This painting, in Geneva’s Museum of History and Art, is picked out in their guide booklets as one of the 10 masterpieces of the Museum’s collection. It is truly a charming example of the Northern Renaissance interest in using the familiar to bring Biblical stories to life, as well as that attention to naturalistic detail which is striking in so many of the works of Northern European artists in this period. Originally part of an altarpiece, the scene is painted in oils on panel. The scene depicted is most likely the second of two miracles commonly referred to as the miraculous draught. One evening after Jesus’ resurrection, seven of the Disciples go fishing, and catch nothing. Next morning they try again, and once again have no luck. Jesus, who they do not recognise, calls to them from the shore: ‘Friends, haven’t you any fish?’ Hearing that they haven’t, he instructs them to cast their next on the right side of the boat, and they will find some. They do so, and the net is so full of fish that they can hardly lift it. By this miraculous change of fortune John recognises Jesus, and Peter jumps into the water to meet him. The exact number of fish caught is listed as 153, but Witz wisely does not seem to have troubled himself to paint every single one, the gist of the story being much the same whatever the number. He has however carefully chosen to illustrate other identifying aspects of the story: the seven disciples, the net being cast on the right side of the boat, and the dramatic moment when Peter jumps in to meet Jesus, arms outstretched and face bearing an expression of awe.
During this period it was becoming typical for artists to relocate Biblical narratives to local setting. Here Lac Leman stands in for the Sea of Galilee, the mountains in the background recognisable to his viewers. There is some debate as to why this became so popular, but it is easy to see that this gives the images a relatability and an immediacy which would be appealing to viewers. Rather than being distant, geographically and historically, the figures are given contemporary clothing, and situated such that the viewer would almost feel it was a scene they had stumbled upon in their own neighbourhood. In the fifteenth century there was a new focus on the individual’s personal role in securing their religious well-being. Individual prayer become more important, and people were taught to truly engage with religious stories and ideas, rather than being passive receptors of preaching. The rise of the Book of Hours is testament to this, as are the growth of spiritual groups of lay people. This was reflected in the art that was popular in this period, such as the new trend for depicting the Madonna and Child in an average, Netherlandish home. However, as we see here, it could also be seen in landscape settings. The Mountains, the Swiss Flag (already in use, but not of course to represent exactly the same area), the familiar architecture, and the scenes of mercantile activity on the right, all help to position this as a contemporary scene, aiding the viewer’s understanding of and engagement with the Biblical story.
It is not only in what he has chosen to depict that Witz shows us an interest in realism. His attention to accurately depicting smaller details suggest a desire to create a naturalistic image. You get a real sense that he is painting based on observation of the real world. For instance, there is a clear attempt to depict the odd way in which light distorts our view of Peter’s submerged legs. There is also an impressive understanding of reflection, seen in the buildings on the right, but particularly in the reflections of the Disciples in the water alongside the boat. 
We see ripples where the oar has left the water, and the small clusters of bubbles suggest where the water flows quickly amongst the rocks of the shore line. One can’t deny that some aspects are more crude (the grass on the shore is quite simplified), and he is not against an artistic flourish, the rippling folds of the first Disciple are more a demonstration of his skill than serving any other function, or fitting how the wind seems to be behaving in the rest of the scene But overall the effect is one of placing us in the scene, and confronting us with the essence of the story, not distracted by unfamiliar details which would pull us out of it. He seems keen to avoid any elements that would break this effect: the halos for instance, are the slightest of touches, more manipulations of light (again with an almost scientific eye for effects) than anything tangible. It is, all-in-all a highly impressive work, pleasing in its realism, but also capturing and embodying the religious preoccupations of its time.
is set in a dense thicket, while we see a city in the background, perhaps where the Mars figure should be, attending his duties. The tree Mars leans against is also noticeably stunted, with its branches chopped off, with rotten stumps in their place (I would not encourage my readers to interpret this too literally), suggesting a state of ill-health, or lack of attention to good care. The painting thus both acts as a warning to its males viewers, and as an expression of male anxiety in the face of female sexuality and power. Far from a calming and benevolent bringer of peace, this Venus is depicted as, be it through evil design or not, depriving Mars of his ‘manly’ power and sense of responsibility.
nd again adds to the sense of reverence, placing the Virgin and Child just beyond our reach. The architectural elements such as the throne both follow the perspective, and offer a sense of realistic familiarity. The use of Corinthian and composite capitals recreates recognisable architectural details from the city of Pisa itself, giving the viewers a sense that the Virgin and Child are somehow in an Italian setting.
the Infant, it brings a sense of dramatic irony to the painting, with the viewing seeing the baby foreshadowing the sacrifice of the adult. The emphasis placed on Christ’s fingers, particularly those he playfully chews or sucks, brings to mind the blessing gesture, and with it Christ’s teaching and works prior to the Passion. Thus the child prefigures or foreshadows the life and works of the grown Christ. The words of Mary’s halo are from the Ave Maria, the Hail Mary hymn, thus emphasising the Virgin’s spiritual significance, and connecting her with this image of Christ. Not only is she pictured as the mother of Christ, but the reference to this hymn highlights her intercessional role – the painting’s viewers would be reminded to pray to her to intervene on their behalf in the Court of Heaven. This was one of the main reasons the Cult of the Virgin became so popular, because Mary was thought to have this intercessional power, potentially reducing the time the individual human soul would have to spend in Purgatory, so it is interesting to see how Masaccio has linked these two developing religious tendencies, the humanity of Christ, and the power of the Virgin. To further highlight the Virgin’s importance, Masaccio has used the by then accepted move of using rich blue, made from lapis lazuli, for her mantle. This stone, found in Afghanistan, was hugely expensive, due to its relative rarity and the distance it had to travel, so came to be seen as the appropriate colour for a figure of such high spiritual significance as the Virgin Mary.
My family have been holidaying on the coast of Exmoor every year for nearly a decade now, and we still find new and fascinating things to see and places to visit. One such site is this marvelous church, St Dubricius, in Porlock. We frequently drive through the village or Porlock to get to its even smaller neighbour, the harbour village of Porlock Weir, but it was only on our last trip that we stopped in Porlock itself, with the express purpose of making a visit to this unusually dedicated and oddly-spired church.
St Dubricius was a sixth century Celt, born in the Kingdom of Ergin, and became a highly influential scholar in the areas around Herefordshire, Brecon, and Glamorgan. His Welsh name is Dyffrig, and it was to Wales, and the Cathedral of Llandaff, that his remains were brought on the 23rd May 1120 (he of course died some time earlier!), having lived out his last days as a hermit on the island of Bardsley, where he retired having set up a school at Henlland (Hentland) on the Wye, and a monastic college at Llanfrawthir (Llanwith Major). It might seem odd that this church in Somerset should be dedicated to a saint who spent most of his life in Wales, but it is thought that he may have passed through Porlock on his travels, possibly even founding an earlier incarnation of the current church. Our modern, Rome-centric view of pre-Reformation Christianity also distracts us from the fact that Christianity came to the West Country via Wales, from Ireland, so a Welsh facing, as it were, church is quite understandable, and indeed common in this region.
The most striking quality of the exterior of the church is its bizarrely truncated spire. The majority of the body of the current church dates from some time between 1180 and 1280, but the tower itself may have elements from earlier than this. The spire itself is likely thirteenth century, and is covered with oak shales, giving it a pleasingly Scandinavian feel. The truncation itself is thought to not be by design, but rather the result of damage inflicted by the Great Gale of 1703. This seems to have been left, without any attempt to add a point to the spire again. Considerable work was done to the church in the fifteenth century, which was also when the fine polychrome chapel was added (which I believe was the Harrington Chantry Chapel – see below), a slightly odd decorative addition to the otherwise sturdy and robust façade.
The substantial porch now contains one of a pair of tombs left by the Will of Alive Hensley, in 1527. Carved in nearby Dunster, the tomb in the porch commemorates her and her mother, while the other to the left of the altar, commemorates the burial place of her 
husband, who, according to the aforementioned will, died in Porlock. These are two of the several noteworthy tombs in the church. The south aisle contains a monument to a knight, likely of the thirteenth century, locally called the ‘Crusader’, due to his cross-footed pose. It is locally thought to represent Sit Simon Fitz-Roges, who 
died in 1306, and whose family held the manor of Porlock. It has clearly suffered some alterations; the recess in which it sits is probably fourteenth century, and made for a different figure, and in order to fit the knight effigy into it at a later date, he has suffered the indignity of having his feet cut off.
The other tomb, which alone would make the church well worth a visit, commemorates John, 4th Lord Harrington, and his wife Elizabeth Courtenay. This impressive alabaster memorial contains two finely carved figures, of a standard worthy of a cathedral, let alone this small country parish church. In his will Lord Harrington left instructions for a chantry to be set up, with two associated priests. In this pre-Reformation period this was commonplace amongst the aristocracy and those who could afford it. The priests would say masses for the deceased founder’s soul (and any other specified in his will, deceased or still living, probably including past and present members of his family, his children, and such), in order to reduce the soul’s time spent in Purgatory. The founder would have left money not only to pay for the building of the chapel, but also to pay the priests to perform these masses. In some cases this may have involved promising them, say, the rent from certain properties or land, as well as simpler sums of money. The memorial is no longer in its original position, as it would have been in the chantry itself. Nothing was done to act on Harrington’s will until 1474, about three years after the death of his widow Elizabeth. He himself had died in 1417, on expedition in France with Henry V. The monument probably dates from 1474 or thereabouts. The priests were usually chosen from the nearby Cleeve Abbey (on which I will probably write a blog post), and lived in what is at least now called Chantry Cottage, which stands next to the church wall. Though
the memorial has lost the polychromy and gilding which would have made it even more spectacular many beautifully carved details remain, including Lord Harrington’s garland of roses and leaves, and the ornate netting of Elizabeth’s hairpiece. The stiff folds of her dress make little attempt to imitate a real lying figure, looking more like the deep flutes of a column, but they pleasingly fold to demonstrate the presence of her pointed feet, in line with the armour clad feet of her husband. Both their heads lie on cushions supported by angels. It is thought that the canopy above them, with its dense tracery patterns, is slightly later in date than the figures themselves, perhaps suggestive of even further delays in the creation of the chantry and its monument.
