urbino, Italy. It boasts eighteen mummies from the mid-19th century. According to Atlas Obscura, “a tour guide will be able to tell you how each of the mummies passed away.”

I’m sorry that this video is in Italian, but it has some great shots of the church and, if you understand Italian, it’s informative!

Chiesa dei Morti, Urbino, Italy.

Happy Halloween! Keep eternity in mind.

Tags: Death, Halloween, Memento Mori, Spanish Baroque

I want to preface today’s discussion by noting that I’ve included El Greco in this series on Spanish Baroque because, in Spain, he is the link between “mannerism” and the “true Baroque” style. He combined mannerist forms with Baroque drama.  Just as other Baroque artists chose to work mostly in Madrid or Seville, El Greco’s city of choice was Toledo. He rose to fame there and as his career progressed, his work became more abstract. His art followed the edicts of the Council of Trent. Catholic art should insight devotion, involve the viewer, and be didactic. This stood in stark contrast to Protestants, for whom the written word was the most powerful, behavior-altering tool. El Greco’s art also placed high value on the mystic or visionary experience, as we saw yesterday.

Today we’ll look at El Greco’s El Espolio (1577-1579). El Espolio, or The Disrobing of Christ, was appropriately hung in the room where priests get dressed before mass. We don’t see the Disrobing very often in Western art, perhaps for the sake of modesty. In any case, this scene is taken from Christ’s Passion. The Roman guards disrobe him and eventually fight over who gets his clothes.

El Greco, El Espolio (or The Disrobing of Christ), 1577-79.

In the foreground, a carpenter is putting finishing touches on the cross, an allusion to Christ’s upcoming crucifixion. Christ’s upturned face and the heavenly light beaming down on him can be read as alluding to his resurrection. Despite the crowd, Christ seems alone and in quiet conversation with the Father in heaven. He is the focal point of the image and wears the strongest color, red, which symbolized blood and royalty. El Greco’s use of red separates Christ from the rest of the crowd, which are all in the same grayish blue palette.

The men torturing and pulling at Christ’s robes are animalistic and subhuman, reveling in violence and in disgracing Christ. Not everyone in the painting are displayed as animals. The two thieves that were crucified with Christ are also present, naked, and can be seen to the left and right of Christ. Their nakedness suggests their repentant humility. The remaining figures behind the torturers and thieves look normally human and may represent hope for humanity.

In accordance with St. Bonaventure’s textual description of this event, the three Marys are present (Mary, mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and Mary, mother of James). This caused a stir with the monks, who found the painting to be immodest because the three Marys would not be actually present at an event where a man, indeed a deity, was being stripped naked. It was also held in contempt because the heads of the crowd are higher than Christ’s head. Despite these objections, the painting stayed in its intended place.

Tags: Art History, Church, Counter Reformation, El Greco, Iconography, Jesus, Sacred Art, Spain, Spanish Baroque Series

This week in the Spanish Baroque series will be a little different. We’re going to take a look at the art of El Greco. Today, we’ll examine his Burial of the Count of Orgaz. I will try to post a different El Greco work each day of the week.

I wanted to start with the Burial first even though at this point El Greco was in the middle of his career. It made a profound impression on me when I saw it for the first time in high school. I get light-headed looking at it and can only imagine that to survive seeing it in person, one would need to sit down or kneel because of the work’s imposing magnitude. Keeling may be the appropriate response – the painting rests 22 feet above ground-level. I believe it is El Greco’s masterpiece because it encapsulates the essence of the Catholic faith in seventeenth century Western Europe. It addresses an extraordinary visionary event and has multiple layers of meaning. I hope I can do it justice here and because I enjoy the painting so much, I’m only partially sorry that this week will not hold true to the “short” aspect of this series.

El Greco, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, 1586. Enlarged here.

The Burial of the Count of Orgaz is housed in Santo Tomé in Toledo. At 15 feet tall, it is larger than life. The scale is appropriate to the painting’s iconography, which is an eerie visual representation of the funeral of a pious Spanish Knight, the Count of Orgaz. He died in 1312 and left his considerable wealth to Santo Tomé. His funeral was a supernatural event. Legend has it that Saint Stephen, the first Christian martyr, and Saint Augustine descended from the heavens and buried the Count with their own holy hands. El Greco knew the legend from texts that discussed the Count’s death.

In Visionary Experience in the Golden Age of Spanish Spanish Art, Victor Stoichita discusses several important aspects of the visionary, such as this burial scene and the mystical paintings we looked at last week, made real through visual expression.

• First, visions and paintings are comparable because paintings make internal events real and able to be experienced by all. “What is the point of comparing vision and painting if, in fact, they have nothing in common? The answer is this: to compare what is incomparable is a means of communicating the incommunicable” (47).
• Second, paintings of visions – and visions themselves – represent a paradox. They are “both interior and exterior, real and imagined” (59).
• Third, representing visions well poses dangers to Catholic piety: “Painting can induce a gratifying deception and deceptive amazement in the intellect, by making us believe that the feigned is real” (68). In other words, well painted representations of the visionary run the risk of pious viewers giving more attention and loyalty to the object of the painting itself, rather than what the painting represents.
• Fourth, another paradox: these visions can assist the viewer in reaching the same level of theopany (the presence of God) that the initial saint had, so well painted art has the power to distract and to aid (75).

How does El Greco render the supernatural event that occurred at the Count’s funeral? Through scale, his trademark exaggerated figures, and a tiered composition. The composition is brilliant. It’s incredibly complex with a million things happening and being revealed to the viewer at the same time. Each horizontal half of the painting is large enough and composed independently of the other half so that it could potentially be its own painting. The painting is an interactive exercise in movement and experience. To keep up with the pace of the heavenly realm, the viewer’s eyes are constantly moving. The funerary portion is much more somber, but  there are visual cues that move our eyes across the composition. The heavenly and earthly realms are combined through

• Christ’s downcast eyes that lead us straight to the Count of Orgaz
• An angel’s foot and flowing golden fabric, which connect the two realms
• The priest’s heavenward eyes, which draw us back up to the source of this miracle (Christ).

El Greco, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, top portion. Large version here.

In the top portion of the Burial, the heavenly realms have opened. At center is Christ, who watches over the funeral events in the lower realm. To his left are Mary and Peter and to his right is John the Baptist. El Greco depicted an army of holy patriarchs and saints in the heavenly realm, among them King David, Mary Magdalene, and, surprise, the Spanish King Philip II who is still very much alive!  Saints Stephen and Augustine have already descended and are tending to the Count’s body.  As a Catholic, the Count will soon join the ghostly heavens and be counted among the saints. His soul, depicted as a baby, seems to be being lifted up to heaven by the angel that joins the two realms.

El Greco, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, bottom portion. Large version here.

When the viewer’s eye reaches the lower portion of the painting, the difference is jolting. The ethereal and phantom-like celestial realm has given way to a somber and dark affair. Several saints are present, including Saints Stephen and Augustine, who are burying the Count in the center of the composition, and saints Francis and Anthony. Members of the brotherhood of Santiago are also in attendance, identified by the red crosses on their clothing. In the heavens, space wasn’t an issue: everyone and everything ran into each other in a wraith-like manner. The earthly realm has restricted and orderly space. Figures are differentiated and individualized. The foreground space is reserved for the man of honor, the Count. The three-figure mini-scene is reminiscent of traditional depictions of the Entombment of  Christ. The saints take care in handling  the Count’s body. Several members in the audience have their eyes or hands lifted heavenward. In this way, the heavenly realm and indeed the whole event can be considered to be “both interior and exterior, real and imagined.” Not every person in the audience seems to be aware of the heavenly realm that has revealed itself above them. Certainly, most are watching the supernatural burial with fascination and subtle sorrow, but still some don’t look to the scene at all. Each of the men painted in the bottom half of the Burial are members of high society, their likenesses now preserved in paint and connected with this mysterious event forever. No one is frightened in the presence of death, perhaps because death paradoxically comforting.

El Greco, The Burial of the Count of Orgaz, burial detail.

The Burial preserves the supernatural funeral of the Count of Orgaz and serves as a visual didactic aid. On another level, it visually assists viewers in contemplating the glorious rewards that await the faithful. The viewer is swept up into the heavens, into the wonders of their imaginations, left to marvel at what the heavens could be like. The answer lies with El Greco’s ghostly saints: the heavens are too marvelous to be depicted so much so that the human mind cannot fathom them enough to depict them in a way that makes sense. The artist must rely on light, abstraction and liquid-like movement across the composition to portray even the slightest notion of heaven. After all, God “performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted”¹ and

And so it was with the Count of Orgaz.

¹Job 5:9
²The Catechism of the Council of Trent, trans. Theodore Alois Buckley. 1852.

Tags: Art History, Catholic, Church, Death, El Greco, Experience, Mysticism, Sacred Art, Spain, Spanish Baroque Series, Visions

As I’m sure you are all aware, Steve Jobs died yesterday. The world lost a truly brilliant man. He deserves attention here, because his creativity and innovations were integral to my personal and academic life.

A smiling Steve Jobs introduces the iPhone.

Growing up, I would gather around the family computer with my parents and watch every WWDC. At one point in my life, when I wanted to major in computer science, it was my greatest dream to attend WWDC. I loved Steve’s ingenuity and simple approach when he would explain his products. I cheered with the audience and marveled at Apple’s marriage of minimalist design with groundbreaking technology. His trademark turtleneck and jeans made me feel like he was just an old friend, explaining new developments to me using gorgeous displays, humor, and suspenseful pauses. I was always on the edge of my seat when he readied himself to click to the next slide, unveiling something new. My parents and I would guess what the next big Apple product was. We undershot every time. Who can guess what will spring from the mind of a genius?

I was in high school when I got my first iBook. I think I cried when I turned it on and saw the glossy, gorgeous screen light up for the first time. I owned an iBook. And yet, that was part of the beauty of Steve Jobs’ products. Anyone could use them. They were centered around community – sharing ideas, photos, and video with the people most important to you (or your business). That iBook served me faithfully during the remainder of my high school years through the first two years of college.

In 2008, I upgraded to my current laptop, a black MacBook. It’s been through a lot. I took it to Italy on a three week trip. It almost got soaked by a flash rainstorm in Florence. I used it to type up notes, record lectures, and write all my papers. It was on this laptop that I wrote my thesis and started this website. It has everything important to my personal and academic life: all my school notes and papers, every single photo I’ve taken or received since 2008, 15 GB of music, every email since 2008, and hundreds of iPhone apps.

Along with my iPhone, my MacBook inspired me to think creatively. These products’ displays are so simple and beautiful yet at the same time, they represent a huge leap forward in technology. How could I do that in my writing? In art historical analyses? One of the big problems with art historians who employ modern forms of analysis is that their theses and conclusions tend to be convoluted and stray from “art”, “history” or both! I didn’t want that to be the case with my writing. Steve Jobs’ innovations and design reminded me to stay simple and distraction-free.

A little over a year ago, I started working at an architecture firm. This isn’t my ideal job and for a long time, I resented not being directly involved in academia. Then I read something Steve Jobs had said in a 2005 Stanford University commencement speech:

I spent some time thinking about what that meant for me. I realized that I didn’t need to be enrolled in a university to keep up with current scholarship and explore art history further. I didn’t need “permission” from an institution to continue with what I loved.  I was determined to do what I love no matter what. And so, in May 2011, I started this website. It’s been an incredible journey so far. Sometimes I get discouraged, but I keep thinking back to Steve Jobs’ advice: Don’t settle. Steve didn’t settle, and with time he rightfully became the most revered innovator in the world.

Steve Jobs, thank you. Thank you for your entertaining and magical keynotes. Thank you for not compromising your ideas and for giving the world products that inspire and make users exhale with an awe-filled “Ooooh” and joyous applause. Thank you for giving value to community and simplicity. Thank you for getting me through high school, college, and the real world. I couldn’t have done it without the iPod, iBook, and iPhone. You were a fearless leader and inventor who changed the face of business, technology, and community forever. You will be remembered far longer than the company you created.

Hello/Goodbye by Ben Hughes.

Tags: Apple, College, iBook, iPhone, iPod, Personal, Steve Jobs