This blogpost provides yet another detail from the glorious late-medieval choir benches in Erfurt cathedral. The scene itself is familiar from the corpus of Latin medieval art, namely the duel between to figures who are not knights, yet behave as if they were. This motif appears in various media, not only carved in wood but also drawn in manuscript illuminations. While I do not know how exactly to read this motif, it appears to be a variant of the reversion of the world, by which the roles, customs and ideals of the real world are turned upside-down and inside-out. We see women fighting instead of men, we see, possibly, a funnel being used as a helmet, and we see a hog being used as a rider. Perhaps we should also understand the landscape, the branches of a grapevine, as a contrast to the field of battle where tournaments normally are held.
This detail from one of the bench-ends in Erfurt cathedral provide an excellent example of the masterful carvings made my medieval artists, and reminds us that the medieval visual world was immensely rich in detail and content.
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!
- And did those feet, William Blake
onsdag 26. april 2023
Battle in the bench-end - a glimpse from Erfurt cathedral
søndag 23. april 2023
Saint George in Skive
Today, April 23, is the feast of Saint George, a saint with whom I am particularly fascinated, and about whom I have already written several blogposts (see below). Due to the widespread popularity of Saint George in the later Middle Ages, there are several depictions and narrations of his legend - in text and image - which survive from Latin Christendom. In this cultural geography, Latin Christendom, the figure of Saint George became increasingly well known in the course of the twelfth century, possibly because his legend made it possible for him to be reactualised and reimagined as a chivalric figure. This hypothesis is supported by the shift from illuminations focusing on his elaborate and gruesome passion narrative to his victory over the dragon. From the fourteenth century onwards, however, the popularity of Saint George skyrocketed thanks to two converging and related factors: The popularity and accessibility of Legenda Aurea, through which the legend was disseminated more broadly and to new audiences, and Saint George's inclusion among the fourteen holy helpers, a group of saints with changeable configuration which emerged in Germany.
For this year's feast of Saint George, I present you with one depiction which, as I argue in a forthcoming article, is a consequence of impulses from both Legenda Aurea and German religious trends. The depiction in question comes from the Church of Our Lady in Skive, a church from c.1200 and decorated with an extensive programme of wall-paintings in 1522.
The image in question is found in a section of one of the vaults in the nave of the church. In these vaults, saints are predominantly depicted in pairs, and Saint George is shown together with Saint Knud Dux (also known as Saint Knud Lavard). The depiction of Saint George is both typical and untypical at the same time. Since the saint is shown as emerging from a flower - as are almost all the other saints, with the curious exception of Erasmus - the choreography of the scene is different, as there is no horse, and George wields a sword rather than a lance. The position of the saint above the dragon, however, and the saint wearing contemporary armour, are both common features. Interestingly, since Saint George emerges from a flower, the artist has taken the opportunity to increase the drama of their encounter by making the dragon tangle his tail around the stem of the flower, thereby seeking to topple his antagonist.
The wall-paintings at Skive are intriguing, both for their variety, their typicality, and their untypicality. There are still several questions that remain to be answered, and even more questions that will never be answered in a fully satisfactory way. For instance, we do not know why Saint George is paired with Saint Knud Dux. The number of such details and the various possible interpretations mean that we scholars will continue to grind our brains against the wall-paintings in Skive for generations to come, and that's part of the fun of it.
Similar blogposts concerning Saint George
Saint George and Saint Edward the Confessor in comparison
Saint George in Odense
Saint George in the Old English Martyrology
Saint Alexandria, the martyr-queen
Saint George in Ribe
The changing iconography of Saint George
Saint George at Sanderum
Similar blogposts concerning Skive Church
Saint Martin in Skive
Saint Olaf in late-medieval Denmark
Saint Thomas of Canterbury in Skive
Saint Servatius in Skive
lørdag 22. april 2023
Saint Catherine of Alexandria in Erfurt cathedral
Earlier this week I spent a few days in Erfurt, Germany, for a conference. It is one of the most beautiful cities I have visited, and I left rich with impressions and a desire to return at the first opportunity. While I still need to read more about the city to be able to provide lengthy blogposts of all the things I encountered there, I will provide a few glimpses of particularly noteworthy details from the many important historical buildings or the cityscape.
The first glimpse is of this bench end in the choir of Erfurt cathedral, carved sometime in the late Middle Ages, these choir benches are covered in figures and scenes that both speak of high quality craftship and the florid medieval imagination. This bench end was of particular interest to me, in part because it depicts Saint Catherine of Alexandria - recognisable by her wheel by which she was threatened to be tortured - who is a saint I always appreciate encountering. Secondly, this bench-end intrigues me because of the squirrels running along the sides of Saint Catherine. Squirrels are not necessarily rare in medieval art, but this might be the first time I have seen them in the context of choir benches, and they make for a lovely contrast to the pairs of wyverns at the top and the bottom.
tirsdag 11. april 2023
The Resurrection in Ål stave church
As we have now entered the paschal week, I give you a short blogpost containing one of the most exquisite pieces of Norwegian medieval church art, namely the resurrection of Christ from Ål stave church in Hallingdal. The resurrection scene is part of a larger biblical cycle from the thirteenth century, painted on the inside of the wooden ciborium. The depiction follows wider iconographic traditions in Latin Christendom, which shows that Norwegian artists were familiar with impulses outside of Norway.
The painted ciborium is currently housed in the Museum of Cultural History in Oslo. Unfortunately, Ål stave church was torn down in 1880, but the cycle of wall-paintings has fortunately survived. The entire cycle can be seen here.
fredag 31. mars 2023
The poem I just wrote - a poem by Joy Harjo
For the end of a long and intense month where breaks and pauses have been few and far between, I give you a short and beautiful poem by Joy Harjo, from her collection She had some horses (1983).
The poem I just wrote
The poem I just wrote is not real.
And neither is the black horse
who is grazing on my belly.
And neither are the ghosts
of old lovers who smile at me
from the jukebox.
mandag 27. mars 2023
The violence of Peter Wilkins - violence and Utopia in an eighteenth-century novel
For years I have been fascinated with Utopian fiction, i.e., stores that depict ideal societies, usually serving as a form of contemporary social commentary. In what we might call self-labelled Utopian fiction – that is fiction directly or indirectly inspired by Thomas More’s novel Utopia and thereby written after its publication in 1516 – the key recognisable elements of such societies are often well developed and used in a variety of different ways. However, similar forms of social commentary through imaginary places are found in abundance prior to More’s novel, and to fully understand the genre of Utopian fiction and its many complex components, it is often necessary to cast a very broad chronological net to see how the invention of, or reflections on, non-existent places function within a given discourse. I am currently dedicating some time to this kind of literature, and I hope to be able to develop my thoughts on various subjects pertaining to Utopian societies in the coming months.
Recently, I finished reading one such Utopian novel, published in 1751, namely The Life and Adventures of Peter Wilkins by Robert Paltock. The novel describes the eponymous protagonist’s journey from England to Africa and onwards to a land far to the south, in which he encounters a country of winged humans. Through his familiarity with metal and firearms – above all cannons salvaged from the ship on which he arrived – Peter Wilkins aids the king of the flying people to quell a rebellion and once more unite the vast kingdom. Desirous to spread Christianity and abolish slavery, Wilkins reforms the society of the kingdom, and continues to extend the territory of the king right to the very edge of the continent (which is the hypothesised southern land which was not yet documented by 1751). The novel is a troubling mix of imperialism, evangelism and abolitionism which really captures the complexities of eighteenth-century discourse, and provides an interesting and worthwhile read.
For my current purposes, my main interest in The Life and Adventures of Peter Wilkins is the function of violence in the making and sustaining of the Utopian society. The aspect of violence is an integral part of many Utopian stories, and violence serves different functions in how the ideal society is understood. In some cases, an ideal society is marked by the absence of violence, in other cases the ideal society is brought about through violence, and in yet other cases the ideal society is sustained by violence. Not infrequently, violence serves both a creating and a maintaining function in a Utopia. (I have written on the role of violence in Utopian societies in this blogpost.)
The case of The Life and Adventures of Peter Wilkins is somewhat peculiar, because it belongs to a particular sub-genre of the Utopian story that combines elements of the Robinsonade. In other words, the plot of the novel revolves around one – sometimes more – individuals shipwrecked and cast ashore in a strange and unknown country, whose society is in many ways radically different from their own. Such stories differ from the general plot of Thomas More’s Utopia, in which the reader receives a travelogue from a traveller who has arrived at the ideal society and then left it without any trouble or hindrance. The style of the travelogue renders the story more descriptive, and the polemical edge of this description is perhaps sharper in other, more adventure-like stories.
Perhaps the most significant aspect of Utopian stories that employ elements of the Robinsonade is that like Robison Crusoe his island, so the protagonists of these stories often employ their technological knowledge and/or political precepts from their native countries to transform Utopia. In some such cases, the Utopia in question might be an ideal society that is destroyed by the application of the protagonist’s programme, perhaps most famously in Ludvig Holberg’s Niels Klim’s Undeground Travels. In other Robinsonade-cum-Utopian stories, it is the protagonist who creates the ideal society by transforming the Utopia – the no-place or imagined place – in accordance with their principles and their ambitions. The Life and Adventures of Peter Wilkins belongs to the latter category.
lørdag 25. mars 2023
The Madonna of Enebakk Church
Today is the feast of the Annunciation, and to mark this feast I present you, briefly and succinctly, with this Madonna with the Christ-child from the Church of Enebakk in Akershus, Eastern Norway. The sculpture was one gloriously painted, and traces of red can still be seen on Mary's dress. It is most likely form Norway, and is roughly dated to the period c.1230-c.1250. It is a testament to the notably high level of woodcraft in thirteenth-century Norway, and one among several Madonna sculptures that survive from the period.
The sculpture is currently housed at the Museum of Cultural History in Oslo, but is currently in storage awaiting the reopening of the museum's medieval exhibition. Its former house, Enebakk Church, is a surviving structure from the medieval period. At the time of writing, I have not yet been there, but I hope to have a chance to visit soon.
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