Tag Archives: Northern Renaissance

Konrad Witz, La Peche Miracaleuse/The Miraculous Draught of Fishes, 1444

Konrad Witz, The Miraculous Draught of Fishes, 1444

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.  20180620_115814We 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.



Finding Your Way In: Tips for approaching an artwork you’ve never seen before

One of the things people assume about you when they learn that you’re an art historian (and one of the things that we jokingly say about ourselves!) is that we make brilliant dinner party conversation.  People will throw out their favourite artists (or simply the last one they heard of), and assume that we’re not only familiar with their entire output, but have an insightful and fully-formed opinion on them.  But one of the exciting things about art history, whether you choose to officially study it, or simply indulge a passion for it, is discovering new works of art, artists, and even entire movements you’ve never before encountered.  But this can be a slightly intimidating experience.  It can be difficult to figure your way into a work that feels unfamiliar.  There are however a few things that you can look out for to help you find your way into a new work of art which I’ll be exploring in this new series.  These suggestions are in no way proscriptive, it’s important that you embrace your own response to the work, but if you’re ever stuck when looking at a new work, these tips might be worth bearing in mind.


The artist’s choice of medium can make a huge difference to the overall effect of the artwork.  Often museum labels will help you with this, but it satisfying to be able to identify the materials yourself.  Some are really easy to identify, with oil or watercolours perhaps, but this can sometimes be difficult; often the material of sculpture can be hard to pinpoint.  But with a little practice you start to gain a familiarity with the materials, and build up a knowledge of what they look like and how they’re used.

Once you have an idea of what the material is, it’s worth thinking about the qualities and constraints of that material.  The development of oil painting allowed artists in the Northern Renaissance to create amazingly realistic images, using are fully layered pigments and glazes to bring a vitality to their works unmatched by the frescoes of their Southern cousins.  It is thought that these new paints were created in part in response to the damp climate of the North, which made the plaster-based techniques of Italian artists implausible. Centuries later, the vivid colours of the Impressionists were made possible by the development of new, chemical pigments. The bright yellows and blues seen in so many of their works was made possible by these new pigments.  Their en plain air techniques were also made possible by the invention of tubes of paint, making the materials far more portable.


Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Pont Neuf, 1872

Sculpture is perhaps even more dependent on its materials.  The physical qualities are of key importance, having a fundamental effect on what one would be able to sculpt.  The poor tensile strength of marble is the reason why so many sculptures are supported by ugly props, with bars of the material holding up their arms or legs.  This is why so many Greek gods are leaning against a conveniently positioned tree trunk.  The opposite quality enables the fantastical creations of the sixteenth century, such as Giambologna’s Mercury ( which positively flaunts the tensile strength of bronze with its outstretched limbs.

Giambologna Mercury

Giambologna, Mercury, 1580

The sculpture’s material isn’t just of interest form the point of view of its physical qualities.  Many materials also take on a symbolic quality, or accrue connotations that can impact on the meaning of the finished work.  In his seminal work The Limewood Sculptors of Renaissance Germany, Michael Baxandall explored the way in which cultural associations about limewood came to be attached to the sculptures that were carved from it.  The special, pseudo-magical qualities that folklore attached to the tree itself impacted on how the sculptures were understood by contemporary viewers.  This book also contains Baxandall’s examination of the different woods on a cellular level, and the implications of this for the forms it was sculpted into.  Far later, modern sculptors such as Henry Moore would lead the ‘truth to materials’ movement, which sought to exploit the inherent qualities of the material to create sculpted forms that somehow reflected the nature of the material itself.

Henry Moore REcumbent Figure.jpg

Henry Moore, Recumbent Figure, 1938, image credit

In painting too, materials could gain their own symbolic meanings.  The most famous example of this is the use of lapis lazuli in depictions of the Virgin Mary.  The high cost of the pigment, due to it being imported all the way from Afghanistan, where it still only occurred in relatively small quantities, meant that it came to be seen as appropriate for depicting this holy figure.

The Virgin and Child

Massacio, The Virgin and Child, 1426

The price of the material is thus also worth considering.  While it is obviously often the case that materials are chosen for their expense, they can also be deliberately inexpensive.  For instance, Russian Constructivist artists such as Alexander Rodchenko chose cheap, readily available materials such as plywood, in a deliberate attempt to make their art more accessible, and to strip it of the bourgeois connotations of more conventional materials.  In other cases, the material may be chosen specifically for such connotations.  Mark Quinn’s Alison Lapper Pregnant, created for the Fourth Plinth at Trafalgar Square, made use of Carrara marble (Michelangelo’s David was able made from Carrara marble), placing it in a tradition of nude sculptures dating back through the Renaissance to Roman art, which in turn imitated Greek art. By using this material Quinn makes a bold and positive claim for the beauty and importance of his subject, and forces his viewers to reconsider the negative effects of the bland uniformity of sculpture in the Classical tradition.  Quinn himself commented on his choice of material, ‘Marble is the material used to commemorate heroes, and these people seem to me to be a new kind of hero – people who instead of conquering the outside world have conquered their own inner world and gone on to live fulfilled lives. To me, they celebrate the diversity of humanity. Most monuments are commemorating past events; because Alison is pregnant it’s a sculpture about the future possibilities of humanity’.

Alison Lapper Pregnant

Mark Quinn, Alison Lapper Pregnant, 2005, image credit

So there are lots of aspects to the choice of material in artworks.  These certainly shouldn’t be treated as a tick-list of things to go through, but thinking about material in this way can offer a new perspective on a work of art, and can be an interesting approach to take when you find yourself in front of a brand new (to you, or the world) work of art.



Mark Quin quote excerpted from: http://marcquinn.com/artworks/alison-lapper.

Images unless otherwise stated are sourced from wikicommons.

A Road-Map Through ‘The Madonna of Chancellor Rolin’, by Jan van Eyck, c.1435

Jan van Eyck Chancellor Rolin

Jan van Eyck, The Madonna of Chancellor Rolin, c.1435


Created by the Netherlandish painter for Nicholas Rolin, chancellor to the Dukes of Burgundy, in around 1435, this painting can be seen as a classic of iconography, the attempt to understand a painting’s meaning through interpretation of symbols depicted within it, as complicating rather than simplifying the meaning of a work. Van Eyck seems almost to be deliberately defying out attempts at a definitive interpretation of the painting. The painting teaches us an important lesson: the fact that we can’t make a definitive interpretation doesn’t simply mean we don’t know enough, it is highly likely that this complexity was intended, and would have been acknowledged by contemporary audiences as it has been by modern ones.

Rolin served under the Dukes of Burgundy, known throughout Europe for their lavish court, and ammassed a vast fortune, and we can see possible references to this throughout the painting. The vineyards visiblre in the background may be a reference to the fact that some of the finest wine in Burgundy was produced on land belonging to Rolin. We can also see a church, which may reference a number of different churches which Rolin patronised.

Vineyards and a Church visible in the background behind Rolin

Vineyards and a Church visible in the background behind Rolin

Symbols represting the Deadly Sins have been noted in the deocration of the room in which they sit, such as the gluttony of Noah, plac ed above Rolin’s head, which could be another link to his role in wine production. We also see Pride, in the form of the story of Adam and Eve, as well as Envy, represented by the story of Cain and Abel.

Capitals depicting Biblical stories signifying Sins

Capitals depicting Biblical stories signifying Sins

The rabbits tucked away, crushed, beneath the column behind Rolin may be a reference to the sin of luxuria, or rather the overcoming of such temptations – luxuria was associated with rabbits due to their reputation for fornication.

Interestingly, there was to have been a direct reference to Rolin’s earthly wealth, in the form of a large purse on his belt, but this was painted out of the final piece.

The scene takes place in a loggia or enclosed space, which itself is set within a walled garden. The Virgin is often depicted in such settings, particularly in Annunciation sccenes, so this could suggest that they are occupying a holy space. This type of setting has also been interpreted as a symbol of Mary’s virginity and purity. This was a period when the Immaculate Conception (the idea that St Anne’s conception of Mary was also of divine origin), and Mary’s continued virginity after the birth of Jesus was only recently becoming accepted, and thus it was topical to include symbolic reference to it.

The loggia or enclosed space in which the scene takes place, with low-walled garden behind

The loggia or enclosed space in which the scene takes place, with low-walled garden behind

An ostensibly obvious symbol is the placing of a crown on Mary’s head by an angel. This signifines her position as Queen of Heaven, again a relatively recent development. Marian devotion, and the Cult of Mary, had developed as an important part of popular piety from the thirteenth century onwards, with increasing emphasis being placed on Mary’s role as intercessor between people and God, in a similar but more powerful role to that taken by saints. Painted depictions of the Mary’s coronation as Queen of Heaven were also popular throughout the late-Medieval and Renaissance period. By depicting her in this position, van Eyck references this aspect pf popular devotion.

The coronation of the Virgin taking place within the painting

The coronation of the Virgin taking place within the painting

The setting is luxurious, with richly decorated capitals, fine floor tiles, and Venetian glass in the windows, and the figures clad in a variety of expensive materials. But the symbols we have seen, such as those representing sins (from which Avarice is notably and likely deliberately absent!) reveal the complex relationship between piety and religious beliefs, and the worldly deire to gain wealth, and to some extent to show it off (something that may have been influenced by Rolin’s having been born into a non-aristocratic, bourgeois family, but working in one of the most luxuious courts in Europe). We see in this painting the delicate working out of these ostensibly opposing desires, and the attempt to reconcile the opposing impressions of wealth and personal piety.

Thus we can see that, while symbols can be of great interest, it would be misguided (no pun intended, given my title!) to assume that they give us all the answers, or even that they make interpreting an art work’s meaning any simpler, in fact, the opposite is often the case. Most importantly, it is likely that the opposite was supposed to be the case.