Now that I have written about Albrecht Dürer’s Life of the Virgin, I became intrigued by another of his most famous works, the Apocalypse. I occasionally encounter woodcut prints from this series in exhibitions, and they have always struck me as unsettling and mysterious. Images of four horsemen, a book with seven seals, Babylon and its whore, the end of days, and the last judgement raise an obvious question: what is all this about?
It sounds dark and frightening, and in many ways it is. I learned that Dürer based his Apocalypse series on the final book of the New Testament, the Book of Revelation. That discovery led me to ask who wrote this text and why it speaks in such extreme images.
What John records are visions revealed to him during his exile on Patmos, visions of catastrophe, judgement, but also renewal. Reading them today, it is striking how closely they echo our own time. Climate change, environmental destruction, authoritarian power, war, famine, and corruption all appear in the Book of Revelation. Born from exile and persecution, the text reads less like a theological work and more like a warning that continues to speak to the present.
I also discovered where Patmos is, a small Greek island at the far eastern edge of the Mediterranean Sea. Now I find myself wanting to go there, to spend time in contemplation, and perhaps to recover a sense of hope in these dark and uncertain times.
Albrecht Dürer’s Apocalypse series consists of fifteen woodcut prints, published in 1498, just a few years before the year 1500, a moment charged with fear and expectation that many believed could mark the end of days foretold in the Book of Revelation. From this series, I will focus on four key images: John put in a pot of boiling oil, the Four Horsemen, the Whore of Babylon, and the Apocalyptic Woman.
Alongside Dürer’s prints, I will also include medieval Apocalypse manuscripts from the centuries before him. Images from these books were widely familiar in the Middle Ages, and Dürer clearly builds upon this tradition while transforming it through the power of print, which made such images available to a far wider public.
We begin by asking what the Book of Revelation is and who its author was, a figure known as John on Patmos. We will follow John’s path into exile and ask how and why he ended up on Patmos, far to the east in the Mediterranean Sea, where his visions were revealed.
The Book of Revelation is the final book of the New Testament, written in the late first century by John of Patmos, traditionally identified with John the Evangelist. Composed as a series of visions revealed to its author, it describes the Apocalypse, from the Greek word ἀποκάλυψις, literally meaning “an uncovering” or “a lifting of the veil”, rather than the end of the world alone. The book’s name in Dutch is Openbaring.
John, exiled to the island of Patmos during the reign of the Roman emperor Domitian, recounts a vision revealed to him by an angel and commanded to be made known. Written at the far eastern edge of the Roman Empire in the late first century and addressed to persecuted Christian communities, the text speaks in a language of terror and hope, warning and consolation.
Why is John on Patmos?
According to early Christian tradition, John was arrested during the reign of the emperor Domitian and brought to Rome, where he was condemned for his faith. Medieval sources recount that he was subjected to martyrdom by immersion in boiling oil, an ordeal from which he emerged unharmed, a sign of divine protection. Dürer’s print visualizes this moment of failed execution, emphasizing both the brutality of Roman authority and the impossibility of silencing the witness.
Unable to destroy him, the emperor instead ordered John into exile. He was banished to the small island of Patmos, at the far eastern edge of the Roman Empire, a place used for political and religious dissidents rather than common criminals. It is there, removed from centers of power yet still under imperial control, that John received the visions recorded in the Book of Revelation, transforming an act of punishment into a moment of revelation.
John’s vision begins with a throne set in heaven. In the hand of the one seated on the throne lies a sealed book, which only the lamb is worthy to open, the lamb being the symbol of Christ, slain and offered through his crucifixion. With the breaking of the seven seals, history itself is set in motion.
The opening of the seals unleashes four horsemen, bringers of conquest, war, famine, and death. Earthquakes follow, the sun is darkened, and the moon turns to blood. Trumpets sound, and the world is struck by fire, pestilence, darkness, and monstrous plagues. These are not random disasters, but signs of a world unraveling under tyranny, violence, and corruption.
Towards the end of the Book of Revelation, after disasters followed by judgment, comes renewal. Evil is bound, the dead are raised, and a new world is revealed, a luminous city of jasper walls and golden streets, where suffering has no place and history reaches its long promised end.
The Four Horsemen
In The Four Horsemen, the most famous woodcut from his Apocalypse series of 1498, Albrecht Dürer gives visual form to one of the most terrifying passages of the Book of Revelation. As the Lamb opens the first four seals of the sealed book, four riders are released upon the world, each mounted on a horse and entrusted with a destructive force that shapes human history.
Earlier illustrated Bibles often presented the horsemen as isolated figures or symbolic types. Dürer transforms the vision into an overwhelming surge of movement. The four horses and riders thunder diagonally across the image, compressed into a single, unstoppable wave that tramples everything beneath them. Death leads the charge, followed by Famine, War, and Conquest, their forms overlapping and interlocking so tightly that they appear as a single force rather than four separate agents.
Each rider carries a distinct attribute drawn from the biblical text. Number one bears a bow and crown, associated with conquest and domination. The second one raises a sword, bringing war and the collapse of peace. The third horseman holds a pair of scales, symbol of famine, scarcity, and economic imbalance. The final rider, Death, carries no emblem at all. His power is absolute and needs no sign. On Dürer’s woodblock print, human bodies are crushed beneath the horses, while a monstrous jaw gapes open to swallow the fallen (a bishop in particular), a reminder that violence, hunger, and disease spare no one.
The print does not present disaster as random or meaningless. The horsemen are released only after the seals are opened, suggesting that destruction follows from human history itself, from conquest, war, inequality, and the abuse of power. Seen today, the image still resonates. The forces Dürer visualized at the end of the fifteenth century remain disturbingly familiar, reminding us that the Apocalypse, in its original sense of revelation, is an unveiling of patterns that repeat across time.
The Whore of Babylon
In the Whore of Babylon, Albrecht Dürer gives visual form to a disturbing and politically charged vision in the Book of Revelation. John describes a woman seated upon a scarlet beast with seven heads and ten horns, adorned in luxury and holding a golden cup, drunk with the blood of saints and martyrs. Behind her rises the doomed city of Babylon, already engulfed in flames, its destruction both imminent and deserved.
Dürer presents the whore as a figure of seductive authority. She sits confidently upon the multi headed beast. The golden goblet in her hand, an object of beauty and desire, contains corruption and violence. Her gaze is directed toward a group of richly dressed figures who look upon her with fascination and submission, while an armed multitude advances from above, suggesting the reach and complicity of worldly power.
The seven headed beast beneath her recalls the dragon of the Apocalyptic Woman (hereunder as Dürer’s next print), linking these beasts of evil into a single continuum of deception, domination, and abuse of authority. Babylon itself is not only a city but a system, a world built on excess, exploitation, and the commodification of human life. Its fall is mourned not by the innocent, but by kings and merchants whose wealth and influence depended upon it.
For Dürer’s contemporaries, his image spoke directly to anxieties about corrupt rulers, moral decay, and the entanglement of power, money, and violence. Seen today, the Whore of Babylon remains a haunting warning. It is a vision not of sudden catastrophe, but of a society undone by its own indulgence and indifference, a world that collapses precisely because it mistakes luxury and authority for justice and truth.
The Apocalyptic Woman and the Seven-Headed Dragon
In the Apocalyptic Woman and the Seven-Headed Dragon, Albrecht Dürer visualizes one of the most complex and symbol laden passages of the Book of Revelation. John describes a woman clothed with the sun, the moon beneath her feet, and a crown of twelve stars upon her head. Before her stands a monstrous dragon with seven heads and ten horns, waiting to devour her. A child is saved and taken up to God, while the woman flees, protected yet pursued. The Woman is interpreted as Mary and the Child as Christ. The Seven-Headed Dragon represents Satan and evil. This image is a good versus evil struggle.
Dürer transforms this vision into a tightly compressed drama. The woman appears serene yet vulnerable, elevated above the earthly realm, while the dragon coils below her in violent agitation. Its multiple heads and gaping mouths embody chaos, deception, and oppressive power, often interpreted as an image of empire and tyranny. The contrast is stark: divine order and promise above, destructive force below. The print is emphasizing that the struggle between good and evil is ongoing and not yet settled.
For contemporary viewers around 1500, this image resonated deeply. It echoed fears of political corruption, religious conflict, and looming catastrophe, while also offering reassurance that evil, however terrifying, would not ultimately prevail. The Apocalyptic Woman stands as a figure of endurance and hope, a reminder that this Revelation is not only a vision of destruction, but also of preservation, resistance, and eventual renewal.
The Book of Revelation was written in a world marked by imperial violence, religious persecution, forced movement of people, and the abuse of power by an authority that claimed absolute legitimacy. The book’s visions are not fantasies of destruction for their own sake, but acts of unveiling: a refusal to accept oppression as normal or inevitable.
When Albrecht Dürer published his Apocalypse in 1498, Europe stood on the threshold of the year 1500, a moment charged with apocalyptic expectation. War, plague, religious anxiety, and social unrest shaped how these images were read. Dürer’s woodcuts force the viewer to recognize violence, false authority, and human suffering as part of a recurring historical pattern rather than a singular catastrophe.
Seen from our own time, marked by war, displacement, environmental destruction, and the misuse of power, the Revelations once again feel uncomfortably close. Yet the book does not ask us to endure these conditions in silence while waiting for a promised end. Its ultimate vision of a renewed world serves as a standard against which the injustices of the present are exposed.
Revelation’s “happy ending” does not cancel the horrors that precede it. The images confront every age with the same question: whether we recognize Babylon while living within it, and whether we still dare to imagine a world made new.
Last October I was in Nuremberg, Germany, the city where Albrecht Dürer (1471 – 1528) was born and lived. One can visit the Dürerhaus, where he worked and resided from 1509 until his death. This visit inspired me to look more closely at Dürer’s life and work, especially his woodcut series. Among these, Life of the Virgin stands out as an excellent example: a cycle of twenty prints, sold both individually and published as a book with corresponding Latin verses. It became a bestseller already during Dürer’s lifetime, not only in Germany, but across Europe. And, inevitably, it was also widely copied, often without Dürer’s permission.
We will look more closely at the Life of the Virgin series and explore how Dürer tried to protect his artistic rights and defend his name against the flood of “fake Dürers” that appeared in its wake. We will then follow the complete series itself, which unfolds like a comic-book narrative about the Virgin Mary, her parents Anna and Joachim, and, of course, her son Jesus Christ.
Albrecht Dürer was not only a master artist but also a businessman. His prints reached buyers all over Europe through a clever distribution system, with his wife even selling them at trade fairs such as Frankfurt. Prints were a steady source of income, and Dürer offered works in a wide range of styles and price points.
Among the most ambitious of these projects was Life of the Virgin, a cycle of twenty woodcuts first published individually and later as a book in Nuremberg in 1511. Each image was paired with Latin verses by Benedictus Chelidonius, a learned Benedictine monk, also from Nuremberg. The combination of Dürer’s monumental images with humanist poetry gave the series the dignity of a richly illustrated devotional book.
Fake prints
But his success also came with frustrations: new works were copied almost immediately, sometimes crudely, but often in high-quality versions that were difficult to distinguish from the originals. Some even bore his famous AD monogram, used as both trademark and signature, to pass as genuine Dürers.
Look at the two following prints: the original woodcut by Dürer and the exact copy made by Marcantonio Raimondi as an engraving, even including Dürer’s AD monogram. Raimondi produced his copy three years after Dürer published the original.
Copies flourished north and south of the Alps. Some bore fake monograms, others carefully erased Dürer’s signature, or replaced it with a crude imitation. Ironically, this wave of imitation only spread his fame further. In this sense, Dürer’s imagery became part of a wider visual language of the time, endlessly adapted and reinterpreted. Yet Dürer’s efforts to protect his work mark him out as one of the first artists to confront what we now call copyright. Dürer was keenly aware that his art was not only spiritual and aesthetic, but also a commercial product in the bustling market of Renaissance Europe.
Copyright protection
The Life of the Virgin cycle’s popularity made it a prime target for counterfeiters. The renaissance art-writer Giorgio Vasari (Italian, 1511 – 1574) later recounted how the Italian engraver Marcantonio Raimondi (c.1470 – c.1527) copied the entire Life of the Virgin in engraving, even adding Dürer’s monogram. According to Vasari, Dürer pursued the matter in Venice and won a ruling forbidding Raimondi to use his mark. Whether or not Vasari embroidered the story, it reflects a real concern: Dürer’s name and monogram were being exploited, and he took active steps to defend them. His colophon to the 1511 edition of Life of the Virgin is a warning against pirated copies, and shows a remarkably modern awareness of intellectual property and artistic rights.
Dürer’s anti-piracy colophon is phrased as a severe warning to anyone who dared to copy his prints. Translated from Latin, it reads like a threat, and is strikingly laid out in a triangular form on the final sheet of the Life of the Virgin series. Here it is, and shiver while reading the last paragraph!
Printed in Nuremberg by the painter Albrecht Dürer, in the year of Christ 1511.
Woe to you, thief of another’s labor and skill! Do not dare to lay your reckless hands upon these works. Know that the most glorious Roman Emperor Maximilian has granted us the right that no one may presume to print these images from false blocks, or to sell them throughout the bounds of the Empire. If, driven by arrogance or by greed, you do so, then be certain of this: after the confiscation of your goods, you will have to face the gravest peril without escape.
Dürer’s trip to Venice seems to have had some effect, especially when combined with the anti-piracy colophon he added to the final page of the Life of the Virgin series. Marcantonio Raimondi, who had previously copied these entire series and even reproduced Dürer’s “AD” monogram, now approached Dürer’s work more cautiously. When he later engraved another series after Dürer (the Small Passion series), Marcantonio copied every detail with his usual precision, except the monogram. In these later prints the space where Dürer placed his “AD” trademark is left conspicuously blank. Compare these two images from the Small Passion series: Dürer’s original, proudly bearing his monogram, and Raimondi’s meticulous copy, identical in all respects but stripped of Dürer’s AD monogram.
Having spoken about Dürer’s efforts to protect his copyright, let’s now look at the Life of the Virgin series itself. Conceived as a cycle of twenty woodcuts — nineteen narrative scenes plus a frontispiece — it traces the Virgin Mary’s story from the rejection of her father Joachim’s offering in the Temple to her Assumption and Glorification in heaven. Dürer began the series around 1501 and published it a decade later, in 1511, as a complete book. Each image was paired with Latin verses written by Benedictus Chelidonius, a Benedictine monk and humanist poet from Dürer’s own city. Together, image and text created a carefully balanced combination of visual devotion and humanist learning, intended for a cultivated audience of merchants, clerics, and scholars.
Image and Text; Dürer and Chelidonius
Benedictus Chelidonius (c. 1460–1521), a humanist scholar and Benedictine monk from the monastery of St. Egidius in Nuremberg provided the Latin verses that accompany the Life of the Virgin series. Chelidonius belonged to the circle of learned churchmen who sought to merge humanist literary style with devotional themes, while remaining firmly rooted in the Catholic tradition. This was no small matter: by 1511 Luther’s Reformation was already knocking loudly at Nuremberg’s doors. In my view, Dürer’s imagery for Life of the Virgin adheres closely to Catholic tradition, not so much as a protest against the Reformation, but out of pragmatic awareness. As a skilled tradesman, he understood that more traditional devotional images would continue to sell well in regions less touched by reformist ideas, especially in Catholic countries such as Italy.
Chelidonius’ poems retell the Virgin’s life with a mixture of biblical narrative and rhetorical flourish. Dürer sought to dignify his art with humanist eloquence and the authority of the written word, and Chelidonius’ text dramatized and deepened the episodes shown in the prints.
An example of text and image; Joachim’s offer rejected in the Temple.
In Dürer’s print, the old priest thrusts Joachim’s sacrifice away with an unmistakable gesture of condemnation. Chelidonius heightens this visual drama with a scathing Latin rebuke, placing words in the mouth of the High Priest that leave no doubt about the seriousness of Joachim’s “crime”: childlessness. The verse does not merely explain the scene, it intensifies its emotional and moral charge.
Here is line 17-21, in Latin and the translation; pretty harsh!
Infecunde senex, audes qua fronte feraces inter conventus ire sub ora Dei? I, sterili te condere domo, vir inutilis! Odit coniugium frigens et sine fruge polus.
“Barren old man, with what face do you dare to stand among the fruitful in the sight of God? Go, hide yourself in your sterile house, useless husband! Heaven itself despises a cold and fruitless marriage.”
These four lines condense the theological, moral, and human dimensions of the scene. They make clear that Chelidonius was not content simply to accompany Dürer’s images with decorative poetry. Rather, his verses work as a deliberate dramatic counterpoint, drawing the reader deeper into the emotional world of the Life of the Virgin series. In this way, Chelidonius and Dürer together transform Joachim’s humiliation into a vivid meditation on faith, obedience, and divine purpose.
Life of the Virgin; the 20 woodcuts
The 1511 edition was remarkable not only for its art but also for its modern design. It reflects Dürer’s awareness of both aesthetics and marketing. His aim was to elevate the woodcut from a humble popular medium to the level of fine art. At the same time, the book’s devotional subject and refined presentation ensured wide appeal, making it one of the most sought-after print series of the early sixteenth century.
The series opens with a radiant image of Mary sitting on a crescent moon, a symbol of her Immaculate Conception, pure and untouched by sin from her birth. Dürer blends several motifs here: the Virgin’s regal dignity with a crown of stars, and her gentle motherly presence by nursing her baby Jesus. The composition sets the tone for the entire cycle, presenting Mary as both approachable and exalted.
The story begins harshly. The aged Joachim, husband of Anna and father-to-be of Mary, presents his offering at the Temple, a lamb and a small cage of birds, but the High Priest turns him away, rejecting his devotion due to Joachim’s childlessness. They judge him unworthy in the eyes of God, because he and Anna have no children. Dürer shows the moment of humiliation vividly, the priest pushes back the old man’s gift, while bystanders whisper. Hurt and ashamed, Joachim leaves Jerusalem and heads into the wilderness, convinced he has failed his family and his faith.
Joachim, dejected and wandering in the wilderness, is visited by an angel who brings a divine promise. The angel tells him his wife Anna will conceive a child through divine grace. Dürer fills the landscape with a sense of sudden tenderness: the old man kneels, overwhelmed, as the heavenly visitor leans toward him with reassurance. The encounter transforms despair into hope.
The Meeting of Joachim and Anna at the Golden Gate
Meanwhile, Anna receives the same message from another angel, and she hurries toward Jerusalem’s Golden Gate. Joachim, rushing from the desert, meets her there. The couple embrace, their joy erupting in the middle of the busy gate. Dürer makes this reunion radiant and human, two elderly people clinging to each other with relief, gratitude, and renewed hope.
Inside a lively household, the Virgin Mary is born. Women bustle about as midwives tend to Anna, resting in her bed after the long-awaited delivery. Others bathe the newborn child in a small wooden tub. Dürer turns this sacred moment into an intimate domestic scene, full of details: textiles, furniture, and the calm relief of a long-desiring mother.
As a small child, Mary is brought by her parents to the Temple, dedicated to God’s service. Dürer shows her climbing the steep steps alone, a tiny figure ascending toward the high priest who awaits her. Joachim and Anna look on, both proud and moved, as if understanding that their daughter’s life will be extraordinary. Anna points at the offering lambs, as if she tells Joachim “do you still remember when your offer was rejected?”. Dürer connects the early “Joachim’s Rejection” print with Mary’s triumphal entry into the temple.
Mary is joined in marriage to an older widowed man named Joseph before a small assembly of witnesses. Dürer captures both the ceremony’s ritual precision and the human warmth of the participants. Joseph and Mary convey mutual respect and spiritual purpose, while the architectural setting frames the sacred promise binding them together.
In a quiet, sunlit interior, Mary reads when the angel Gabriel appears before her. His message is astonishing: she will conceive a child through the Holy Spirit. Mary reacts with humility, and acceptance; a moment of divine communication.
Mary travels to visit her older cousin Elizabeth, who is miraculously pregnant with John the Baptist. The two women meet outdoors in an affectionate embrace, recognizing the divine mystery present in both of them. Both women are pregnant with children who will play central roles in salvation history. Their embrace conveys joy, mutual recognition, and shared purpose.
Christ is born in a ruined stable. Mary kneels in worship, gazing at the child. Joseph stands nearby. Angels crowd above. Shepherds arrive to offer humble reverence. Dürer’s composition guides the viewer’s eye toward Christ, while the rustic setting reminds us of the humility of his entrance into the world.
On the eighth day after his birth, the infant Jesus is brought to the Temple for his circumcision, the ritual that marks him formally as a son of Israel. Dürer sets the scene inside a vaulted sacred space, where priests prepare the ceremony, while Mary stands close, watching anxiously yet faithfully as her child undergoes the ancient rite. It’s a composition that balances human vulnerability with religious duty.
Three kings arrive from distant lands, bringing gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They kneel before the infant with reverence, their faces full of age, wisdom, and wonder. Dürer sets the scene within a magnificent architectural ruin, as if he conveys both the worldly grandeur of the Magi and the serene divinity of the holy family.
Mary kneels, offering a small cage of doves as the modest sacrifice prescribed for the poor, while Joseph stands behind her, attentive. Simeon, the aged priest, lifts the infant Christ with reverent care, fulfilling prophecy. A few bystanders watch quietly, and the vast temple interior frames the sacred act. Dürer emphasizes the gravity of the ritual and the fulfillment of God’s promise, balancing intimacy with monumental architecture.
Warned in a dream that King Herod seeks the child’s life, Mary and Joseph flee south into Egypt. Mary rides a donkey, cradling her baby, while Joseph leads them along a rugged path. Dürer enriches the landscape with a palm tree and exotic vegetation, the Middle Eastern landscape through which the Holy Family must quietly pass.
Now settled in Egypt, the Holy Family engages in daily life. Joseph works at his carpenter’s bench, and Mary spins wool nearby; it’s a small industrious household. The infant Christ is tended by angels and we see putti, while God the Father blesses the scene, the Holy Spirit descending as a dove.
Back in Jerusalem, after days of searching, Mary and Joseph find twelve-year-old Jesus in the Temple, debating from a lectern with learned scholars. Dürer fills the hall with the old learned men, pointing, arguing, leaning in, and surprised by the boy’s insight, already showing the authority that will define his later ministry.
Before his Passion, Christ comes once more to say goodbye to Mary. The moment is private and emotional. They stand near the simple entrance of her home, both aware of what lies ahead. Dürer captures a moment familiar to all parents: the pain of letting go, knowing a child must follow his calling.
Surrounded by the apostles, Mary’s final moments unfold in a room lit by candles. The apostles lean in, praying softly; reading from a book or holding candles. Mary lies peaceful. Dürer balances human grief with sacred serenity.
The Assumption into Heaven and The Coronation of the Virgin
Angels lift Mary from her tomb, carrying her upward into a swirl of clouds. Her body rises not through effort but through grace. Below, the apostles look up in awe, their expressions mixing disbelief and wonder. The scene bridges earth and heaven in one sweeping vertical movement. The cycle ends triumphantly. In heaven, both her Son Christ and God the Father crown Mary as Queen of Heaven.
Dürer concludes the series with a majestic vision of Mary exalted in heaven, surrounded by a host of saints and angels. She sits at the center, serene and radiant, while figures of holy men and women gather around her. Angels float gracefully, carrying musical instruments and banners. The composition conveys both joy and solemnity: the trials, sorrows, and faithful endurance of Mary’s life are now transfigured into eternal glory.
Closing Notes
When we look at Life of the Virgin by Albrecht Dürer, as a series published in 1511 and with most of the prints issued individually around 1505, we must try to see it not only with our nowadays eyes, accustomed to endless images, but with the eyes of Dürer’s contemporaries. How did people in the early sixteenth century experience a series like this? They lived in a world without photographs, without film, without magazines, without the internet, without TikTok or Instagram, a world where most people encountered images only in a church altarpiece or the occasional fresco. It was, visually speaking, a world of darkness punctuated by a few precious points of light.
Into that world, Dürer released this series. And it reads almost like a comic book or a biopic: one scene leading seamlessly into the next, each print a little narrative cliffhanger inviting the viewer to turn the page. Published with accompanying text, the series functioned almost like a script for a film long before cinema existed.
Dürer’s imagery was fresh, inventive, and instantly recognizable. In an age without photocopiers or digital reproduction, the only way to “go viral” was through reprinting, and Dürer was one of the first artists whose visual inventions were copied, repeated, and adapted across Europe. It is no wonder that his compositions reappear again and again throughout the sixteenth century and beyond. Success brought imitation, but Dürer was acutely aware of his intellectual property: he did everything he could to protect his “AD” monogram, his early version of a brand logo.
If we translate Dürer’s achievement into modern terms, he was an influencer, a trendsetter, even a blockbuster director whose imagery shaped European art. “Life of the Virgin” can be read as a Renaissance biopic, a storyboard for a film about Mary’s life, “There’s Something About Mary” created, directed and produced by Albrecht Dürer. In 1511.
This time I want to turn to a lighter, more airy subject: bubbles! I have always been intrigued by the details that painters choose to include; why a flower, a skull, a candle, or something as fleeting as a bubble? In seventeenth-century Dutch painting, bubbles are surprisingly common: sometimes drifting alone, sometimes blown by a child at play. Much has been written about them, and in recent decades there has been a lively debate about the deeper meaning of a child blowing bubbles.
Let us look at this painting by Cornelis de Vos in Braunschweig. The scene is a room overflowing with treasures — gold, silver, coins, glittering jewels. We see a richly dressed lady in her prime, proudly displaying a string of pearls. Yet beside her, two children offer a silent commentary. They blow soap bubbles: fragile, transparent, gleaming for a moment before they vanish. Their message is unmistakable, all earthly riches and beauty are as fleeting as these bubbles. What dazzles us now will soon be gone. The painting leaves no doubt: it is a moral lesson. All is vanity. Life itself is a bubble.
But how did this fragile image of the bubble come to carry such weight? Here are the topics we’ll explore:
Where is this bubble symbol coming from? Fortunately, the inscriptions on certain prints from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries give us a clearer sense of the associations they carried in their own day. Yet at the same time, we should be cautious; not every bubble hides a heavy moral lesson. Sometimes, a bubble is just a bubble. Still, let us give it a try, and start at the very beginning.
If we want to trace the roots of the bubble as a symbol, we should begin with prints. The Dutch engraver Hendrick Goltzius gave us one of the earliest and most striking examples in 1594. His engraving Homo Bulla presents a small boy, his arm resting on a skull, as he blows soap bubbles into the air. At his feet grows a freshly opened lily, beautiful yet already marked for decay. To the side, a small pot smoulders, its smoke curling upward and vanishing into the sky. Beneath the image runs the chilling motto QVIS EVADET? — “Who can escape?” followed by a verse that speaks of flowers that fade, of beauty that perishes, of life that vanishes like a bubble or dissolves like smoke.
Flos novus, et verna fragrans argenteus aura, Marcescit subito, perit, heu perit illa venustas. Sic et vita hominum, iam nunc nascentibus, eheu, Instar abit bullae, vani et elapsa vaporis.
In smoother words:
A fresh flower, silver-bright in the spring breeze, suddenly withers — alas, that beauty perishes! So too with human life, even as it is born: it slips away like a bubble, like smoke dissolving into air.
The poem ties everything together: the lily at the boy’s feet, the shining bubbles that burst as soon as they appear, the smoke rising from the little pot. Text and image together form a powerful meditation, confronting the viewer with the inevitability of death and the transience of all earthly beauty.
This was not an invention of Goltzius alone. The phrase homo bulla est — “man is a bubble” — was already a proverb in antiquity, attributed to the Roman polymath Marcus Terentius Varro (116 – 27 BCE). In the early sixteenth century, Desiderius Erasmus (1466 – 1536) included homo bulla est in his Adagia, a collection of over 4000 Greek and Latin proverbs. Erasmus explained that human life is like a bubble under water: it rises, glistens for a moment, and disappears as soon as it reaches the surface. An underwater bubble, however, is not very easy to paint — which may explain why artists transformed the idea into a soap bubble, delicate, luminous, and instantly legible to the eye.
Half a century before Goltzius turned Varro’s proverb into a boy blowing bubbles, Joos van Cleve had used the phrase in a painting of Saint Jerome (Hieronymus), the Church Father who translated the Bible into Latin. In Van Cleve’s panel, the words homo bvlla are written on the wall behind the saint, linking it to imagery of a skull and a candle of which the flame just went out. Van Cleve is anchoring the concept of homo bulla in the language of vanitas, paintings with symbolic representations of the transience of life, the futility of pleasure and worldly possessions, and the inevitability of death.
Placed side by side, Joos van Cleve’s Jerome and Holbein’s Erasmus invite comparison. Both men are shown as scholars, immersed in books, surrounded by the signs of learning. Erasmus devoted his life to gathering and preserving the wisdom of antiquity, collecting and translating old proverbs and texts into a language his age could understand. Jerome, more than a thousand years earlier, had done the same with sacred scripture, rendering the Bible into the Latin of his day. Erasmus himself took part in the first major edition of Jerome’s collected works, published in 1516, just a decade before Van Cleve painted his Jerome. Each, in his own way, was a bridge between past and present, and both confronted the brevity of life and the vanity of earthly existence. Van Cleve makes the lesson explicit: Jerome points to a skull, a candle that went out, and HOMO BVLLA inscribed on the wall. The saint seems to confirm Erasmus’s proverb: human life is as fragile as a bubble.
Karel Dujardin’s large canvas gives us one of the most elaborate interpretations of the homo bulla theme. At first glance we see a boy in a blue tunic, just lowering his pipe and watching with satisfaction the bubbles he has set afloat. But the scene quickly shifts from everyday reality into allegory: the boy himself stands precariously on a giant bubble, balanced on a shell that rides the waves like a fragile vessel.
The image also borrows from an older motif: Fortuna, the goddess of fortune, was often shown standing on a ball or tossed upon the sea. The ball symbolized the instability of luck, always rolling, never fixed, on waves of unpredictable currents. By placing the bubble-blowing figure on a bubble adrift on the water, Dujardin fuses this classical image of Fortuna with the homo bulla theme, doubling the sense of fragility and uncertainty. In the background, the ruins of a once-proud city add a final touch of melancholy: not only bubbles and beauty vanish, but whole civilizations too.
The painting combines various classical traditions into one striking allegory. What began as the learned homo bulla of sixteenth-century prints — a child blowing bubbles as a reminder that man is but a bubble — has here been transformed into a monumental and almost theatrical scene. Dujardin makes the message clear: fortune, beauty, and cities themselves vanish as quickly as soap bubbles on the wind.
Jan Miense Molenaer here turns everyday domestic life into a grand allegory. At the center sits a young woman in a sumptuous gown of pink and gold, her blonde hair being combed by an older attendant. She gazes into a small hand mirror, which is just a reflection of her beauty. Yet around her the signs of vanity and mortality crowd in. Her slippered foot rests on a skull, a blunt reminder of where earthly beauty must end.
On the left, a small boy in bright blue and red quietly blows soap bubbles. The bubbles are a bit difficult to see, just to the left of the violins hanging on the wall. The homo bulla figure has been transformed into a playful child, but carrying the same heavy message. On the table nearby glitter jewels and trinkets; musical instruments hang on the wall, promising entertainment but also evoking the fleeting nature of sound. Each detail is drawn from the familiar vocabulary of Dutch interiors, but here they are gathered together into a tightly woven vanitas lesson.
Rembrandt gives the soap bubble a new twist by placing it in the hands of Cupid, the little god of love. With his bow resting at his side and his arrows slung across his back, the winged boy bends over his pipe, intent on blowing fragile bubbles into the air. It is an unusual, playful image for the young Rembrandt, who painted the scene in 1634. Today the work belongs to the Princely Collections of Liechtenstein.
Cupid’s arrows strike suddenly and make hearts fall and love appear without warning. But just as quickly it may vanish: bright and beautiful one moment, gone in a splash the next. The bubble becomes a metaphor for the brevity of passion, reminding the viewer that desire itself is as fragile as human life.
Not all bubble-blowing children carry a playful warning. Sometimes, as in this portrait of Mademoiselle de Tours from the Chateau de Versailles, the motif takes on heartbreaking intimacy. Louise-Marie-Anne de Bourbon, the daughter of Louis XIV and Madame de Montespan, died in 1681 at the age of just six. This portrait was painted in the wake of her death, transforming the familiar homo bulla allegory into a personal memorial.
At a table beside the child rests a watch, emblem of passing time. In her hand she holds a delicate bubble, shimmering yet about to vanish. Together these symbols speak to the fragility of life, especially that of a child taken too soon. Mignard’s painting is not only vanitas but also elegy, a royal family’s grief expressed through the language of art. Here the soap bubble is no longer a generalized symbol of human mortality but a direct reminder of one short life: bright and beautiful, like the bubble itself.
Chardin takes the well-worn vanitas motif of soap bubbles and turns it into something personal and moving. At first glance we see a boy, perhaps a student, carefully blowing a bubble while staring at it with concentration. Behind him, peeping out of the window, is his much younger brother, still in the carefree stage of childhood. The contrast between the two is striking: one on the cusp of adulthood, already contemplative and aware of the fragility of time; the other still playful and innocent.
What might otherwise be a simple memento mori becomes in Chardin’s hands an image of melancholy, a quiet farewell to youth, gone in a flash like the bubble itself.
On this small panel, scarcely larger than a sheet of paper, Frans van Mieris painted a boy absorbed in the simple game of blowing bubbles. From the shadows behind him, a smiling woman holding a small dog looks on and outside of the painting to us viewers, as if sharing both in his amusement and in ours. Each detail is rendered with the precision for which Van Mieris and his fellow “fine painters” (fijnschilders) from Leiden were celebrated. Although the motif of a child blowing bubbles carried a long tradition of reminding viewers of life’s brevity, here that moral message seems muted. Van Mieris may well have intended something more playful: a display piece of painterly refinement, a scene pleasant to look at and rich with surface effects. By the eighteenth century, when the allegorical resonance of homo bulla was already fading, such an image still charmed viewers, now for its sheer visual delight.
Conclusion
When I began writing about Homo Bulla, I imagined it would be a light and playful subject. But as I traced its history, I encountered the Roman author Marcus Terentius Varro, the humanist Desiderius Erasmus, and even Saint Jerome. Alongside Homo Bulla, Fortuna herself appeared. What began as a fragile bubble became surprisingly weighty, with roots in antiquity and a revival in the humanist sixteenth century. Bubbles and bubble-blowing children remind us that life is brief. That moral element, with its long pedigree, cannot be ignored. Yet at the same time, a bubble is simply a beautiful thing: round, transparent, glistening; a playful touch in a painting. Not every image should be forced into solemn allegory. Sometimes a bubble is just a bubble, and lovely in its own right.
To conclude and as a bonus, we return to that lighter note. In this watercolor from around 1880, Jacob Maris shows his two daughters in playful interaction, blowing soap bubbles and admiring their magic. From a painter’s perspective, the subdued greys of the watercolor are gently interrupted by the blue of the soap dish, its color elegantly echoed in the bubble itself. Here, at last, a bubble is nothing more — and nothing less — than a bubble, and a beauty for sure.
After writing about saints and sinners, prophets and heroes, I now turn to a more mundane subject: a playful tradition from 17th-century Holland known as pulling the pretzel, or in good old Dutch, het trekken aan de krakeling. A joyful occasion, it seems at first glance, but perhaps not without a deeper moral meaning.
Jan van Bijlert’s Pulling the Pretzel, in the Centraal Museum in Utrecht, depicts two men and two women seated at a table set with pretzels, butter, and salt. The group appears to be playing a game in which the person who pulls off the longer half of a shared pretzel wins. The usual title of the painting, Merry Company Eating Pretzels, is misleading, since the figures are not eating but engaged in the act of pulling the pretzel. At the back of the table, a man and woman share one pretzel, and the woman, using two fingers instead of only her pinky, cheats to improve her chances. Her partner notices but does not object, placing his arm around her shoulders and seeming more interested in her bosom. While across from them, another woman raises her glass in protest. The man beside her looks out of the painting, showing us viewers a pretzel and underscoring the two-finger-cheating.
The scene is festive on the surface, yet its meaning is more complex. Through its lively composition and direct engagement with the viewer, Van Bijlert combines humor and sensuality with an underlying allegory of human weakness, temptation, and the fragile balance between good and bad habits.
This gesture of pulling a pretzel is rare in Dutch painting, but it appears in Johan de Brune’s Emblemata, a book of moral emblems published in 1624. In that context, it symbolizes the human soul caught in a struggle between the forces of good and evil, between God and the devil. The pretzel itself, with its twisted form, becomes a metaphor. Its contorted shape reflects the spiritual confusion and moral weakness of humanity.
Pulling a pretzel also appears in Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Netherlandish Proverbs, where the gesture is usually interpreted as illustrating the saying “to draw the long (or short) end.” In my view, this reading could be reconsidered. It may be more fitting to interpret it in light of the older tradition of “pulling the pretzel.”
The Baker’s Couple by Jan Steen (Rijksmuseum) and The Baker by Gerrit Berckheyde (Worcester Art Museum), offer a celebration of bread and its makers. In both scenes, the bakers stand at the threshold of their shop, surrounded by a bounty of loaves, rolls, and pretzels arranged almost like a still life of abundance. With pride they present their freshly baked goods to the viewer. The presence of the baker’s horn, used to announce that the bread is ready, adds to the sense of interaction with the viewer. Pretzels appear in great numbers, not only as a popular food but perhaps also as a visual symbol that connects everyday life to deeper cultural and moral meanings, just as they do in Van Bijlert’s painting.
Two still lifes by Clara Peeters, one in the Prado and the other in the Mauritshuis, feature pretzels among the exquisitely painted objects. In the Prado version, a half-eaten pretzel suggests that someone has already been at the table, heightening the illusion that this is a moment captured from real life. These compositions are often said to contain vanitas themes, subtly referring to the fragility of life and the passage of time. For Peeters herself and for her contemporaries, however, the primary purpose could simply be the display of artistic virtuosity and the association of such objects with refined taste and social status.
Still, the presence of the pretzel, especially the broken one, may hint at a deeper layer of meaning. Like in Van Bijlert’s painting or the emblems of Johan de Brune, the pretzel could symbolize the human soul caught between virtue and temptation, between divine order and worldly desire. Whether intended or not, such readings remain possible.
To step further back in time, a miniature of the Last Supper from around 1030, part of an illuminated manuscript in the Getty Museum, shows a pretzel placed plainly on the table among other foods. And in the Hours of Catherine of Cleves, a richly decorated prayer book from around 1440, now in the Morgan Library & Museum, the border of one miniature is woven entirely from intertwined pretzels, forming a frame around the sacred image.
These appearances in paintings and manuscripts remind us that the pretzel was not always a symbol to be decoded. It was also an everyday food, a common bakery item, familiar to people of all ages and social ranks. Not everything has to carry a hidden meaning.
Recognizing saints in paintings is like solving a hidden picture puzzle, only the clues are palm branches, halos, arrows, a sword, a pilgrim staff, or even sometimes dogs! Once you know what to look for, every museum visit or church interior becomes a visual treasure hunt. This is about a visual language that painters used for centuries to tell stories and signal virtues. But it is not only about symbols. It is also about understanding the role these saints played in the lives of the people who venerated them. In the case of Sebastian and Roch, their images gave people hope and comfort during the darkest periods of the Black Death and recurring plague epidemics. These saints were more than just recognizable figures. They were spiritual companions in times of fear, loss and recovery.
In this crash course, we will meet two saints who are frequently and vividly depicted in western art: Roch and Sebastian. Once you know the tricks and symbols, you will start to see them everywhere and you will know exactly who they are. In short: Sebastian is the one pierced by arrows, Roch is the pilgrim lifting his tunic to reveal a swollen sore on his thigh, the visible sign of the plague disease.
The earliest written account of Sebastian’s life comes from a fifth-century text known as the Passio Sancti Sebastiani. According to this biography, Sebastian was a high-ranking Roman officer under Emperor Diocletian, around the year 300. Though he served at the heart of the Roman Empire, Sebastian was a committed Christian, using his position to support fellow believers and convert others. His defiance did not go unnoticed. When Sebastian continued to preach after being ordered to stop, Diocletian condemned him to death.
Sebastian was tied to a post and shot with arrows; so many that, according to the Passio, his body looked “like a hedgehog.” Remarkably, he survived. A Christian woman named Irene found him still alive, took him into her home, and nursed him back to health.
After being healed by Irene and rather than flee, Sebastian returned to confront the emperor and continue his mission. This time there would be no escape. He was beaten to death with clubs, and his body was thrown into a Roman sewer. Christians later recovered his remains and buried them in the catacombs along the Via Appia, a burial site that became an early pilgrimage destination.
Sebastian’s martyrdom was not just remembered, it grew! During outbreaks of plague in cities like Rome and Pavia, he became known as a powerful intercessor. People turned to him in desperation, hoping for protection or healing. Part of this devotion came from a visual connection: plague often brought painful skin lesions, which to the medieval eye resembled the wounds from arrows that pierced Sebastian’s body. Yet in his story, Sebastian miraculously survives these wounds. If he could heal, perhaps they could too. His body, punctured but intact, became a symbol of endurance and hope in the face of disease.
By the fifteenth century, as waves of plague, typhus, and dysentery overwhelmed European cities, his image spread rapidly in churches, chapels, and altarpieces. Sebastian was no longer just a martyr, but a solitary protector standing between humanity and divine interaction.
For Renaissance artists, Sebastian offered something else: the ideal male nude. His pierced yet miraculously preserved body gave painters a sacred excuse to explore human anatomy, grace, and even sensuality. Painters emphasized his physical beauty, strength, and sometimes his erotic vulnerability. Over time, Saint Sebastian became a complex figure: part Roman soldier, part Christian martyr, part symbol of erotic endurance.
The figure of Irene, who rescues and heals him, became popular in art during the Counter Reformation. She brought a renewed focus on compassion and quiet heroism, a contrast to the spectacle of violence. Her inclusion also emphasized that Sebastian’s story was not just about suffering, but about survival, healing, and of course about unshakable faith.
Saint Roch: the plague pilgrim and his faithful dog
According to tradition, Roch (or Rocco or Rochus) was born around 1348 in Montpellier, just as the Black Death was sweeping across Europe. Orphaned young, he gave away his inheritance, took up the pilgrim’s staff, and devoted himself to caring for plague victims as he traveled through France and Italy. Wherever he went, the sick recovered. His healing touch — and his refusal to abandon the afflicted — made him a figure of immense compassion and courage.
But his life of service eventually turned against him. In the city of Piacenza, Roch himself caught the plague. To avoid infecting others, he withdrew into the forest, prepared to die alone. There, a small miracle occurred: a dog appeared daily, bringing him bread and licking his wounds. Artists portrayed him as a weary pilgrim, often lifting his tunic to reveal a swollen sore on his thigh, the visible sign of plague. He is nearly always accompanied by his faithful dog, a symbol of loyalty, compassion, and daily grace.
Once healed, Roch returned to Montpellier. But his suffering was not over. Mistaken for a spy and unrecognized, he was thrown into prison, where he eventually died. Like Sebastian, Roch became one of the great plague saints of the Renaissance. He was the saint who had been there, not struck down in noble martyrdom, but sick, rejected, exiled, and healed. That made him deeply relatable. For many, he offered a vision of healing and survival through suffering.
His popularity surged during the Counter Reformation, especially in Catholic countries. He appeared in altarpieces, processions, and protective prints, sometimes shown receiving divine inspiration from an angel or being appointed by Christ himself as patron of the plague-stricken.
In Rubens’ dramatic vision, Roch is formally appointed by Christ himself as the patron of the plague victimes. In the upper part of the panel, we see an angel who holds a tablet with the inscription “Eris in peste patronus” which means “You will be the patron in times of plague.” In the lower part of the painting, figures suffering from the disease implore the saint’s protection.
Companions in crisis: Saint Sebastian and Saint Roch together
As plague returned again and again to Europe between the fourteenth and seventeenth centuries, artists and worshippers turned not to one protector, but to two. Saint Sebastian and Saint Roch began to appear side by side, in altarpieces, processions, chapels, and prints, forming a kind of alliance in the battle against disease.
The pairing made sense. Sebastian had endured violence and lived, if only briefly. Roch had fallen ill and survived. One was pierced, the other wounded. Both had skin lesions, which was so very recognisable for the ones suffering from the plague. Artists often placed them at either side of the Virgin and Child, turning them into protective witnesses for the sick and the fearful.
Once you know the clues, it’s easy to identify Sebastian and Roch. The first one with the arrows, tied up and pierced; Roch, the second one, the pilgrim with a swollen plague-sore on his thigh. Sebastian’s idealized, youthful body stands for sacrifice and beauty even in suffering. Roch’s older figure emphasizes humility and compassion. And both of them are on a path of recovery.
Together, they became companions in crisis. In times of fear, they offered a sense that the suffering had been seen, shared, somehow sanctified, and maybe even healed! A visual and spiritual double act, shaped by public need for hope and support in the dark days of the Black Death.
Bonus: Sebastian, Resurrection, and the path to Heaven.
As a bonus, let’s have a look at Sebastian on the Triptych of The Resurrection (c.1490) by Hans Memling from the Louvre, Paris. Three panels, and showing from left to right the path from suffering to heaven.
On the left panel, Sebastian is being pierced by arrows. That is the figure with whom the viewer suffering from the plague or disease might identify. Moving to the central panel, we see the resurrection of Christ from death. That must have given hope to beat the plague and rise and shine again. And to complete the path to healing and salvation, look at the panel on the right, with the ascension into heaven. You can just see Christ’s feet dangling in the top part of the panel, ascending into heavenly light.
So when you suffer from the plague, read this triptych from left to right. Hope to resurrect from the disease and heal. Or alternatively, ascend into heaven. Either way, a happy ending!
It took me a few years writing this story about Hagar and her son Ishmael, and about Abraham, Ishmael’s father. And also about Sarah and her son Isaac, who is Ishmael’s half-brother. Ishmael and Isaac: they are children of one father.
It’s not difficult to find paintings on this subject. Many artists over the centuries have taken it up, drawn to the emotional and dramatic interaction between the figures. But I hesitated for a long time, because this story stands at a crossroads between Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. And over time, the story of Isaac and Ishmael as half-brothers – perhaps quarreling, as brothers do – has been used, or even abused, to explain political and religious tensions, especially in the long struggle between Arabs and Jews.
But that is not the story I want to tell. I want to approach it differently, as a story of shared origin. A story of children of one father.
Here are the topics we’ll explore, following the narrative of the Book of Genesis:
Let’s begin at the very beginning. With that odd old couple, Abraham and Sarah, both well over a hundred years old, and still no children! But Sarah has an idea!
They had grown old together, and the hope of ever having a child seemed to have faded. In the biblical account, it is Sarah who suggests that Abraham have a child with her young Egyptian maidservant, Hagar. Sarah blamed herself for their childlessness, saying, “The Lord has kept me from having children.” So she offered Hagar to Abraham, hoping to build a family through her. Abraham agreed, and Hagar became pregnant. She gave birth to a son, and they named him Ishmael. Abraham was the father.
Then comes the next phase in the story. One day, Abraham and Sarah receive an unexpected visitor: an angel! The story makes it clear that this is a messenger of God, appearing in disguise.
The angel’s message sounds completely unbelievable: Sarah, at her advanced age, will have a son within a year. Abraham is told this directly. And he reacts with a gesture, as we see in Jan Provoost’s painting from the Louvre. Pointing toward his wife as if to say, “Her? At her age?” Sarah, standing in the doorway on the right, overhears it. Her reaction is the most human of all: she laughs. The Hebrew text says she laughs “within herself,” a kind of private chuckle of disbelief. One might say: she laughed out loud. The biblical version of LOL.
The name of the promised child will be Isaac, which fittingly means “he laughs.”
Two brothers: Ishmael and Isaac
Now there are two sons, Ishmael and Isaac. Two brothers, both children of Abraham, but from different mothers. Ishmael, the older, is the son of Hagar, Sarah’s Egyptian servant. Isaac, the younger, is the long-awaited child of Sarah, the mistress of the house.
Though they share a father, their positions could not be more different. One is born of a servant, the other of a free woman. One is firstborn, the other the child of promise.
The story suggests that there was tension between the boys. They were probably like any brothers, playing, teasing, perhaps quarreling? But Sarah becomes concerned. Or perhaps protective. She sees something, maybe rivalry, maybe mischief, and she is not pleased. In some versions, Ishmael is mocking Isaac. In others, it’s more ambiguous. But Sarah is firm. She turns to Abraham and tells him what she wants: send Hagar and Ishmael away.
In the print above, which I use to illustrate this scene, you can see Sarah speaking to Abraham in the foreground, and in the background, the two boys playing, fighting, hard to tell which. But the tension is there.
Abraham sends Hagar and Ishmael away
This next moment in the story has stirred the imagination of many artists. The emotional weight is immense: father and son, torn apart. Hagar, the mother, cast out. And Sarah, determined to protect her own child.
The Bible gives us the core of what happens. Sarah sees the two boys, Isaac and Ishmael, and she turns to Abraham and says, “Get rid of that slave woman and her son. He is not going to share the inheritance with my son, Isaac. I won’t have it.”
Abraham is deeply upset. Ishmael is his son. He does not want to send him away. But he listens, because a voice tells him to. For Abraham that’s the voice of God reassuring him that Isaac is the one through whom the family line will be counted. But God also gives Abraham this promise: “I will make a nation of the descendants of Hagar’s son because he is your son too.” That nation, in Islamic tradition, will be the Arab people. Ishmael is seen as the ancestor of the Arabs, and his role is honored as a founding figure.
So Abraham rises early the next morning. He prepares food, gives Hagar a supply of water, and sends her away with Ishmael. And the two of them wander into the desert.
This moment, the sending away, has become a favorite subject for painters and printmakers. And it is easy to see why. It is a perfect scene to show all the emotions: Abraham’s pain, Hagar’s grief, Ishmael’s innocence, Sarah’s determination. And the stillness of the moment before the wilderness swallows them.
And so, Hagar and her son Ishmael find themselves alone in the desert. When the water runs out, Hagar breaks. In panic she runs up and down between the hills in the desert, all the time the same circle, and no water!
She places the boy in the shade and walks away, just far enough so she doesn’t have to watch him die. She sits down, weeping. Her words are raw: “I don’t want to watch the boy die.” It’s despair in its purest form. But then something shifts. The text in Genesis tells us that God hears the boy’s cries. An angel calls to Hagar — not one she sees, but one she hears: “Hagar, what’s wrong? Do not be afraid! Go to your boy and comfort him, for I will make a great nation from his descendants.”
Ishmael survives. He grows up in the wilderness. He has many children, and through his line, the people of the Arab deserts trace their ancestry. This moment of despair, transformed by courage and grace, becomes the beginning of a nation.
This story isn’t just one of near-death and rescue — it’s also a story of inner voice, of resilience pushed into action. The Bible says Hagar heard the angel, not saw him. Perhaps the angel was not a visible figure, but a message rising up from within: “Please do not give up, but give it another try. There is still hope.” In Carel Fabritius’ painting, this is shown beautifully — the angel stands behind Hagar. She does not see him. She hears him, as an inner message of encouragement. And that makes all the difference. The image of Hagar in the desert, distraught and fearing for Ishmael’s life, is also an image of hope. This moment symbolizes the resilience and faith that inspire perseverance, even in the darkest times.
Family reunion
There is something deeply moving in how these family ties circle back. According to Arab tradition, Abraham — known as Ibrahim — and his son Ishmael reconciled later in life. Together, they built the Kaaba in Mecca, which became the spiritual heart of Islam. The well Hagar discovered, now called the Zamzam well, still flows near the Kaaba, inside the Great Mosque.
And in the Jewish and Christian traditions, Isaac and Ishmael too found each other again. When Abraham died at the age of 175, it was both his sons, Isaac and Ishmael, who came together to bury him. As it is written in Genesis: “Abraham lived for 175 years, and he died at a ripe old age, having lived a long and satisfying life. He breathed his last and joined his ancestors in death. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah.”
So perhaps this story, often seen as the origin of division, also carries the seeds of reunion. Two brothers, children of one father!
Bonus: from desert to pilgrimage – Hagar’s legacy in Mecca
To bring the story of Hagar and Ishmael into our present day, we can look to the sacred city of Mecca, where Muslims from around the world travel each year to perform the Hajj, the holy pilgrimage. This city of 2.5 million inhabitants, visited by more than 20 million pilgrims annually, was built on the site in the desert where Hagar found water for Ishmael, named as the Zamzam well.
Great Mosque of Mecca (Masjid al-Haram).
Today, the Great Mosque of Mecca, the Masjid al-Haram, stands on this sacred ground. It is the most holy site in the Islamic world, and within its walls, several locations are directly tied to the story of Hagar, Ishmael, and Abraham (Ibrahim in the Islamic tradition):
The Kaaba — the cuboid-shaped building at the heart of the mosque and the most sacred site in Islam. It is the structure that, according to tradition, was built or rebuilt by Abraham and Ishmael, together as father and son.
The Hijr Ismail — a semicircular area adjacent to the Kaaba that pilgrims are not to walk upon. It marks the site where Abraham constructed a shelter for Hagar and Ishmael.
The Zamzam Well — the water source discovered by Hagar after hearing the angel’s message to keep searching. To this day, pilgrims can receive a five-liter bottle of Zamzam water.
Safa and Marwa — two small hills now enclosed within a covered passageway. This is where Hagar, in her desperation, ran back and forth seven times in search of water for her child. That journey is reenacted by pilgrims as part of the Hajj ritual.
So the footsteps of Hagar, a woman alone in the desert, a mother desperately searching for life for her son, are still being followed by millions today. Her strength, her voice, her perseverance have become a foundational memory in the faith of Islam.
Meet Hercules! After writing about Perseus, I now turn to Hercules, another legendary son of Zeus, also born of a mortal mother. Like Perseus, Hercules belongs to the pantheon of Greek mythological heroes, but where Perseus is celebrated for his wit and cunning, Hercules is all about brute strength and unstoppable physical power. How can you recognise him in art? Look for bulging muscles, a hefty club, and the skin of the Nemean Lion; more on that last detail later.
Hercules is his Greek name; in Roman mythology, he’s known as Heracles. He’s most famous for the epic series of challenges known as the Twelve Labors, a set of nearly impossible tasks, each involving a monstrous creature or a supernatural trial. In this TAB: The Art Bard story, I’ll focus on three of his Labors: his battle with the Nemean Lion, his wrestling match with Antaeus, and his descent into the underworld to capture Cerberus, the terrifying three-headed hound of Hades.
But before we get to those heroic feats, let’s take a moment to look at Hercules’ extraordinary infancy, a childhood that already hinted at the hero he would become. It’s also the story behind nothing less than the creation of the Milky Way!
Consider this post both an introduction to Hercules and another crash course in Greek mythology. Let’s begin!
The Baby Who Bit a Goddess: Hercules and the Milky Way
According to Greek myth, Heracles was the illegitimate son of Zeus, king of the gods, and the mortal woman Alcmene. Zeus was married to Hera, queen of the gods, and his countless affairs with mortals enraged her. Heracles, born of one such affair, became a particular target of Hera’s wrath.
Yet Zeus had a bold plan to make his mortal son invincible: he secretly placed the baby at Hera’s breast while she slept, hoping the divine milk would grant him immortality.
But Hera awoke. The infant Heracles bit her nipple with such force that she screamed and pushed him away. As the baby tumbled back, her milk sprayed across the heavens, creating what we now see in the night sky as the Milky Way.
In Rubens’ painting, Zeus watches the scene unfold, his thunderbolts symbols resting at his feet.
The Baby Hercules vs. the Snakes
Another famous story tells of the night when two snakes slithered into Hercules’ cradle. They weren’t there by accident. They were sent by Hera, Zeus’s long-suffering wife, still furious about her husband’s affair with the mortal woman Alcmene, which had produced the illegitimate child Hercules.
Hera’s plan was simple: let the snakes do the dirty work and get rid of the child once and for all. But things didn’t go as she hoped. Hercules, still just a baby, grabbed the snakes with his bare hands and strangled them effortlessly, treating the deadly serpents like harmless toys.
According to Greek myth, Heracles was condemned to perform twelve nearly impossible tasks, known as the Twelve Labors, as a form of penance. Driven mad by Hera, he had killed his wife and children. Overcome with grief, he sought purification and consulted the Oracle of Delphi, who instructed him to serve King Eurystheus for twelve years. It was Eurystheus who assigned him the twelve labors, each one more dangerous and degrading than the last.
This punishment was part of Hera’s ongoing vendetta. Not only had she caused his madness, but the labors themselves were designed to humiliate and destroy him. Yet instead of breaking him, these trials became the very deeds that secured Hercules’ fame and turned him into a legend.
Hercules’ first task sent him to the hills of Nemea to slay a monstrous lion that had been terrorizing the region. But this was no ordinary beast. The Nemean Lion’s golden coat was invulnerable to weapons; neither sword nor arrow could pierce it. When Hercules discovered this, he did something only he could do. He trapped the lion inside its cave and wrestled it bare-handed. After a brutal struggle, he choked it to death with his immense strength. When the battle was over, he tried to skin the lion. But even in death, its pelt resisted every blade.
Unable to cut through the pelt with his knife, Hercules used the lion’s own claw to flay the beast. Razor sharp, the claw was said to pierce any soldier’s helm or shield. He then draped the invulnerable pelt over his shoulders, wearing the gaping lion’s head like a hood. From that moment on, the lion skin became part of his iconography and a lasting symbol of Hercules’ brute strength.
The Eleventh Labor: wrestling with Antaeus on the way to the Garden of the Hesperides
The wrestling match between Hercules and Antaeus became a legendary detour on his way to the Garden of the Hesperides, where he had to steal the golden apples.
Antaeus, a giant son of Gaia, the Earth goddess, had an unfortunate habit of challenging every traveler to a wrestling match. And winning! His secret was simple: as long as he remained in contact with the ground, and thus with Gaia his mother, the earth itself renewed his strength. Wrestling, after all, is about pinning your opponent down. But Hercules, no stranger to thinking as well as fighting, realized where Antaeus drew his power from. So he did the opposite. He lifted the giant high into the air, breaking his bond with the earth, and crushed him in a powerful embrace.
This scene became a favorite among artists in the Renaissance and Baroque periods. It gave them the perfect excuse to show off: two muscular bodies intertwined in violent motion. The struggle between Hercules and Antaeus offered not just a tale of brute strength, but also a clever mythological riddle and a glorious opportunity to turn male anatomy into art.
The Twelfth Labor was the most terrifying of all. Hercules had to descend into Hades, the Greek underworld, and bring back its guardian beast, the fearsome three-headed dog Cerberus.
Cerberus was the creature Hercules was sent to capture, not to kill, but simply to borrow and display. Like a mythical dog-walker, he descended into Hades, wrestled the beast into submission with his bare hands, and dragged it up into the land of the living. For a brief moment, Cerberus was paraded through the court of King Eurystheus as living proof of Hercules’ impossible strength, before being politely returned to his post in the land of the dead.
In the old Greek mythological days, one might have pictured Hercules standing at the brink of the underworld, just like the lone soul in the boat in Joachim Patinir’s haunting painting Charon Crossing the Styx (c. 1520, Prado, Madrid). Charon, the ferryman, guides his boat across the dark waters of the river Styx, the shadowy boundary between life and death. On one side of the river, a narrow, rocky side stream winds upward toward a glowing paradise, guarded by angels. On the other, a broad and inviting channel leads straight into what looks like a pleasant place but is, in fact, the gaping mouth of Hell, or Hades in the Greek tradition.
Charon, the grim ferryman of myth, rows his silent passenger toward a final judgment. But look closely at the right bank. Just before the gate of the underworld crouches a monstrous figure. This is Cerberus, part bulldog, part nightmare. The three-headed hound of Hades sits at the infernal threshold, ensuring that no soul may ever escape. In this Christianized vision of a Greek myth, Cerberus appears like a devil’s watch-dog, trapped in a kind of kennel at the entrance to eternal darkness.
The question of who pays the ferryman has echoed far beyond ancient myth. In Greek tradition, Charon demands a coin from each soul before granting passage across the river Styx. Without payment, there is no crossing, only a restless afterlife on the shadowy banks. The phrase found new life in the 1977 BBC series Who Pays the Ferryman?, set in Crete and centered on Alan Haldane, a British former soldier haunted by the moral debts of war and love. Just as Charon rows through the waters of Patinir’s painting, ferrying a soul toward judgment, the title reminds us that no crossing, whether into Hades or into memory, comes without its price.
Who Pays the Ferryman? BBC television series, 1977, theme composed by Yannis Markopoulos (Greek, 1939 – 2023).
The myth of Antaeus did not just inspire Renaissance painters and sculptors. It also found its way into the world of modern fragrance. In 1981, Chanel launched Antaeus, one of its first perfumes created specifically for men. In Chanel’s words: “Named after the mythological Greek giant who was invincible only as long as his feet remained on the ground, Antaeus is an intense yet subtle, smooth and rich fragrance that tells the story of a hero both virile and vulnerable.”
Antaeus, Pour Homme, Chanel, 1981.
A personal note. This was my very first perfume. I still remember the iconic 1980s advertisement: a sculpted male torso, arms raised in triumph, lifting the Antaeus bottle like a trophy or sacred object.
And it is only now, while writing this story about Hercules and Antaeus, that I realise the Chanel perfume was indeed named after the mythological giant, and that the visual imagery of the advertisement is a direct contemporary echo of the ancient tale. Learning by going.
After exploring prophets, sinners, and saints from the Biblical tradition, it’s time to turn back to the world of Greek mythology. Let’s start with two of its most iconic figures: Perseus and Medusa. Her story resonates today as a #MeToo narrative; his tale reads like the script of a modern superhero film. Greek myths may be older than the Bible, but the themes they carry, such as good versus evil, justice for the wronged, and the quest for hope, are timeless. So let’s dive in.
To give some context, I’ll introduce the two main characters, Perseus and Medusa, before following Perseus through his adventures, from his miraculous birth as the child of one of Zeus’ escapades to his dramatic wedding with Andromeda. The topics we’ll explore are:
The recurring theme: a busy life for our superhero and the eternal struggle between good and evil.
The Main Characters: Perseus and Medusa
Perseus is one of the prominent heroes in Greek mythology. Unlike some other Greek heroes, his strength did not rely solely on brute force but also on inner qualities like courage and determination. He was the son of Zeus, king of the gods, and Danaë, a mortal princess. Perseus is best remembered for slaying Medusa and for rescuing Andromeda from a sea monster.
Medusa, once a beautiful priestess in the temple of Athena, is one of the tragic figures in mythology. She was raped by Poseidon in Athena’s sacred temple. Because the act defiled a holy space, and possibly because Medusa had boasted of her beauty, Athena punished her by transforming her flowing hair into venomous snakes. And from that moment on, anyone who looked directly at Medusa would be turned to stone.
Poseidon, the rapist, went unpunished. It was the victim who bore the consequences. We do not know if Poseidon felt guilt or ever faced the weight of what he had done. What we do know is that Medusa became the embodiment of female suffering, even labeled a monster. Her transformation has come to symbolize the way women are punished or demonized. In today’s world, Medusa’s story is often reinterpreted through the lens of the #MeToo movement, challenging us to consider who the real monster truly was.
Perseus was born under remarkable and mysterious circumstances. His mother was Danaë, a mortal princess and daughter of Acrisius, the king of Argos. Acrisius, obsessed with control and fearful of fate, had received a chilling prophecy: one day, he would be killed by his own grandson. To stop this from happening, he locked Danaë in a bronze chamber, isolated high in a tower, where no man could reach her.
But the gods, as always in Greek myth, find a way. Zeus, king of the gods, saw Danaë and desired her. Taking the form of a shower of gold, he entered her prison and impregnated her. In time, Danaë gave birth to a son, whom she named Perseus.
When Acrisius discovered the child, he was furious and terrified. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill his own daughter and her infant directly. Instead, he sealed them in a wooden chest and cast them out to sea, leaving their survival to fate. But Zeus watched over them!
The sea carried Danaë and Perseus safely to the island of Seriphos, where a kind fisherman named Dictys took them in. Dictys raised Perseus as his own, and the boy grew into a brave and spirited young man.
(A note from the future: many years later, when Perseus had grown into a man, he took part in the Olympic Games. During a discus throw, his aim went astray and struck down a spectator. That man was none other than King Acrisius, his own grandfather. The prophecy Acrisius was so afraid of was fulfilled, by a tragic accident. But that lies far ahead in the story. For now, we return to the adventures of Perseus as a youth.)
As Perseus matured, he became fiercely protective of his mother. Her beauty had not faded, and it attracted the unwanted attention of many men, including the island’s ruler, King Polydectes. Polydectes was aggressive and arrogant, and he was determined to marry Danaë, whether she agreed or not. Perseus saw through him immediately and did everything he could to protect his mother.
Frustrated, Polydectes devised a plan to get Perseus out of the way. He announced he was marrying someone else and demanded that all his subjects bring him wedding gifts. Perseus, relieved that his mother wasn’t the bride, promised to give Polydectes whatever he wanted. The king seized the opportunity and asked for something outrageous: the head of Medusa, whose gaze could turn anyone to stone.
Perseus agreed, though he had no idea how he would complete such an impossible task.
Help from Athena and Hermes
To carry out the impossible task of killing Medusa, Perseus received crucial help from two gods: Athena, goddess of wisdom, and Hermes, the swift messenger of the gods.
Athena gave Perseus a highly polished bronze shield. It would allow him to see Medusa’s reflection without looking directly at her. A pretty vital move, since anyone who met her gaze would instantly turn to stone. Hermes provided him with winged sandals, enabling him to fly, and a sharp curved sword.
With Athena’s guidance and Hermes’s gifts, Perseus was ready to face the deadly Medusa. He flew to her, used the mirror-like shield to watch her movements, and without ever meeting her eyes, struck with precision. In one swift motion, he cut off her head, snakes and all.
As Perseus struck off Medusa’s head, something extraordinary happened. From the blood that poured from her neck, a winged horse sprang forth. This was Pegasus, who became Perseus’s loyal companion.
Perseus now carried two powerful tools. One was the head of Medusa, which still had the power to turn anyone who looked at it into stone. The other was Pegasus, the magical horse who could fly. With these, Perseus began his journey home. He planned to return to Seriphos, confront King Polydectes, and reunite with his mother Danaë.
But the way back would not be simple. Like many heroes, Perseus would face new challenges on the road. Each test would reveal more of his courage, his cleverness, and his sense of justice.
Atlas becomes a mountain
On his journey home, Perseus grew tired and stopped to rest in a distant land. This place was ruled by Atlas, a mighty giant who stood guard over a sacred garden. Perseus asked for shelter, explaining that he was the son of Zeus. But Atlas remembered a prophecy that warned him a son of Zeus would one day steal the golden apples from his garden. Fearing the prophecy, Atlas refused to let Perseus stay.
Perseus did not argue. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out the head of Medusa. When Atlas looked upon it, he was instantly turned to stone. His great body became part of the earth. His beard and hair turned into forests. His shoulders and arms became ridges and cliffs. His head rose into the sky as a high mountain. This, according to legend, is how the Atlas Mountains in Morocco originated and came to be named after the giant Atlas.
Perseus and Andromeda
As Perseus traveled home, riding the winged horse Pegasus, he flew over the coastline of ancient Ethiopia. There, he saw a young woman chained to the rocks at the edge of the sea. Her name was Andromeda. She had been left as a sacrifice to a sea monster, sent to punish the land for her mother’s pride. Her mother, Queen Cassiopeia, had once claimed that Andromeda was more beautiful than the sea spirits. This angered Poseidon, god of the sea. In revenge, he sent a terrifying monster to attack the coast. The only way to stop the destruction, the people believed, was to offer Andromeda to the creature.
Perseus was struck by Andromeda’s beauty, and he made a promise to save her. As the sea monster rose from the waves, Perseus flew into action. Riding Pegasus, he waited for the perfect moment. Then, at just the right time, he pulled Medusa’s head from his bag. The monster looked…, and instantly turned to stone.
Andromeda’s parents, the king and queen, were filled with gratitude. Perseus asked for Andromeda’s hand in marriage, and she agreed. Together, they would set off for his homeland. But their story was not over yet.
Wedding of Perseus and Andromeda, and Phineas as unwanted guest
After rescuing Andromeda, Perseus was welcomed as a hero. The wedding was quickly arranged, and the royal palace filled with celebration. But not everyone was pleased. At the height of the feast, an angry voice echoed through the hall. It was Phineus, Andromeda’s former fiancé. He stormed in with a group of armed men, furious that the bride had been given to another. He shouted that Andromeda had been promised to him, and that Perseus had stolen her. Tension rose. The joyful feast turned into chaos. Phineus and his followers attacked. Perseus tried to fight them off, but he was badly outnumbered.
Then, as a last resort, Perseus reached for the most fearsome weapon he had: the severed head of Medusa. Holding it aloft, he turned his gaze away. The attackers, caught mid-charge, had no time to look away. One by one, their bodies froze in place. Faces twisted in rage, weapons raised, they turned to cold, silent stone. The room fell quiet. Phineus was no more. The threat was over. The marriage of Perseus and Andromeda could finally begin in peace.
Saving his mother Danaë, and confronting Polydectes
After his adventures abroad, Perseus returned home to the island where he had grown up. But all was not well there. His mother, Danaë, was still being harassed by King Polydectes, who had never given up his attempts to force her into marriage. She had taken refuge in the temple of Athena, hiding from the king’s relentless advances.
Perseus went straight to the palace and confronted Polydectes. Without a word, Perseus pulled the head of Medusa from his bag. Polydectes and his supporters, unprepared and arrogant, looked straight at it and turned to stone. With justice served and his mother finally safe, Perseus restored peace to the island.
Medusa’s head on Athena’s shield
After the sea monster was killed, Andromeda and his mother Danaë saved, and justice delivered, Perseus fulfilled one last promise. He returned the head of Medusa to Athena, the goddess who had guided him on his quest.
Athena took the powerful object and placed it at the center of her shield. From then on, Medusa’s stony gaze would serve to protect. It would turn away evil, and remind all who saw it of the strength found in wisdom and courage.
So what do we make of Perseus? Like Daniel from the biblical tradition, he is not a hero of brute force but of cleverness, courage, and integrity. Both are young men who rise to great challenges with the help of higher powers, whether divine faith or Olympian favor. They confront arrogant rulers, monsters in both human and mythic form, and they stand up for those who cannot protect themselves.
The stories of Perseus are older than the Bible, mythological in form, but in essence they tell the same tale: that justice can prevail, and that even in dark times, there is hope for the oppressed. Daniel’s story, though biblical in origin, mirrors these ancient myths in spirit. Both narratives teach us that the powerful who act with pride and hubris will be humbled. Both reveal a world where integrity matters more than might. And both reassure us that in the end, with the help of God or the gods, peace can be restored.
Bonus: Versace!
Now from myth to Milan! The famous fashion house Versace uses the head of Medusa as its logo, a direct nod to Greek mythology. The choice wasn’t random. As children, the Versace siblings played among ancient ruins near Reggio Calabria in southern Italy. There, on an old mosaic floor, they encountered the image of Medusa.
Gianni Versace chose Medusa as the brand’s emblem. In myth, those who looked at her were turned to stone. In fashion, he hoped those who looked at his designs would be equally spellbound and captivated. Unlike Perseus, who avoided her gaze, we are drawn to it willingly, mesmerized. Carefully of course, because style and beauty can petrify!
I’ve been meaning to write about Abraham Bloemaert’s engraving series Six Sinners of the Old and New Testament for some years now. The series features the Apostle Peter, the Apostle Paul, Mary Magdalene, the tax collector Zacchaeus, King Saul, and Judas Iscariot. All are marked by sin; some found redemption through penance, while others did not.
What intrigues me is why Bloemaert chose to design this series when he did. He was a devout Catholic working in a time of intense religious conflict: the Protestant Reformation and the Catholic Counter-Reformation. Both movements were promoting their doctrines, and in my view, this series served as a kind of visual “marketing” within Catholic circles – propaganda, if you will – promoting the sacrament of penance, a sacrament explicitly rejected by the Protestants.
To give context, I’ll briefly touch on how penance was viewed in both the Reformation and the Counter-Reformation. And of course, I’ll explore the six figures themselves: What was their sin? What path, if any, led them to salvation or redemption? The topics are as follows:
During the Protestant Reformation of the early 16th century, reformers such as Martin Luther and John Calvin challenged many core teachings and practices of the Roman Catholic Church. One of their main targets was the sacrament of penance. In Catholic tradition, penance involved confessing one’s sins to a priest, receiving forgiveness, and performing penitent actions, such as prayer, fasting, or giving to the poor. The protesting reformers rejected this system, arguing that forgiveness came directly from God and could not be earned or managed by church officials.
They believed it was both theologically incorrect and morally questionable for a priest to claim the power to forgive sins in God’s name. In their view, no human had the authority to stand in place of God or to offer spiritual pardon in return for good deeds or, in the worst cases, in exchange for money. Instead, they promoted a more personal relationship with God, in which each individual could seek forgiveness through sincere belief and trust. This view challenged the structure and authority of the Catholic Church.
Catholic Counter-Reformation
In response to these challenges, the Catholic Church began the Counter-Reformation, also known as the Catholic Reformation. This movement aimed to correct abuses within the Church and to clearly define Catholic teaching in the face of Protestant criticism. A central moment in this effort was the Council of Trent, which took place between 1545 and 1563. This Council was a large official gathering of bishops and theologians, similar in function to a modern political party congress or strategy meeting. It shaped the future of Catholic doctrine and practice.
Regarding confession and penance, the Council of Trent firmly upheld traditional beliefs. It confirmed that penance remained one of the Church’s essential sacraments, and that priests continued to play a central role as mediators of God’s forgiveness. The Council taught that people needed to be truly sorry for their sins, confess them honestly to a priest, and follow through with actions that showed a sincere desire to make things right.
In summary, while the Protestant Reformation rejected this framework and emphasized direct faith as the path to forgiveness, the Catholic Church maintained the importance of the sacrament of penance as a structured way to seek reconciliation with God.
Peter is often referred to as a sinner not because of a life marked by immorality, but because of a specific, dramatic moment of human weakness: his so-called “denial.” What happened? On the night of Jesus’ arrest, Peter famously denied knowing Him three times. This betrayal happened just as Jesus had predicted: “Truly I tell you,” Jesus said to Peter, “this very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.” When the moment came, Peter acted out of fear for his own life and told the bystanders in the high priest’s courtyard that he did not know Jesus.
After the third denial, in the early morning, the rooster crowed, and Peter remembered Jesus’ words. He went outside and wept bitterly. That moment of bitter weeping marks the beginning of his sorrow and change of heart. Later, in the end, Peter received forgiveness, and the story moves from failure to restoration.
Peter’s sin was not one of malice, but one of fear and denial under pressure. It is a profoundly human failing. Even the most faithful can stumble. That is what makes Peter’s story so relatable for many who look at his image or read about him. His tears, his sorrow, and his return to grace speak to something very close to everyday life: the reality of weakness, the weight of regret, and the hope of forgiveness.
Paul, originally known as Saul of Tarsus, is considered a sinner because of his fierce persecution of early Christians. Before his conversion, Saul actively sought out followers of Jesus, arresting them and approving their punishment.
Paul’s turning point came on the road to Damascus. While traveling to arrest more Christians, he was struck by a great light from heaven and heard the voice of Jesus: “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” Blinded and shaken, he was led into the city. After three days, a Christian named Ananias visited him, restored his sight, and baptized him. From that moment on, Saul became Paul, a tireless preacher of the gospel and one of Christianity’s most influential apostles. More about Paul’s conversion can be read in one of my earlier posts, just click here.
Paul’s story is not just about a change of opinion, but about radical transformation. He went from persecutor to preacher, from enemy to evangelist. His life shows that no one is beyond redemption. Like Peter, Paul reminds us that great failure can be the beginning of great purpose.
Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector in Jericho, a profession despised by many Jews at the time. Tax collectors were seen as collaborators with the Roman occupiers and were often associated with greed and corruption. Zacchaeus was also a wealthy man, likely enriched through questionable means. And he was short in stature, a small detail that becomes important in his story.
When Jesus passed through Jericho, Zacchaeus, eager to catch a glimpse of Him, climbed a tree to see above the crowd. This simple act of curiosity became the start of something much greater. In a striking moment of grace, Jesus looked up, called him by name, and announced that He would stay at Zacchaeus’s house. The crowd was scandalized. But Zacchaeus responded with a bold act of sorrow and penance: he gave half his possessions to the poor and promised to repay anyone he had cheated, four times over.
This almost childlike gesture of climbing the tree, followed by sincere conversion, makes Zacchaeus a powerful image of redemption. In the spirit of the Counter-Reformation, his story reminds us that no sinner is beyond the reach of grace. And visually, the story is unforgettable: that little man perched high in the tree, waiting for a glimpse of mercy.
Mary Magdalene has long been one of the most misunderstood figures in Christian tradition. In many paintings, she is portrayed as a penitent sinner, often assumed to have been a former prostitute. But what was her actual sin? Surprisingly, the Bible never describes Mary Magdalene committing any specific wrongdoing. What we do know is that she was a devoted follower of Jesus, and she was also the first to witness and proclaim the Resurrection, which even earned her the title apostola apostolorum, the apostle of the apostles.
The image of Mary Magdalene as a sinful woman arose from a long-standing confusion of identities. The 6th-century Pope Gregory combined different women into one: the unnamed “sinful woman” who anoints Jesus’ feet and Mary Magdalene. This mix-up led to centuries of tradition in which Mary Magdalene was depicted as the great penitent, weeping for a sinful past that the Bible never assigns to her. During the Counter-Reformation, this image became especially prominent as a symbol of penance and transformation.
Today, both scholars and the Catholic Church have worked to correct the long-standing confusion about Mary Magdalene’s identity. In 1969, the Church officially separated her from the unnamed “sinful woman”, and in 2016, Pope Francis elevated her memorial to the rank of an official Feast Day (July 22nd). Far from being a scandalous sinner, Mary Magdalene is now recognized as a figure of faith, devotion, and spiritual strength. Her story also reminds us of the central and active role women played in the early Church. During the Counter-Reformation, however, the image of a sinful and penitent Magdalene remained popular as a powerful and visually attractive way to promote the message of penance.
King Saul
King Saul, the first king of Israel around the 11th century BC, died not in triumph but in despair. Saul began his reign with promise, but over time, he disobeyed divine commands, acted out of fear rather than faith, and slowly lost all favor. Saul admitted fault but never showed deep regret, making his decline inevitable.
This engraving captures Saul’s final act: his death on the battlefield. Surrounded by Philistine forces and facing defeat, Saul chose to fall on his own sword. His armor-bearer (on the right) followed him in death. In the foreground, the fallen spear and crown say everything: symbols of royal authority, now useless and abandoned. Unlike the later King David, who would sin grievously but find forgiveness, Saul dies without reconciliation, without peace, and without a legacy of redemption.
Saul’s story is a tragedy, and the image of his death speaks to the cost of pride, fear, and spiritual isolation. For viewers in the time of the Counter-Reformation, this image served as a stark moral warning: Saul had the chance to seek forgiveness, but he let that chance slip away. His death without sorrow and regret becomes a cautionary mirror, urging the faithful not to delay, but to turn to God in penitence while there is still time. In a visual culture that promoted penitence, Saul stands as a missed opportunity, a soul lost not by one great sin, but by failing to seek mercy. In the context of Bloemaert’s Series of Sinners, the figure of Saul serves to dramatize this failure, a counterpoint to the earlier figures who, though sinners, found their way back to grace.
Judas Iscariot
Judas Iscariot’s betrayal of Jesus is one of the most well-known episodes in the New Testament, and artists across centuries have visualized different moments of his story. Bloemaert’s print takes the story to its final stage. Judas is shown preparing to hang himself, with the purse with the thirty silver pieces, the bribe that triggered him to betray Jesus, lying beside him as a reminder of the irreversible deed. In the context of the Counter-Reformation, this image would have served as a moral lesson. Judas feels sorrow, but instead of seeking forgiveness, he condemns himself.
In the manuscript illustration hereunder, showing the Kiss of Judas, he approaches Jesus with a gesture of affection that is, in fact, a signal to the arresting soldiers. In his hand, he holds the purse containing the thirty silver pieces he had already received as payment for delivering Jesus to the authorities. The image captures the moment of betrayal as it happens.
In Rembrandt’s painting, we see Judas shortly after the arrest. He is no longer defiant; instead, he is overwhelmed with remorse. He returns to the temple, trying to give back the silver, but the priests refuse to take it. Judas throws the coins to the ground in despair. Rembrandt shows him in a deeply human moment, tormented by guilt, isolated, and desperate for a resolution that does not come. This scene is not about the betrayal, but about the aftermath and the silence that follows rejection.
Judas Returning the Thirty Silver Pieces (1629), Rembrandt van Rijn (Dutch, 1606 – 1669), Oil on panel, 79x102cm, Private Collection.
Like King Saul, Judas becomes an example of despair without redemption. That’s why Counter-Reformation artists like Bloemaert depict Judas not simply as a sinner, but as a warning: sorrow without grace and penance leads to despair, not redemption.
Closing Notes
Artists and theologians of the Catholic Counter-Reformation strongly reaffirmed the Church’s essential role in the process of redemption. Abraham Bloemaert, a devoted and almost militant Catholic, stands firmly within this tradition. His series of prints depicting six biblical “sinners”, including Peter, Paul, Mary Magdalene, Saul, Judas, and Zacchaeus, offers the viewer a choice: to remain in sin or to be transformed through confession and penance. Through vivid visual storytelling, Bloemaert underscores a central Catholic message: no soul is beyond salvation, and the path to healing lies in turning back to the Church and its sacraments of confession and penance.
Bloemaert’s six engravings are a visual theology. They present a direct rebuttal to Protestant skepticism and a defense of the Catholic practice of confession and penance. His series are a great example of marketing and promoting the ideas of the Catholic Counter-Reformation, and rejecting the Protestant Reformation.
More simply put: Sin, Penance, and Redemption? Maybe yes, maybe no!
Bonus: Zacchaeus in the Palm Tree?
Here’s a little bonus, a curious and funny mix-up of stories and imagery. The story of Zacchaeus is part of Jesus’ entry into Jericho. Zacchaeus, being short, climbs a tree to get a better view of Jesus as he passes by. But Jesus also made another notable entry, into Jerusalem. It’s a different event, but visually it looks quite similar: Jesus on a donkey, a crowd greeting him. At Jerusalem, people laid down cloaks and branches — especially palm leaves — to create a kind of “red carpet” welcome for Jesus, the scene we now celebrate as Palm Sunday.
And here’s the twist. In some early 14th-century artworks with depictions of the Entry into Jerusalem, a little man (sometimes even two) appears high up in a tree again. In my view, this is Zacchaeus imagery that wandered into the wrong story. Somehow, Zacchaeus climbed into the Palm Sunday narrative and stayed there for about a hundred years. The motif disappears again in the early 15th century, but for a while, it added a charming and slightly comical detail to sacred art.
Temptation, Burning Skin Disease, and Care as Cure.
After writing about the prophets Jeremiah and Isaiah, and more recently about Daniel, I feel it’s time to return to the Saints: who they are, and how to recognise them in art. One saint I’ve long wanted to write about is Saint Anthony. There are several saints named Anthony, but I mean Saint Anthony the Great also known as Saint Anthony the Abbot. He is the protector and healer of those suffering from Saint Anthony’s Fire, or Ergotism, which is a burning skin disease combined with hallucinations.
Anthony’s story is also a fascinating example of the difference between care and cure in the history of medicine. The monks of the Antonine order offered such dedicated care to the sick that it was often seen as a cure. And of course, plenty of prayer, that helped too.
The stories around Saint Anthony I’ll be exploring are:
A recurring theme is care as cure; how, in the pre-scientific medical era, the care offered by monks served as both physical and spiritual healing.
Saint Anthony as a historical figure
First, a few words about Saint Anthony and who he was as a historical figure. Anthony was a monk who lived in Egypt during the 3rd and 4th centuries AD. At a young age, Anthony gave away all his wealth and worldly possessions after hearing the Gospel message to ‘sell all you have and give to the poor.’ He chose to live an ascetic life in the desert, devoting himself to solitude, prayer, and spiritual struggle. He is often considered the father of Christian monasticism.
Monasticism, in the Christian tradition, refers to a way of life in which individuals withdraw from worldly society to live in spiritual discipline, often in communities (monasteries) devoted to prayer, work, and contemplation. Saint Anthony is called the father of monasticism because he was among the first to retreat into the desert purely for religious reasons, inspiring many others to follow his example. Although he lived as a hermit himself, his life and teachings laid to the foundation of communal life in monastries as the Hospital Brothers of Saint Anthony, later known as the Antonines.
The Temptation of Saint Anthony
During his years of isolation, Anthony reportedly endured intense temptations, visions and torments involving lust, wealth, pride, and physical suffering, which he resisted through faith and prayer. These battles became central themes in later depictions of him in art, especially in the many dramatic scenes of ‘The Temptation of Saint Anthony.
The bearded saint is gazing toward a woman who symbolises Lust. The devil sent the demons to beat him and alluring women to distract him from his prayers. Saint Anthony evens sees the devils fly above his head, which is a typical form of hallucination caused by the poison in the Ergot fungus, as well as in LSD trips; LSD contains same chemical elements. Temptation of Saint Anthony (1647), David Teniers the Younger (Flemish, 1610 – 1690), 51×71, Prado, Madrid.
Anthony’s legendary temptations bear a striking resemblance to the symptoms of Ergotism, a disease caused by eating rye bread contaminated with the ergot fungus. In the Middle Ages, rye was a staple food for the poor. When stored in damp conditions, especially during the wet autumn months, the grain could easily become infected. Bread made from this tainted rye caused severe outbreaks of illness across entire mostly-rural communities. This mysterious and terrifying illness, especially the burning pain of the skin (like a fire) is known as Saint Anthony’s Fire, or in Dutch as Kriebelziekte (“Itching Disease”). Common Ergotism symptoms included this burning skin pain, but also hallucinations, convulsions, mania, and gangrene, often mistaken for demonic possession or divine punishment. At the time, people had no idea that a fungus in their bread was the cause. Instead, they believed they were possessed or being punished by the devil. In their desperation, many turned to Saint Anthony, whose legendary temptations in the desert seemed to reflect their own torments. His name became associated with miraculous healing and spiritual endurance.
Isenheim Altarpiece (c.1514), detail with creature suffering from skin ulcers caused by Saint Anthony’s Fire, and detail with Christ suffering from all kind of skin wounds. The viewer, suffering himself, will feel connected with Christ and get hope for resurrection, relief and recovery from the terrible state of illness, like Christ’s resurrection after being crucified. Isenheim Altarpiece (c.1514), Matthias Grünewald (German, c.1470 – 1528), Musée Unterlinden, Colmar, France.
In response to widespread suffering, the Hospital Brothers of Saint Anthony, later known as the Antonines, were founded in France in the late 11th century by two French noblemen who credited Saint Anthony with healing them. The order established monasteries and hospitals across Europe, particularly along pilgrimage routes, where they cared for victims of Saint Anthony’s Fire. Though unaware of the disease’s true cause (infected bread), the Antonines provided nourishing food (proper bread and not infected rye bread), hygiene, skin treatment, and spiritual care. Their compassion and effectiveness further strengthened Saint Anthony’s reputation as a protector of the sick and suffering.
The Isenheimer Altarpiece, created by Matthias Grünewald in the early 16th century, was made for the Antonine monastery and hospital in Isenheim, near Colmar, France. The altarpiece held a central place in the hospital chapel. With its vivid, often harrowing imagery of suffering and healing, it was meant to offer spiritual comfort and a sense of connection between Christ’s pain and the patients’ own suffering from Saint Anthony’s Fire.
The wings of the altarpiece were mostly kept closed, displaying The Crucifixion framed on the left by the martyrdom of Saint Sebastian pierced by arrows, and on the right by Saint Anthony, remaining calm although he is being taunted by a frightening monster. The two saints protect and heal the sick, Saint Anthony as the patron saint of the victims of Saint Anthony’s fire and Saint Sebastian, whose aid was invoked to ward off the plague, a disease also leading to terrible skin lesions. Isenheim Altarpiece (c.1514), closed, Matthias Grünewald (German, c.1470 – 1528), open 269x589cm, Musée Unterlinden, Colmar, France.
The symptoms of ergotism can lead to a range of psychiatric and neurological disturbances, including mania and psychosis. The symptoms are akin to bad LSD trips, as LSD contains chemical elements related to the ergot fungus. Sufferers may see all kinds of monsters flying or even believe they can fly themselves. Very much alike the temptations of Saint Anthony.
By the end of the 15th century, the monks had built roughly 370 hospitals across Europe to treat outbreaks of Saint Anthony’s Fire. The brothers were also instrumental in caring for those infected with the plague or Black Death. The success of these hospitals may be attributed to feeding their patients bread made from uninfected grains, such as wheat or other cereals, and providing compassionate care as a form of treatment. The Antonine Order as a monastic institution no longer exists. It began to decline in the 17th century, and by the late 18th century, it was absorbed into other religious orders or dissolved, especially during the wave of secularization and monastic reform that swept Europe.
However, their legacy of care lived on and we still see traces of it today, particularly in the naming of hospitals, clinics, and charitable institutions. Names like Antonius Gasthuis (Hospital) in the Netherlands preserve this heritage, reminding us that long before modern medicine, healing was closely tied to religious devotion, charity, and the care of the sick.
How to recognize Saint Anthony in art
The Antonines were allowed to let their pigs roam freely through towns and villages. These pigs often wore little bells to signal that they belonged to the order and should not be harmed. The fat from these pigs was used by the monks to make the medicinal Saint Anthony’s balm, a healing ointment for treating the skin lesions and intense burning sensations caused by ergotism (by Saint Anthony’s Fire). When going around for alms, the monks were also carrying and ringing bells.
Over time, the pig and the bell became symbols of Saint Anthony’s role as a protector of the sick. In art, the pig is a subtle allusion to both his healing work and the monastic order’s care practices. Another symbol is the fire, which represents the fire-like burning pain of the skin disease, the Saint Anthony’s Fire.
Another symbol closely associated with Saint Anthony is the Greek letter Tau (Τ). This simplest form of the cross was a decorative emblem with a spiritual meaning. Saint Anthony is said to have used the Tau as a sign of protection against evil, and it became the emblem of the Antonine order and the monks wore it on their habits.
Saint-Antoine-l’Abbaye, in southeastern France, is a medieval village that developed around an abbey housing relics of Saint Anthony, brought there in the 11th century. In the Middle Ages, it became a major pilgrimage destination, especially for those seeking healing from Saint Anthony’s Fire. It was also the motherhouse of the Antonines, or the Hospital Brothers of Saint Anthony, the religious order devoted to care and healing.
Monastery of Saint Anthony, Egypt
The Monastery of Saint Anthony in Egypt, located in the Eastern Desert near the Red Sea, is one of the oldest Christian monasteries in the world. Founded in the 4th century near the cave where Saint Anthony lived in seclusion, it has remained a center of pilgrimage and monastic life ever since, preserving the spiritual heritage of early Christian monasticism within the Coptic Orthodox tradition.
Medical literature
And here are two great articles from the medical literature.
Although the Antonine monasteries no longer exist, their legacy is still with us. Hospitals and care institutions across Europe still bear the name of Saint Anthony, such as the ‘St. Antonius Gasthuis’ in Zeeland, The Netherlands. These names are not coincidental. They are echoes of a time when healing the sick was considered a sacred duty, and when monks provided care long before the advent of modern medicine. The spirit of Saint Anthony’s compassion, and the idea that care itself can be a form of healing, continues to influence how we think about health and humanity today.
In our modern world, medicine often revolves around the idea of cure: fixing what is broken, extending life, eliminating disease. While this is a noble and essential goal, we sometimes risk forgetting the quieter, older value of care. Saint Anthony and the Antonine monks remind us that healing is not always about eradicating illness. Their gentle presence, their comfort, their tending to the pain of others – these were acts of care that, in their time, were experienced as cures.
For the old, the frail, and those nearing the end of life, a cure may no longer be possible. But care, simple and devoted and human, can still be given. And in many cases, it may be the greater blessing.
This 1946 painting by Salvador Dalí was created for an invitational competition on the theme of The Temptation of Saint Anthony, organized by the Loew-Lewin Company, a film production firm. The winning entry would appear in the movie The Private Affairs of Bel Ami, based on a story by Guy de Maupassant. Eleven artists participated, including Dalí, Paul Delvaux, and Max Ernst. Although Dalí’s painting did not win the contest, it later became the most well-known of all the submissions. The prize ultimately went to Ernst.
Now that I’ve written about Jeremiah and Isaiah, it’s time to turn to Daniel and Ezekiel. These four are known as the Major Prophets, meaning they each have a full “major” book named after them in both the Hebrew and Christian Bibles. Ezekiel is a challenge, though. His visions are so abstract that they’re hard to picture, which makes him a tricky subject for visual storytelling.
Daniel, on the other hand, had plenty of adventures, and artists have loved depicting them in paintings and prints. Drama galore! He’s not always seen as a traditional “prophet” in the sense of an old wise man foretelling the future, but Daniel was definitely a visionary, and young and beautiful, and a smart cookie too! Here are some of the stories around Daniel, brought to life through art. Enjoy!
First some background on Daniel: He was part of the Jewish nobility in Jerusalem, but taken into exile when the Babylonians, under King Nebuchadnezzar, attacked and destroyed the city in 586 BC and looted its grand temple. Daniel and many others were deported to Babylon. Despite being a foreigner in exile, Daniel rose to a respected position at the royal Babylonian court, thanks to his intelligence and striking beauty.
A recurring theme in these stories is the downfall of rulers who abuse their power, and the triumph of justice. Daniel is on our side with his patience, wisdom and moral courage.
In Salomon Koninck’s Daniel before Nebuchadnezzar (c.1630), we see the young exile Daniel standing calmly before the powerful Babylonian king, counting to four on his fingers as he explains the king’s troubling dream that none of the royal wise men, seen on the left searching in books, could decipher. The king had dreamt of a giant statue made of four materials: a golden head, silver chest, bronze torso, and legs of iron mixed with clay. The statue was terrifying in appearance, until a mysterious stone struck it and shattered it to dust. Daniel reveals that the statue represents a succession of kingdoms, with Nebuchadnezzar’s own Babylonian empire as the golden head, and each one destined to fall.
The dream’s deeper meaning would unfold over generations. Babylon eventually fell to the Medes and Persians, just as Daniel had foretold. Koninck’s painting captures the quiet authority of Daniel among the king’s scribes, as the young visionary reveals that even the most powerful rulers are subject to the judgment of time and of something greater than themselves.
This story remains a warning to rulers of all eras not to overreach in their power, because pride and arrogance are always destined to fall, even for the mightiest people on earth.
The Writing on the Wall
Now to the next story, about King Belshazzar, a successor of Nebuchadnezzar. Belshazzar once held a lavish feast, using the sacred gold and silver vessels that had been looted from the temple in Jerusalem, Daniel’s homeland. At the height of the party, a mysterious hand appeared and began writing glowing words on the wall. No one could interpret them, so Daniel was summoned. He was the only one who understood the message: “mene, mene, tekel, upharsin”.
Daniel explained it as a divine judgment, and told King Belshazzar that this is what it means:
Mene means numbered, the days of your reign are numbered, and they are ended.
Tekel means weighed, you have been weighed and found wanting, you have failed the test.
Upharsin means divided, your kingdom will be divided and given to the Medes and Persians.
The message foretold the fall of Belshazzar and the end of the Babylonian kingdom. Daniel warned the king that by arrogantly flaunting the temple treasures and ruling with excess and pride, he had sealed his own fate. That very night, Belshazzar was killed, and the Persians took control of Babylon.
Rembrandt’s Belshazzar’s Feast captures this moment of divine intervention with dramatic intensity. The story remains a warning to rulers who govern with arrogance and disregard for justice. It also offers a quiet message of hope to the oppressed: power built on pride will not last, and justice will come in time.
The saying “the writing on the wall” comes directly from this dramatic moment in the Book of Daniel. In Dutch: een teken aan de wand.
The phrase “weighed and found wanting,” meaning “evaluated (weighed) and found to be lacking,” also comes from this same passage — the mysterious words Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin. In Dutch: gewogen en te licht bevonden.
Now to one of Daniel’s own dreams, in which he sees four strange beasts rising from a stormy sea. Disturbed by the vision, Daniel asks an angel to help him understand what it means. The angel explains that the four beasts represent four successive empires: the lion with eagle’s wings is often interpreted as Babylon, the bear as the Medo-Persian Empire, the leopard with four wings as Greece under Alexander the Great, and the final terrifying beast with iron teeth and ten horns as the Roman Empire.
Even the most fearsome of these, the monstrous last beast representing the Roman Empire, is destined to fall. Once again, the message is clear: no kingdom lasts forever.
This is a warning to rulers to govern with humility, not through violence or intimidation like the beasts of the vision, which rule with claws and teeth.
Daniel’s next adventure, and perhaps the most well-known, is his stay in the lions’ den. Rubens’s powerful painting in the National Gallery in Washington brings this dramatic moment to life with vivid realism.
So what happened? Daniel had become a favored advisor at the court of King Darius (or Cyrus, depending on the source), the Persian ruler who succeeded the Babylonians. But jealous rivals plotted against him. They tricked the king into issuing a decree that, for thirty days, no one could pray to any god or person except to King Darius himself. Anyone who disobeyed would be thrown to the lions. Devout as ever, Daniel continued to pray to his own God, the God of Israel. Though Darius admired Daniel and regretted the trap he had fallen into, he was bound by the law of the Medes and Persians, which could not be changed.
Daniel was thrown into the lions’ den. He kept praying, and help came in the form of the prophet Habakkuk, who was miraculously transported to Daniel with food – carried by an angel who lifted him by his hair (see the manuscript illustrations, and the engraving hereunder).
After a week, Darius had the den opened, and to everyone’s astonishment, Daniel was still alive and unharmed. The king rejoiced, and justice was swiftly served: Daniel’s accusers were thrown into the lions’ den in his place.
The moral? However hard the trial, and however hopeless the outcome may seem, faith and perseverance can lead to a just resolution. For Daniel, this meant both survival and vindication. The story remains a symbol of hope and courage. In modern terms: even when those in power make life miserable, keep your faith and hold your head high. A day of justice will come.
Now we turn to Susan and the Elders, which story remains startlingly relevant today. At its heart is a woman wrongly accused by two powerful men after she refuses their sexual advances. Her integrity is put on trial, her word weighed against that of respected elders. Yet she does not give in. Susanna chooses to speak, knowing the cost. It is a story of courage, the abuse of power, and ultimately, of justice, thanks to the young Daniel, who intervenes with clarity and moral insight. By cross-examining the two elders separately, Daniel uncovers their lies: each gives a contradictory account of the scene, revealing their falsehood and exposing their guilt. The story concludes with Susanna’s vindication and the elders’ downfall.
In the story, after Susanna refused their sexual advances, the elders sought revenge by claiming they had caught her committing adultery with a young man in her garden. According to the law at the time, adultery was punishable by death, and the testimony of two respected elders carried great weight. Their accusation was intended to destroy her reputation and life, but Daniel’s intervention ultimately revealed the truth and saved her.
Centuries later, this story continued to inspire artists, particularly in the Baroque period. Rembrandt’s Susanna and the Elders (1647), housed in the Gemäldegalerie in Berlin, captures a moment of vulnerability and fear. In contrast, Artemisia Gentileschi’s Susanna and the Elders (c.1610) is strikingly defiant. Painted when she was only seventeen, Artemisia – herself a survivor of sexual violence – transforms Susanna into a figure of resistance. Today, her version speaks with particular force, not only because of its raw visual intensity, but because the artist’s own trauma echoes through her entire oeuvre.
In the context of the MeToo movement, the story of Susanna feels painfully modern. A woman is cornered, threatened, and disbelieved by those in power. Yet she refuses to yield. With Daniel’s intervention, truth is reclaimed and the false accusers are unmasked. This ancient tale becomes, in today’s terms, a parable of resistance and the enduring hope for justice, even against overwhelming odds.
Yet we must also look critically at how this story has been visualized, especially in the Baroque era. For many male artists, including Rubens and Rembrandt, Susanna and the Elders became a pretext for painting the nude female body under the guise of a biblical subject. Susanna is often shown at her most vulnerable, surprised in the bath, exposed not only to the leering elders but also to us, the viewers. This dynamic implicates the audience, making us – consciously or not – silent participants. From a contemporary perspective, especially in light of #MeToo, we must ask: are we seeing Susanna through the eyes of Daniel, or through the eyes of the elders?
Daniel urges us to shift our perspective, from complicity to conscience. When we look at these artworks, we are invited not just to witness injustice, but to side with justice. Daniel’s judgment is not merely a narrative turning point, it is a call to the viewer: to recognize the abuse of power, to listen to the vulnerable, and to believe that justice, though often delayed, will prevail.
Daniel exposed the elders by separating them and asking each under which tree they had seen Susanna commit the alleged act. One claimed it was under a small mastic tree, the other said it was a big oak. Their conflicting answers revealed their lie, proving that their accusations were false and leading to Susanna’s vindication and the elders’ punishment, which was quite harsh in the days of Daniel, but also in the days when these engravings were made.
Daniel exposes the corruption of the priests of Bel
The next one is how Daniel exposes the corruption of the priests of Bel, one of the gods (or idols) in the land of king Darius (or Cyrus, depending on the source of the story). It’s a lesser-known but sharp story about uncovering corruption.
In this scene, King Cyrus of Persia, at the center, questions Daniel about his refusal to worship the god Bel, whose statue looms in shadow on the right, you can see the legs of the big statue. Cyrus insists Bel is a living deity, pointing to the daily offerings of food and wine that mysteriously vanish each night. Daniel calmly replies that bronze statues do not eat. The story takes a playful turn, this powerful king believes the idol consumes the offerings! But Daniel is about to expose the truth. What really happens to the food and wine? The answer reveals not just a trick, but a deeper tale of fraud, corruption, and the courage to speak truth to power. Daniel and Cyrus before the idol Bel (1633), Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 – 1669), Oil on panel, 24x30cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.
In Babylon, there was a magnificent temple dedicated to the god Bel (or Baal), where the people believed the statue of the god consumed great daily offerings of food and wine. Every day the people offered the most tasteful dishes and the most wonderful wines. And next day the food and wine was always gone. King Cyrus was a devout believer and asked Daniel why he did not worship Bel like everyone else. Daniel replied that Bel was only a statue made by human hands and that it could not eat or drink. To prove otherwise, the king challenged Daniel: if the food was indeed not eaten by Bel, the priests would be executed. But if Bel had eaten it, Daniel would be punished.
That night, the king sealed the temple doors after the offerings were placed inside. But Daniel had secretly scattered ashes on the temple floor. Next morning, the food was gone, yet the floor revealed footprints leading to a hidden door under the altar tabel and a secret entrance in the corner of the temple. It turned out the priests and their families had been sneaking in at night to eat the offerings themselves. The king, shocked at the deception, had the false priests removed, and the temple of Bel was destroyed.
Hereunder four engravings that tell the story in a comic-book style.
The lesson, also for today in our own time and place! Even the most sacred institutions can be corrupted from within. Daniel’s calm wisdom once again uncovers the truth. Faith and trust, combined with reason, has the power to expose lies and uphold justice.
Closing remarks
A note on the Book of Daniel and the Bible in general. Many people do not realize that the Catholic and Protestant Bibles are not exactly the same. The stories of Daniel exposing the corruption of the priests of Bel, his intervention in the case of Susanna and the Elders, and Habbakuk delivering food when Daniel is in the lions’ den, are perfect examples of this difference. These stories are part of the so-called “Additions to Daniel,” which are included in the Catholic Bible but not in the Hebrew Bible and not in the Protestant Old Testament. In most Protestant traditions, they are considered apocryphal, meaning additional or non-canonical. So depending on which Bible you are reading, you might or might not find these stories at all.
A moral remark as final closing: What can we take from Daniel’s stories today? Perhaps this: all empires, whether Babylonian, Persian, Greek, Roman, or others from Daniel’s time to our own, no matter how powerful, eventually collapse under the weight of their own excess. Any leader who overreaches, who rules with arrogance or deception, is destined to share in that downfall. The stories in Daniel’s book reveal a pattern. When power is worshipped for its own sake, it corrupts systems, turning them into something beastly, inhumane, and blind to truth. Daniel also teaches patience. Injustice and oppression do not end quickly, but they do end. In time, those who do harm, whether by abusing power or silencing the innocent, will face their reckoning. And on a more personal level, Daniel shows us what it means to live with integrity in unfamiliar circumstances, to hold your head high and trust in justice, even when you are in exile or a stranger in a strange land.
Bonus
I can’t resist adding a little bonus here, partly because this scene is so full of drama, and partly because it features two remarkable statues by my favourite sculptor Bernini, in the Chigi Chapel in Rome.
One statue shows Daniel in the lions’ den, praying to God. A lion is at his feet, even licking one of them, emphasizing Daniel’s divine protection. Across from him, in a niche on the opposite side of the chapel, we see the prophet Habakkuk. He’s seated on a rock, his lunch basket beside him, pointing in the direction he wants to go. But the angel has other plans! Leaning out of the niche, the angel lifts Habakkuk by the hair and points decisively toward Daniel, guiding him to bring food to the imprisoned prophet. Bernini composed these two figures as part of a larger program within the Chigi Chapel, connecting them visually and theologically. It’s a sculptural narrative drawn from from the apocryphal additions to the Book of Daniel.
Here’s the full passage featuring Habakkuk and the miraculous food delivery. Read and enjoy!
Daniel 14:33-39
Now the prophet Habakkuk was in Judea; he had made a stew and had broken bread into a bowl, and was going into the field to take it to the reapers. But the angel of the Lord said to Habakkuk, “Take the food that you have to Babylon, to Daniel, in the lions’ den.” Habakkuk said, “Sir, I have never seen Babylon, and I know nothing about the den.” Then the angel of the Lord took him by the crown of his head and carried him by his hair; with the speed of the wind he set him down in Babylon, right over the den.
Then Habakkuk shouted, “Daniel, Daniel! Take the food that God has sent you.” Daniel said, “You have remembered me, O God, and have not forsaken those who love you.” So Daniel got up and ate. And the angel of God immediately returned Habakkuk to his own place.
I’ve been thinking for a long time that I want to understand the Prophets better — their role in the Jewish Hebrew Bible, their place in the Christian Old Testament, and even how they appear in New Testament stories about the life of Jesus. But when I look at how the Prophets are shown in art, it’s not so easy. They usually look like wise old men, deep in thought, sometimes holding a book or mostly a scroll — probably because back in the time they lived, around 600–900 BC, there were no books yet, only scrolls for writing. Without a name or a clear symbol, it’s almost impossible to tell one Prophet from another. Maybe that’s why artists who painted or engraved series of Prophets often made sure to write their names somewhere. Otherwise, they would just be a group of thoughtful old men.
How to get to know these Prophets, beyond just their faces and names?
Let’s start with Isaiah and Jeremiah, who (together with Ezekiel and Daniel) are considered the Major Prophets. The term “major” here refers not so much to their importance over others, but more to the length of their prophetic books, which are part of both the Christian Old Testament and the Jewish Hebrew Bible.
Isaiah (sometimes as Jesaiah or Jesaja) prophesied during a time of great political upheaval, in the 7th Century BC, and is known for his peace predicting visions. He is considered as the author of the Bible book named after him. Besides messages of hope and peace, the later chapters are often interpreted as Messianic, meaning that Isaiah announced the arrival of a world-peace keeper, to be interpreted as a new king in his own days, or interpreted by Christians as the arrival of Jesus.
The prophet Isaiah says in his Bible book in verse 7:14: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” How to interpret this from a Christian point of view? “Immanuel” means “God with us” in Hebrew. Isaiah’s prophecy seems to say that the child will be called that name. But when Jesus is born, he is named Jesus (from Hebrew Yeshua, meaning “The Lord saves”), not Immanuel. Why? The evangelist Matthew, who writes about Jesus’ life in his book in the New Testament, explicitly connects “Jesus” with “Immanuel”. In Matthew 1:22–23, where Matthew writes about the birth of Jesus, he says that Jesus’ birth fulfills Isaiah’s prophecy of 600 years earlier, as Matthew clearly sees Jesus as embodying God is with us (which is the meaning of the name Immanuel) even though his personal name is Jesus. Name problem solved, according to Matthew
Virgin or Not-a-Virgin?
Now about Isaiah’s use of the word “virgin”. In the original Hebrew Bible, the verse says that an “almah” — a young woman — will conceive and bear a son. The Hebrew word “almah” simply means a young woman of marriageable age; it does not specifically mean virgin. If Isaiah had intended to stress virginity, he would have used a more virgin-specific word. Several centuries before Christ, Jewish scholars translated the Hebrew Bible into Greek. In their translation of Isaiah 7:14, they chose the Greek word “parthenos” which means virgin, not just young woman. This translation had a major impact: it shaped how early Christians, who often read the Bible in Greek, understood Isaiah’s prophecy. Later, in the Latin translation of the Greek Bible, the verse was rendered: “Ecce Virgo Concipiet” — “Look, the Virgin shall conceive.”
This Latin version “Ecce Virgo Concipiet” or simply “Ecce Virgo” reinforced the Christian reading that Isaiah had foretold a miraculous virgin birth. In the Gospel of Matthew (Matthew 1:22–23), the birth of Jesus from the Virgin Mary is thus presented as the direct fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy. For Christians, Jesus is seen as “Immanuel” (“God is with us”), with a “virgin” mother, which was announced by Isaiah seven centuries earlier.
In Jewish interpretation, however, Isaiah 7:14 is understood differently. It is seen as a prophecy intended for Isaiah’s own time as Isaiah was speaking directly to King Ahaz of Judah about a political and military crisis happening at that time (around 735 BC). Two enemy kings were threatening Jerusalem, and Isaiah was reassuring King Ahaz that God would protect Judah. The child mentioned likely referred to a contemporary birth — perhaps the future King of Judah — and not to a miraculous virgin birth in the distant future, seven centuries later. In this view, the name “Immanuel” would symbolically express God’s support for Judah during the immediate crisis, not predict a future Messiah born centuries later.
Summary: in the Jewish view: Isaiah 7:14 refers to a young woman in Isaiah’s own time, not to a virgin birth. In the Christian view: Isaiah 7:14 foretells the virgin birth of Jesus, as echoed in the Latin phrase “Ecce Virgo Concipiet”.
Isaiah and Fra Angelico’s Valdarno Annunciation.
Let’s look at the connection between Isaiah’s Prophecy and the Annunciation in Fra Angelico’s Valdarno Annunciation (c. 1430). It’s not just a typical depiction of the biblical moment when the Archangel Gabriel announces to the Virgin Mary that she will conceive Jesus. It is a visual commentary on the connection between the Old and New Testaments, specifically the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy.
In the center of the composition, a unique tondo (a circular frame) prominently features Isaiah holding a scroll inscribed with the Latin phrase “Ecce Virgo Concipiet” (“Look, the Virgin shall conceive”), directly referencing Isaiah 7:14. This prophecy foretold that a virgin would bear a son, a passage which Christians believe is fulfilled in the birth of Jesus. By placing Isaiah’s scroll in the Annunciation scene, Fra Angelico visually unites the Old Testament prophecy with the New Testament event, making it clear that Mary’s conception of Christ is the fulfillment of what was promised centuries earlier. The scroll not only links the two Testaments but also serves as a bridge between the prophetic and the fulfillment, allowing viewers to see the continuity of divine purpose across time. The phrase “Ecce”, meaning “look” or “see,” calls the viewer’s attention to the importance of Mary’s role. Isaiah with his scroll tells us viewers directly and literally: “Look, here is Mary’s conception of Christ!”
By integrating Isaiah into the scene, Fra Angelico emphasizes the idea that Christ’s birth was not a sudden, isolated event but the culmination of 700 year promise. In essence, Fra Angelico’s Valdarno Annunciation is a masterful visual exploration of prophecy and fulfillment, inviting the viewer to reflect on the continuity of God’s word from the Old to the New Testament, with Isaiah as the messenger.
Jewish versus Christian perspective.
From the Jewish perspective, it can seem like Christians are hijacking (or reinterpreting beyond the original context) Isaiah’s prophecy from some 700 years earlier. From the Christian perspective, the idea is more like the Old Testament has deeper layers, hidden meanings that are only revealed through Christ. The evangelist Matthew (and later Christian thinkers) read the whole Old Testament as pointing ahead to Jesus, even if the people in Isaiah’s time didn’t realize it yet. So for Christians, it’s not hijacking, it’s fulfilling.
In short: Jews say Christians misread Isaiah; Christians say Isaiah was prophesying deeper truths without even fully knowing it.
Isaiah 2:4 and the Vision of Peace and a World without War
In Isaiah 2:4, the prophet describes a future time when nations will no longer make war, but will instead turn their tools of violence into tools of cultivation and life:
“They will hammer their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will no longer fight against nation, nor train for war anymore.”
In Isaiah’s vision, weapons are literally reshaped into farming tools: swords become ploughshares (blades for turning the soil, as agricultural instruments), and spears become pruning hooks (used to tend vines and trees). It became a symbol of transforming destruction into creation, war into peace, and death into life. This prophecy captures Isaiah’s forward-looking hope for a world ruled by divine justice and wisdom, where international conflicts are settled peacefully, and where humanity’s energy is devoted not to violence but to sustaining life and nurturing the earth.
Isaiah and Brueghel’s Peace Vision Painting.
A visual interpretation of Isaiah’s prophecy appears in Brueghel’s Isaiah’s Prophecy (c. 1609), housed in the Alte Pinakothek in Munich. This oil-on-copper painting captures Isaiah’s vision of peace, specifically the transformation of weapons into tools of cultivation. The central theme “They shall beat their swords into ploughshares” (Isaiah 2:4), is vividly depicted with a putto burning a helmet and figures on the left who are literally shown reshaping swords into ploughshares and other agricultural tools, symbolizing the cessation of war and the beginning of a harmonious, peaceful era.
The painting likely refers to a ceasefire signed in 1609 between the Spanish Catholic suppressor and the Dutch Protestant Revolt faction in the Low Countries (the Twelve Years’ Truce during the Eighty Years’ War). The three women in the scene on the right, representing Fortune, Faith, and Abundance, symbolize the blessings and positive outcomes that peace can bring.
Isaiah can be seen holding a tablet with his prophecy:
Iudicabit gentes, et arguet populos multos; et conflabunt gladios suos in vomeres, et lanceas suas in falces.
or
He shall judge among the nations, and instruct many peoples; and they shall forge their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks.
And in Isaiah 11:6-8, he describes a perfect world where all creatures of nature live in a perfect harmony. Besides a future living-in-harmony vision, this description also shows the daily dangers of nature in Isaiah’s time:
In that day the wolf and the lamb will live together; the leopard will lie down with the baby goat. The calf and the yearling will be safe with the lion, and a little child will lead them all. The cow will graze near the bear. The cub and the calf will lie down together. The lion will eat hay like a cow. The baby will play safely near the hole of a cobra. Yes, a little child will put its hand in a nest of deadly snakes without harm.
Isaiah and the United Nations.
Before we move on to Jeremiah, our next Prophet, let’s close Isaiah’s story with a glimpse of how his vision still lives on in our world today.
Outside the United Nations Headquarters in New York stands a bronze sculpture titled Let Us Beat Swords into Ploughshares. Created by Soviet artist Evgeniy Vuchetich (from Ukraine) and presented by the Soviet Union to the UN in 1959, the statue depicts a muscular man forging a sword into a ploughshare with a hammer. This imagery directly references the vision of peace articulated by the Prophet Isaiah, who proclaimed: “They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more” (Isaiah 2:4). The sculpture embodies Isaiah’s prophetic hope for a future where instruments of war are transformed into tools for nurturing life, symbolizing a universal aspiration for peace and the end of conflict.
IIsaiah lived in the 8th century BC, during a time of political turmoil and moral decline in the Kingdom of Judah. He called for justice and righteousness, while also offering some of the most hopeful and enduring promises in the biblical tradition. His visions express the hope for a world where violence, fear, and injustice are overcome by harmony, justice, and peace. It is a universal prophecy, and it speaks to every age.
The Prophet Jeremiah
Jeremiah is another of the major prophets of the Hebrew Bible, known for his impassioned warnings and deep sorrow over the fate of his people. His prophecies include warnings of coming judgment, but also give hope for restoration.
Jeremiah lived in the late 7th and early 6th centuries BC and prophesied during a time of great political and spiritual crisis in the Kingdom of Judah. Jeremiah warned that Jerusalem would fall because of the people’s unfaithfulness to God, condemning idolatry, social injustice, and the corruption of both leaders and priests. His warnings came true when the Babylonians, under King Nebuchadnezzar II, destroyed Jerusalem and looted its Temple in 586 BC, leading to the exile of many Jews to Babylon.
Because of the emotional depth of his laments — especially those expressed in the Bible Book of Lamentations, traditionally attributed to him — Jeremiah is often called the “weeping prophet.” His name gave rise to the word jeremiad, meaning a long, mournful complaint. His name survives in the given name Jeremy.
In art, Jeremiah is typically portrayed as an elderly, bearded man, often seated or hunched in a posture of grief or deep contemplation. He may appear weeping or lost in thought, his head resting on his hand in a gesture of sadness and lamentation. On Rembrandt’s painting hereunder, Jeremiah is mourning the destruction of Jerusalem. The old prophet sits on the rocky slope of a mountain, his head resting on his left hand. On a stone beside him lie a golden bowl, a jug, and books, relics from the destroyed temple. In the lower left, the burning buildings of Jerusalem can be seen.
One of the most famous depictions is Michelangelo’s Jeremiah on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, his head resting on his hand in a posture of mournful reflection.
Interestingly, Michelangelo’s depiction of Jeremiah in the Sistine Chapel may have a personal twist. Some art historians suggest that the anguished expression of the prophet could actually be a self-portrait of Michelangelo himself. At the time, Michelangelo was deep into his monumental work on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, a project that was taking far longer than expected. Pope Julius II’s persistent demands for progress left Michelangelo feeling trapped and frustrated, and it’s said that the artist infused some of his own lamentation and weariness into Jeremiah’s portrayal. Perhaps, in this depiction, the weeping prophet is not only mourning the fate of his people but also expressing Michelangelo’s own sorrow over the endless toil of the commission.
Closing Remarks, Jeremiah and Isaiah in modern days.
Both Jeremiah and Isaiah speak to people in times of crisis, but their emotional tone and prophetic focus differ. Jeremiah is deeply rooted in lament and mourning. He bears witness to downfall and trauma, giving voice to sorrow, both that of others and his own, as if he personally carries the pain. His spirit is introspective and somber, focused on exposing the depth of the wound. Isaiah, by contrast, speaks with an eye toward hope and restoration. His prophecies are filled with visions of peace and a transformed world. He is forward-looking, pointing the way to healing and offering a horizon of promise and joy.
In simple terms: Jeremiah names the wound and weeps over it; Isaiah envisions the cure and sings of its coming.
Together, they can help heal the human heart. When we are weighed down by loss, we can think of Jeremiah and Isaiah: Jeremiah gives us the space to mourn, to acknowledge sorrow without shame. Isaiah reaches out from the future, offering hope, renewal, and the promise of joy once again.
The tale of Cain and Abel is one of the earliest and most poignant stories from the Bible, illustrating themes of jealousy, moral choice, and justice.
Adam and Eve expelled from Paradise and Adam and Eve with their sons Cain and Abel (c.1450) Miniature from Manuscript 0139, f.003v-004, Jean Mielot, Miroir de l’humaine salvation, parchment, leaf 40x30cm, Chantilly, Bibliothèque et Archives du Château, France.
The narrative begins with Adam and Eve, the first humans created by God, living in the Garden of Eden. This paradise was lost to them by eating the forbidden fruit, resulting in their expulsion. Driven from Eden, they were condemned to a life of toil and hardship. Adam, whose name means “man,” was cursed to work the ground and labor for his sustenance with great effort and sweat. Eve, whose name means “life,” was condemned to suffer pain in childbirth. These curses set the stage for their challenging life outside Eden.
After their expulsion from Eden, Adam and Eve started a new life and had two sons: Cain, the firstborn, and Abel. Cain became a farmer, working the soil, while Abel became a shepherd, tending to the flocks. Their professions set the stage for the fateful events that followed.
Cain and Abel Offering Gifts (c. 1365) Master of Jean de Mandeville (French, active 1350 – 1370), Illuminated manuscript with tempera colors, gold, and ink, leaf 35x26cm, Getty, Los Angeles.
In time, both Cain and Abel made offerings to God. Cain offered fruits of the soil, while Abel brought fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. God looked with favor upon Abel and his offering, but He did not look with favor upon Cain and his offering; see the two God-images on the manuscript illustration above. This divine preference sparked jealousy and anger in Cain.
Consumed by envy and rage, Cain lured Abel into the fields and killed him, committing the first murder recorded in biblical history. When God inquired about Abel’s whereabouts, Cain famously responded, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” God, knowing what had transpired, cursed Cain to a life of wandering and hardship, and sends him away to a land East of Eden.
The story vividly illustrates the destructive power of jealousy. Cain’s envy of Abel’s favor with God drives him to commit a heinous act. This emotion blinds him to brotherly love and leads to tragic consequences.
Cain Killing Abel (1589) Engraving by Jan Muller (Netherlandish, 1571 – 1628) after design by Cornelis Cornelisz van Haarlem (Netherlandish, 1562 – 1638), 33x42cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
After the murder, Cain expresses a form of regret when confronted by God. His infamous response, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” and later his concern about being killed in retribution, reflect his realization of the gravity of his actions. This regret, however, appears more self-centered than truly remorseful for Abel’s death. While the story does not explicitly mention forgiveness in the conventional sense, there is a form of divine clemency. God marks Cain to protect him from being killed by others, signifying that despite his grave sin, Cain is given a chance to live and possibly atone. This mark can be interpreted as a complex form of mercy, highlighting that even severe sinners are not beyond the reach of divine protection.
The Lamentation of Abel (1623) with on the right Abel’s flock of sheep, and two more children of Adam and Eve, one of them being Seth, the future ancestor of Noah. Pieter Lastman (Netherlandish, 1583 – 1633), 68x95cm, The Rembrandt House Museum, Amsterdam.
Adam and Eve Lamenting over the Corpse of Abel (1604) with some scenes in the background: top right Cain and Abel offering, middle right Cain kills Abel, and middle left Cain sent away to the East of Eden. from the series Adam and Eve, History of the First Parents of Man, engraving by Jan Pietersz Saenredam (Netherlandish, 1565 – 1607) after design by Abraham Bloemaert (Netherlandish, 1566 – 1651), 28x20cm cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
The Death of Abel (c.1539) and God cursing Cain and sending him away to the Land of Nod, East of Eden. Michiel Coxcie (Flemish, 1499 – 1592), 151x125cm, Prado, Madrid.
Genesis 4:9 is a pivotal verse: “Then the Lord said to Cain, ‘Where is your brother Abel?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘Am I my brother’s keeper?’”
This part holds significant moral implications, encapsulating themes of responsibility, guilt, and moral accountability. Here’s an analysis of its significance. By asking Cain about Abel’s whereabouts, God is not seeking information but providing Cain with an opportunity to confess his wrongdoing. This mirrors God’s approach to Adam and Eve in Genesis 3:9 when He asked, “Where are you?” after they sinned. It signifies God’s desire for honesty and repentance from humanity. The question “Where is your brother Abel?” underscores the expectation that humans should be aware of and care for one another, highlighting a fundamental ethical principle of communal responsibility.
Curse of Cain (1583) with few extra scenes: on the left Adam and Eve lamenting over the body of Abel, on the right Adam and Eve expelled from paradise and in top right corner the two offers made by Cain and Abel. from the series Sinners of the Old Testament, engraving by Raphaël Sadeler I (Flemish, 1561 – 1628) after design by Maerten de Vos (Flemish, 1532 – 1603), 24x20cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Cain’s reply, “I don’t know,” is a blatant lie, showcasing his unwillingness to accept responsibility for his actions. This reflects the depth of his moral failure, as he not only commits fratricide but also attempts to deceive God. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”: This rhetorical question is laden with irony and defiance. It encapsulates Cain’s attempt to evade responsibility and his failure to understand the moral duty of protecting and caring for his sibling. The phrase has since become synonymous with the idea of moral and social responsibility, questioning whether individuals are obligated to look after the welfare of others.
The passage underscores the teaching that individuals have a duty to one another. The concept of being one’s “brother’s keeper” implies that everyone has a responsibility to look out for and protect others, which is a cornerstone of ethical behavior in many religious and moral systems. The phrase “Am I my brother’s keeper?” challenges readers to reflect on their own responsibilities to their fellow human beings, making it a timeless and profound moral question.
The Story of Cain and Abel (1425 – 1452) in six scenes: top left Adam and Eve with their sons Cain and Abel, middle left Abel as shepherd, bottom left Cain as farmer, top right the offer of Cain and Abel and God giving more appreciation to one above the other, middle right Cain killing Abel, and bottom right God in conversation with Cain and sending him away to the land East of Eden. Lorenzo Ghiberti (Italian, 1378 – 1455), panel from the Gates of Paradise, Opera del Duomo Museum, Florence.
The story of Cain and Abel has been a rich source of inspiration for artists throughout history. Ghiberti’s bronze relief on the Gates of Paradise in Florence captures the drama and emotion of the tale in six scenes with the crucial moments of their story. The story of Cain and Abel is not only a tale of sin and retribution but also an exploration of human emotions and relationships. It continues to be a significant cultural and religious reference, reminding us of the complexities of human nature and the consequences of our actions.
Cain and Abel, Genesis 4:1-16 (based on the New International Version Bible translation)
1 Adam made love to his wife Eve, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Cain. 2 Later she gave birth to his brother Abel. Now Abel became a shepherd and kept flocks, and Cain worked as a farmer.
3 In the course of time Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to the Lord. 4 And Abel also brought an offering, fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The Lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering, 5 but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast.
6 Then the Lord said to Cain, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? 7 If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you may rule over it.”
8 Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” While they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.
9 Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” “I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
10 The Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. 11 Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. 12 When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.”
13 Cain said to the Lord, “My punishment is more than I can bear. 14 Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will kill me.” 15 But the Lord said to him, “Not so; anyone who kills you, Cain, will suffer vengeance seven times over.” Then the Lord put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him.
16 So Cain went away from the Lord’s presence and lived in the Land of Nod, East of Eden.
The Feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul is celebrated on January 25th. This day commemorates the biblical account of the dramatic conversion of Saul, who then becomes the Apostle Paul. According to biblical accounts, Saul was traveling to Damascus with the intention of arresting and persecuting Christians when he experienced a dramatic encounter with a bright light and heard the voice of Christ. Saul fell from his horse as he heard Christ’s words “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me”? or in Latin ”Saule, Saule, quid me persequeris”? This dramatic encounter brought about Saul’s conversion.
Saul was blinded by the strong light. He was then guided to Damascus where Ananias, a follower of Christ, baptised Saul and miraculously gave him back his eyesight. After his conversion, Saul’s name was changed to Paul, and he is often referred to as Saint Paul or the Apostle Paul.
Christ appears own a cloud, with three angels. The Conversion of Saint Paul (1506), Hans Baldung Grien (German, 1484 – 1545), woodcut, 24x16cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Alternative theories about what happened to Paul on the way to Damascus have been proposed, including sun stroke, struck by lightning and a seizure; or a combination of these. In an article in the Journal of Neurology, Neurosurgery, and Psychiatry (1987), it has been stated , that Paul’s conversion experience, with the bright light, loss of normal bodily posture, a message of strong religious content, and his subsequent blindness, suggested a Temporal Lobe Epilepsy (TLE) attack, and a post-ictal blindness. TLE seizures can affect emotions, behaviour, memory, and consciousness. Symptoms can vary widely and may include unusual sensations, altered sense of reality, déjà vu, hallucinations, or even loss of awareness. Post-ictal blindness refers to a temporary loss of vision that occurs after a seizure. Individuals may experience various neurological symptoms, and a temporary inability to see.
The Conversion of St Paul on the Way to Damascus (c.1680), Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (Spanish, 1617 – 1682), 125x169cm, Prado, Madrid.
The Conversion of St Paul on the Way to Damascus (c.1602), Adam Elsheimer (German, 1578 – 1610), Oil on Copper, 20x25cm, Städel Museum, Frankfurt am Main.
The Conversion of St Paul on the Way to Damascus (c.1527), Francesco Mazzola aka Parmigianino (Italian, 1503 – 1540), 178x129cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.
The Conversion of Saint Paul (1509), engraver Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, 1498 – 1533) after his own design, engraving, 28x41cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
According to the New Testament, after Saul had his encounter with the bright light on the road to Damascus and heard the voice of Christ, he was left blinded. The men traveling with Saul stood there speechless; they had heard the sound but did not see anyone. Paul got up from the ground, but when he opened his eyes he could see nothing. So they led him by the hand into Damascus. For three days he was blind. In Damascus he met with Ananias, who laid hands on him, and something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, restoring his sight. Ananias then baptized Saul, who took on the name Paul.
The Conversion of Saint Paul, print 15/34 from the series Acts of the Apostles (1582), engraver Philip Galle (Netherlandish, 1537 – 1612) after design by Maerten van Heemskerck (Netherlandish, 1498 – 1574), engraving, 21x27cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.
Ananias Restoring the Sight of Saul (1719), Jean Restout (French, 1692 – 1768), 99x80cm, Louvre, Paris.
The Apostle Paul with in the background the story of his conversion, including the words: “Saule, quid me persequeris” or “Saul, why are you persecuting me”?. Saint Paul, print 5/6 from the series Sinners of the Old and New Testament (c.1610), engraver Willem Isaacsz. van Swanenburg (Netherlandish, 1580 – 1612) after design by Abraham Bloemaert (Netherlandish, 1564 – 1651), Rijkmuseum, Amsterdam.
After his conversion, Paul dedicated himself to spreading the teachings of Christianity. He embarked on several missionary journeys, established Christian communities, and wrote numerous letters (epistles) that are an integral part of the New Testament. His writings and teachings have had a profound impact on the development of the early Christian Church.
The story of Vertumnus and Pomona comes from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, a Latin narrative poem from the year 8 CE. Vertumnus, the God of the Seasons, disguised himself as a talkative old woman and attempted to seduce the reclusive Pomona, the Goddess of Orchards. When Vertumnus approached Pomona in the form of an old woman, in her garden was an elm tree with a vine growing around its trunk. The old woman interpreted this as a symbol of marital union. In his disguise of the old spinster, he sang the praises of love and of Vertumnus. The trick worked, for when Vertumnus dropped his disguise and took on his own appearance of handsome young man, his good looks won Pomona over and she agreed to become his wife.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book XIV, verse 623-636: “Pomona tended the gardens more skilfully or was more devoted to the orchards’ care than anyone else. She loved the fields and the branches loaded with ripe apples. She carried a curved pruning knife, with which she cut back the luxuriant growth, and lopped the branches spreading out here and there. This was her love, and her passion, and she had no longing for desire. She enclosed herself in an orchard, and denied an entrance, and shunned men.“ Vertumnus and Pomona (1617), Jan Tengnagel (Dutch, 1584 – 1635), Oil on Copper, 21x29cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book XIV, verse 653-658: “Once, Vertumnus covered his head with a coloured scarf, and leaning on a staff, with a wig of grey hair, imitated an old woman. He entered the well-tended garden, and admiring the fruit, said: ‘You are so lovely’, and gave Pomona a few congratulatory kisses, as no true old woman would have done.” Vertumnus and Pomona (c.1638), attributed to Ferdinand Bol (Dutch, 1616 – 1680), 18x22cm, Pen and brown ink on paper, Princeton University Art Museum, Princeton NJ. Auctioned in 2007 at Christie’s New York; purchased Princeton University Art Museum for USD 144,000.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book XIV, verse 659-668: “Vertumnus, dressed at the old lady, pointed at the branches bending, weighed down with autumn fruit. There was a elm tree, covered with gleaming bunches of grapes. After he had praised the tree, and its companion vine, he said: ‘But if that tree stood there, unmated, without its vine, it would not be sought after for more than its leaves, and the vine also, which is joined to and rests on the elm, would lie on the ground, if it were not married to it, and leaning on it. But you, Pomona, are not moved by this tree’s example, and you shun marriage, and do not care to be wed. I wish that you did!” Vertumnus and Pomona (c.1630), Paulus Moreelse (Dutch, 1571 – 1638), 114x130cm, Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, Rotterdam.
Vertumnus continued seducing Pomona with sweet words. Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book XIV, verse 672-692: “Even now a thousand men and the gods and demi-gods want you, Pomona, though you shun them and turn them away. But if you are wise, if you want to marry well, and listen to this old woman, that loves you more than you think, more than them all, reject their vulgar offers, and choose Vertumnus to share your bed! You have my assurance as well: he is not better known to himself than he is to me: he does not wander here and there in the wide world: he lives on his own in this place: and he does not love the latest girl he has seen, as most of your suitors do. You will be his first love, and you will be his last, and he will devote his life only to you. And then he is young, is blessed with natural charm. Besides, that which you love the same, those apples you cherish, he is the first to have, and with joy holds your gifts in his hand! But he does not desire now the fruit of your trees, or the sweet juice of your herbs: he desires nothing but you. Take pity on his ardour, and believe that he, who seeks you, is begging you, in person, through my mouth.” Vertumnus and Pomona (c. 1749), François Boucher (French, 1703 – 1770), 86x135cm, Columbus Museum of Art, Columbus, Ohio.
Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book XIV, verse 761-764: “Remember all this, Pomona of mine: put aside, I beg you, reluctant pride, and yield to your lover. Then the frost will not sear your apples in the bud, nor the storm winds scatter them in flower.” Vertumnus and Pomona (1613), Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), 90×150cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Rubens chose to depict the moment when, having removed his disguise, Vertumnus declares his love to Pomona. On the left, the old lady’s stick, and Vertumnus’ old-lady’s-veil is just sliding off his head. Pomona tries to resist a bit still, but will now fall in love, and they will be together happily ever after. Vertumnus and Pomona (c.1636), Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), 27x38cm,Prado, Madrid.
Pomona finally falls in love with the beautiful Vertumnus, who according to Ovid looks like the sun so beautiful: see his sunray-style of hair on this engraving. And Pomona’s sickle is safely on the ground now. Read Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book XIV, verse 765-771: “When Vertumnus, the god, disguised in the shape of the old woman, had spoken, but to no effect, he went back to being a youth, and threw off the dress of an old woman, and appeared to Pomona, in the glowing likeness of the sun. Pomona, captivated by the form of Vertumnus, felt a mutual passion.” Vertumnus and Pomona (1605), engraving by Jan Saenredam (Netherlandish, 1565 – 1607) after design by Cornelis Cornelisz. van Haarlem (Netherlandish, 1562 – 1638), 26x22cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
On this engraving the whole story together in two scenes: Vertumnus disguised as the old lady speaks with Pomona, and Vertumnus and Pomona embracing each other in the background on the right. Vertumnus and Pomona (1605), engraving by Jan Saenredam (Dutch, 1565 – 1607) after design by Abraham Bloemaert (Dutch, 1564 – 1651), 49×38cm, Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, CT.
Vertumnus, from the Pastoral Gods series (1565), Engraver Cornelis Cort (Dutch, c.1533 – 1578), after design by Frans Floris the Elder (Flemish, 1519 – 1570), Publisher Hieronymus Cock (Flemish, 1518 – 1570), Engraving, 29x22cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
This portrait painted by Arcimboldo is Vertumnus, as a glorified representation of Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II. As Vertumnus was the God of the Seasons, all four seasons are represented in the portrait using corresponding fruits and vegetables. Some of the fruits and vegetables represented, such as corn, were exotic at the time in Europe. The elements of this allegorical portrait stand for the power of Emperor Rudolf and the prosperity in the domains he ruled. Portrait of Rudolf II as Vertumnus (1591), Giuseppe Arcimboldo (Italian, 1526 – 1593) 70x58cm, Skoklosters Slott, Skokloster, Sweden.
Pomona, from the Pastoral Nymphs and Goddesses series (1564), Engraver Cornelis Cort (Dutch, c.1533 – 1578), after design by Frans Floris the Elder (Flemish, 1519 – 1570), Publisher Hieronymus Cock (Flemish, 1518 – 1570), Engraving, 27x19cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Pomona encircled by a garland of fruit (17th Century), Studio of Frans Snyders (Flemish, 1579 – 1657), 203x158cm, latest Christies London 2010.
In the Low Countries, the Feast of Epiphany, or Twelfth Night of Christmas, is known as Drie Koningen (Three Kings). The Christian holiday is traditionally celebrated on January 6th with a festive meal at which friends and relatives gather to eat, drink and be merry. Drie Koningen originated as a medieval church holiday with public performances and festivals reenacting the biblical story of the Three Kings from the East who follow a bright star to find and do homage to the newborn Jesus. Although public performances had become outmoded in the 17th century, Twelfth Night continued to be celebrated in taverns and homes.
The king was chosen by chance, either by finding a bean or a coin in a cake baked for the occasion or by lottery, as is evident here from the two slips of paper on the floor and the one stuck on the hat of the young man seated at back. The King Drinks or Peasants Celebrating Twelfth Night (1635), David Teniers the Younger (Flemish, 1610 – 1690), 47x70cm, National Gallery, Washington.
It was a secular way to celebrate the Catholic Epiphany; the Protestants did disapprove of these Catholic festivities, but could not prohibit the feast staying popular indoors and within the family. The evening began with the proclamation of a “King,” played by the eldest member of the company or chosen by lot. This was done by drawing paper lots or by the concealment of a bean or coin in a large cake, and the person in whose portion it was found would preside over the festivities as “King” or “Bean King.” He put on a fake crown, chose a queen, and appointed a staff of courtiers – from minister to jester.
The Latin inscription as translated “None is closer to the fool than the drunkard”, lends the degenerate carryings-on a moralistic undertone. The Feast of the Bean King (c.1642), Jacob Jordaens (Flemish, 1593 – 1678) 242×300cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.
Royal duties were extremely simple: When the King raised a glass of wine or beer, everyone had to exclaim in chorus: “The King Drinks!” as an appeal to the participants in the feast to follow the King’s example. And that happened often enough! Such feasts dragged on the whole night.
The inscription above the King reads: “In Een Vry Gelach, Ist Goet Gast Syn”, which translates as “It’s great to be a guest at a free drinking party”. The King had to pay the bill at the end of the evening. The King Drinks (c.1639), Jacob Jordaens (Flemish, 1593 – 1678), 156×210 cm, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium, Brussels.
The “King” was not necessarily meant to represent one of the Three Kings, but might refer to the misrule of Herod, who is mocked as a drunkard and as a reminder of his all too excessive indulgence.
A Twelfth Night Feast, The King Drinks (c.1661), Jan Steen (Dutch, 1626 – 1679), 40x55cm, Royal Collection Trust, London.
The King Drinks (c.1655), David Teniers the Younger (Flemish, 1610 – 1690), 58x70cm, Prado, Madrid.
January, with “The King Drinks” scene, and with skating in the background (1629), from a series with the 12 months. Crispijn van de Passe I, engraver (Dutch, c.1564 – 1637) after design by Maerten de Vos (Flemish, 1532 – 1603), engraving, 12cm, Centraal Museum, Utrecht.
King’s Letter for a Twelfth Night celebration, with 16 lottery pieces for the various roles, King, Queen, Cook, Jester, Secretary, Singer, etc. Publisher Widow Hendrik van der Putte, Amsterdam, c.1766, 31×22cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
The Mauritshuis has acquired Vase with a Single Tulip by Balthasar van der Ast. This still life from 1625 is a rare painting showing only one flowering tulip. And it’s a very small painting, 27x20cm. Watercolor drawings with the one flower have been preserved in full, such as in tulip albums for bulb growers. In contrast, only two Dutch paintings with a single tulip are known from the 17th century.
Vase with a Single Tulip (1625), Balthasar van der Ast (Dutch, 1593 – 1657), 27x20cm, Mauritshuis, The Hague.
First documented in the eighteenth century in the collection of Johan van der Linden van Slingelandt (1701 – 1782), this is a much celebrated still life by Balthasar van der Ast, remarkable for its minimalist conception, featuring just a single flower. The composition is beautifully and simply arranged. A Zomerschoon (Summer Beauty) tulip stands in a small glass vase with a gilded neck and foot, placed just off centre in the panel, on a brown stone ledge. A small Adonis blue butterfly (Polyommatus bellargus ) has alighted on one of the flower’s leaves while a fly crawls along the ledge below, and we see three small drops of water against the dark leaf and background.
Van der Ast’s panel portrays nothing of the frantic atmosphere of speculation and competition in which it was created. The “Tulip Mania,” which swept the Netherlands during the 1620s and ‘30s, saw the fervid importation, production and sale of countless varieties of tulips as the emerging wealthy merchant class sought to own and grow new, strikingly colored types of the flower. At the peak of the mania, some of the flowers themselves cost more than their painted versions. In the boom year of 1637, particularly desired tulip bulbs could sell for 100–300 guilders, while a painting of flowers by Van der Ast was only about 39 guilders. So-called “broken” tulips (those infected with the virus which gave them their variegated colors) were the most popular new varieties. The Zomerschoon, usually consisting of red or pink streaks on a white or cream petal, was highly sought after and commanded exorbitant prices. It remains one of the few varieties of tulip cultivated in Holland in the seventeenth century that exist today.
Earlier in the painting’s provenance, it was auctioned at Christie’s, on December 8, 2016 for GBP 809,000 (Estimate GBP 300,000 – GBP 500,000).
Tulip “Admirael Castelyn” and Tulip “Perragoen Spoors” (c.1625), from a portfolio with 71 drawings of tulips and shells, Balthasar van der Ast (Dutch, 1593 – 1657), Watercolor, 31x20cm, Fondation Custodia, Paris.
To prepare his still lifes, Van der Ast made a sort of library of over 800 drawings of individual species of flowers, seashells and some insects, which he kept in his studio. The sheets are characterized by a number placed in the bottom left corner, as well as a calligraphic inscription naming the flower or seashell, and Balthasar van der Ast’s monogram in the bottom right corner. The largest group, consisting of 71 sheets, is housed in a folder at the Fondation Custodia, Paris. Van der Ast may have used this catalog for buyers when ordering a still life painting with flowers and shells, like buying a bouquet of flowers.
Shells and lizard (c.1625), from a portfolio with 71 drawings of tulips and shells, Balthasar van der Ast (Dutch, 1593 – 1657), Watercolor, 31x20cm, Fondation Custodia, Paris.
Shortly after 1600, flower still lifes emerged as a new genre in Dutch paintings, featuring a bouquet of blooming flowers. Rare and exotic species were favorites, such as the tulip. With these, painters created impossible bouquets; in reality, the various flowers could never all bloom at the same time.
Flowers in a Wan-Li Vase, with Shells (c.1645), Balthasar van der Ast (Dutch, 1593 – 1657), 53x43cm, Mauritshuis, The Hague.
A Tulip, a Carnation and Roses, with Shells and Insects, on a Shelf (c.1630), Balthasar van der Ast (Dutch, 1593 – 1657), 31x40cm, Sotheby’s New York January 27, 2022, Estimate 200,000 – 300,000 USD, unsold.
Balthasar van der Ast was taught by his brother-in-law Ambrosius Bosschaert the Elder (1573 – 1621), the pioneering flower painter of the first decades of the seventeenth century. Works in which a choice number of blooms and a few shells are placed on a ledge with flying insects, are an innovation of Van der Ast. He is not afraid to pose his flowers in unexpected ways, for example the roses placed face-down on the ledge, the better to appreciate the ruffles of the petals.
The shells in these paintings are also collectors’ items, important elements of the cabinets of curiosities that became popular in the seventeenth century. They reflect increasing interest in the natural world and the trading and colonial voyages of Dutch sailors, who took the shells as souvenirs with them from the Far East and West.
Flowers in a Vase, Shells, Butterflies, and a Cricket (c.1645), Balthasar van der Ast (Dutch, 1593 – 1657), 53x42cm, Louvre, Paris.
The painter Balthasar van der Ast (born in Middelburg, 1593) was raised by his older sister Maria. She was married to flower still life painter Ambrosius Bosschaert the Elder, who became Van der Ast’s teacher and introduced him to flower still lifes. In 1619, Balthasar van der Ast enrolled as a master painter in the Utrecht St. Luke’s Guild. At that time, the city of Utrecht was the center for flower still life art. Roelant Savery – about whom an exhibition will be on display at the Mauritshuis in spring 2024 – also worked here. Savery had a great influence on the development of Van der Ast, who made his use of color his own. In addition, Balthasar van der Ast had the advantage of being able to study various types of flowers at Savery’s home in Utrecht, as this painter owned his own garden with exotic flowers and plants.
At Tefaf in 2004, this still life by Balthasar van der Ast was found, that had gone missing from the Suermondt Ludwig Museum in Aachen in 1945. The painting finally made its way back to the museum in 2017.
The specific relevant content for this request, if necessary, delimited with characters: As many works of art belonging to the city of Aachen, the painting was taken to the Albrechtsburg in Meißen in 1942, since that area was supposed to be safe with regard to air raids. The American army withdrew in the summer of 1945 and left the area to the Soviet authorities. The fate of the Van der Ast from Aachen remained obscure, since the storage in the Albrechtsburg was to be heavily plundered by the Red Army and many pieces would end up in the Soviet Union. The Van der Ast still life, however, was not among these. It’s thought that a German lady working for the Soviet secret police had stolen the paintings from the Albrechtsburg. Afterwards, she had fled to Berlin and worked for the American forces, which enabled her to immigrate to the US and from there into Canada. With her, she brought twelve paintings, at least ten of them from the Aachen Suermondt-Museum. Over time, most of these paintings got dispersed and disappeared, but not the Van der Ast. Only recently, the negotiations have led to a proposal by the City of Aachen. The current owner agreed to return the painting to Aachen for a finder’s fee.
An inventory of 1632 confirms the presence of this still life in the collection of Princess Amalia van Solms, wife of Frederik Hendrik, Prince of Orange. By the early 1630s, Frederik Hendrik and Amalia van Solms had formed an important collection of contemporary Dutch and Flemish paintings. Their taste led them to collect mythological and allegorical paintings as well as princely portraits. The inventory of their possessions made in 1632 lists only four still lifes, of which “two small paintings in ebony frames, one a basket with fruit and the other a basket with flowers, by Van der Ast.”
Last week, I visited the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Antwerp, with a specific goal in mind: Rogier van der Weyden’s masterpiece, “The Seven Sacraments”. My visit was not solely to admire this exquisite triptych but also to delve deeper into the meaning of the seven sacraments. This exploration hereunder will be guided by seven works of art as visual narratives, with Van der Weyden’s triptych serving as our starting point.
In the interior of a Gothic church, Rogier van der Weyden has depicted two interconnected scenes. The Crucifixion is the main scene, with smaller episodes in the aisles of the church on the side panels and in front of the main altar in the central panel, forming the second scene: the “Seven Sacraments”. From left to right, we see Baptism, Confirmation, Confession, the Eucharist, Ordination, Marriage and the Anointing of the Sick. This church is a microcosm of medieval society, with rich and poor, young and old, all together on these three panels. The Seven Sacraments (c.1445), Rogier van der Weyden (Flemish, c.1399 – 1464), 200x223cm, Royal Museum of Fine Arts, Antwerp.
On the left panel from the front towards the back: Baptism: initiation into the Christian faith involving water, symbolising purification of sins and rebirth. Confirmation: children receive the Holy Spirit and become full members of the church, with anointing and laying on of hands by a priest or bishop. Confession: forgiveness of sins through confession to a priest, and with penance if appropriate.
On the central panel, behind the Crucifiction and in front of the main altar: Eucharist: the communion or the Lord’s Last Supper, it involves the consumption of bread and wine as symbols of Christ’s body and blood.
On the right panel, from the back towards the front: Ordination: individuals are ordained as priests, to serve the church. Marriage: symbolizing the union of two individuals in a lifelong partnership. Anointing of the Sick: spiritual and physical healing, often administered to those who are seriously ill.
The Seven Sacraments in seven paintings
Baptism
Baptism is the sacrament of regeneration and initiation into the Church that was begun by Jesus, who accepted baptism from St. John the Baptist. Baptism is understood, therefore, as the annulment of one’s sins and the emergence of a completely innocent person.
A sacrament that is conferred through the anointing with oil and the imposition of hands, Confirmation is believed to strengthen or confirm the grace bestowed by the Holy Spirit at baptism. The Confirmation rite is a relatively simple ceremony that is traditionally performed during the Mass by the bishop, who raises his hands over those receiving Confirmation and prays for the bestowal of the Holy Spirit. He then anoints the forehead of each confirmand with holy oil and says, “Accipe Signaculum Doni Spiritus Sancti” (“Be sealed with the gifts of the Holy Spirit”).
This sacrament of reconciliation or penance, reflects the practice of restoring sinners to the community of the faithful by confessing one’s sins to a priest. The Roman Catholic Church claims that the absolution of the priest is an act of forgiveness. To receive it, the penitent must confess all serious sins, manifest genuine sorrow for sins, and have a reasonably firm purpose to make amends. The sacrament of confession was rejected by most of the Reformers on the grounds that God alone can forgive sins, and not through a priest.
The Eucharist (from the Greek word “εὐχαριστία” which means “thanksgiving”) is the central act of Christian worship, also known as Holy Communion and the Lord’s Supper. The rite was instituted by Jesus at the Last Supper when he blessed the bread, which he said was his body, and shared it with his disciples. He then shared a cup of wine as his blood. Jesus called on his followers to repeat the ceremony in his memory. It is a commemoration of his sacrifice on the cross.
Ordination is a sacrament essential to the church, as it bestows an unrepeatable, indelible character upon the priest being ordained. The essential ceremony consists of the laying of hands of the bishop upon the head of the one being ordained, with prayer for the gifts of the Holy Spirit and of grace required for the carrying out of the ministry.
Marriage as a sacrament, also known as holy matrimony, is the covenant by which a man and a woman establish between themselves a partnership for the whole of life, administered in the presence of a priest. However, the inclusion of marriage among the sacraments gives the Roman Catholic Church jurisdiction over an institution that is of as much concern to the state as it is to the church.
Christ and Mary are invited to a wedding at Cana in Galilee. When Mary notices that the wine has run out, Christ delivers a sign of his divinity by turning water into wine. The account is taken as evidence of Jesus’ approval of marriage and earthly celebrations and has also been used as an argument against the total abstinence of alcoholic drinks. Wedding at Cana (c.1305), Giotto (Italian, 1266 – 1337), Fresco, 200x185cm, Scrovegni Chapel, Padua, Italy.
Anointing of the sick
This sacrament is conferred by anointing the forehead and hands with blessed oil and pronouncing a prayer. It may be conferred only on those who are seriously ill or on elderly people who are experiencing the frailties of old age. In popular belief, anointing is most valuable as a complement to confession or, in the case of unconsciousness, as a substitute for it. Anointing is not the sacrament of the dying; it is the sacrament of the sick.
This painting shows Christ’s mission to save the unfortunate and heal the sick. Christ is opening the eyes of a blind man, who kneels at his feet. His dog stares out of the painting, a reminder that soon he will no longer be needed to lead his master. There are three more unfortunate individuals: a lame beggar, with a crutch and a bowl, and two madmen. One of the latter is manacled, his chain held by a keeper; the other is cured of his possession, as an evil spirit (looking rather like a winged lizard) leaves his mouth. It seems likely that this painting has been commissioned by a hospital where its theme of healing and salvation would have been appropriate. Christ Healing the Sick (1577), Crispin van den Broeck (Flemish, 1524 – 1591), 91x142cm, Royal Collection Trust, Windsor Castle.
I had the privilege of spending several weeks in the Dutch countryside this August, surrounded by vast wheat fields, with tractors and combines blending their mechanical prowess reaping the harvest. Amidst the rustic charm and the modern pulse of agricultural machinery, I was reminded of Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s 1565 masterpiece “The Harvesters”.
“The Harvesters” is part of a series of six works that Bruegel created for the Antwerp merchant Niclaes Jongelinck, each depicting a different season of the year. “The Harvesters” specifically portrays the season of summer. It’s a landscape painting that offers a vivid and detailed depiction of a rural scene, showing peasants engaged in various activities during the harvest season. The foreground of the painting is dominated by peasants working in the fields. They are shown harvesting wheat, with some using sickles to cut the wheat and others gathering the cut stalks into bundles. Amidst the work, there is a group of peasants taking a break under a large pear tree, relaxing and enjoying their midday meal of porridge, bread and pears. In the background on the right, a man climbed an apple tree to shake its branches, while two women gathered the fallen apples into baskets. These scenes add a touch of human connection and leisure to the painting.
The background of the painting showcases a panoramic landscape with a village, a church, and a castle on the distant horizon. This panoramic view provides a sense of depth and perspective to the scene. “The Harvesters” is celebrated for its realism, attention to everyday life, and the way it captures the essence of rural existence during the 16th century. Bruegel’s series is a watershed in the history of Western art. The religious pretext for landscape painting has been suppressed in favor of a new humanism, and the unidealized description of the local scene is based on natural observations.
Summer “Aestas”, from the series The Seasons (1570), design and drawing by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (Flemish, c.1525 – 1569), engraver Pieter van der Heyden (Flemish, c.1530 – c.1572), publisher Hieronymus Cock (Flemish, 1518 – 1570), 23x29cm, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Pieter Bruegel the Elder created also a series of prints that corresponded to the seasons of the year, similar to his paintings. “Summer” is one of these prints, and it’s often considered a companion piece to his painting “The Harvesters”. This famous engraving gives a glimpse of the varied work of country people on a summer’s day. In the immediate vicinity of a village, the ripe grain is scythed, bundled and transported away; but it’s also time for refreshments and a chat. In the tradition of medieval pictures of the months and seasons, Bruegel celebrates the working peasants as guarantors of the country’s prosperity. Bruegel’s prints were engraved by other artists based on his own designs and drawings, allowing his works to reach a wider audience. Brueghel’s drawing for “Summer” still exists and is now in the Kunsthalle in Hamburg; for a picture, see hereunder.
In the print “Summer” Bruegel once again focuses on the themes of rural life and the activities of peasants during the warmer months. Just like his paintings, Bruegel’s prints are celebrated for their meticulous attention to detail, rich narratives, and the way they capture the essence of the time and place they depict.
This manuscript illustration from circa 1500 is a detailed showcase of the labour-intensive process of wheat harvesting in Flandres in the pre-industrial era. Here’s an overview of the various activities involved in wheat harvesting during that time and shown on the illustrated manuscript pages above, from left to right:
Reaping: The first step in wheat harvesting was reaping (Dutch: maaien), which involved cutting the mature wheat stalks with a sickle or scythe. Workers would move through the fields, carefully cutting the stalks close to the ground to ensure that the maximum amount of grain was harvested.
Binding: Once the wheat stalks were cut, they were gathered into bundles or sheaves (Dutch: schoven) and tied together using straw or twine. These bundles made it easier to transport and handle the harvested wheat.
Threshing: Threshing (Dutch: dorsen) was the process of separating the grain kernels from the rest of the plant. This was often done using a flail (Dutch: dorsvlegel), which consisted of a wooden handle attached to a wooden stick. Or it could be done by a horse trembling on the sheaves, as shown on this miniature, repeatedly beating the bundles of wheat to break open the husks and release the grain.
Winnowing: After threshing, the mixture of grain, husks, and chaff (the dry, protective casings around the grains) needed to be separated. This was achieved through winnowing (Dutch: schiften), a process in which the mixture was tossed into the air. The wind would carry away the lighter chaff, while the heavier grain would fall back to the ground. See the top right corner of this manuscript illustration.
Pieter Brueghel the Elder (Flemish, c.1525 – 1569)
The Painter and the Buyer (c.1566), Pieter Bruegel the Elder (Flemish, c.1525 – 1569), Pen and brown ink, 26x22cm, Albertina, Vienna.
A morose painter (a self portrait?) with a coarse brush is contrasted with a stupid-looking buyer, whose mouth is open with wonder. The inner distance between the two figures becomes evident in the polarity of their expressions. While the artist dedicates himself entirely to the work lying outside of the picture’s range, the customer is already reaching for his money-bag, apparently interested solely in material values. A symbol of ignorance, the spectacles point to this failure to appreciate art. Rather than being a self-portrait the drawing addresses the role of the artist: Pieter Brueghel is here ironically commenting on the conditions of art production in his day. (Text with thanks to the Albertina, Vienna.)
Pieter Bruegel the Elder (c. 1525-1569) was a renowned Flemish Renaissance painter and printmaker. He is often referred to as Bruegel the Elder to distinguish him from his sons, who were also artists and carried on his artistic legacy. Key points about Pieter Bruegel the Elder:
Artistic Style and Themes: Bruegel was known for his distinctive artistic style that combined meticulous detail, naturalism, and a deep understanding of human behavior. He is celebrated for his ability to capture everyday life and landscapes with a keen observation of the world around him. He often depicted scenes of peasants engaged in various activities, rural landscapes, and the changing seasons.
Subject Matter: Bruegel’s works often contained social and moral commentary. He frequently explored themes related to human folly, the cycles of life, the interaction between humans and nature, and the contrasts between different social classes. His paintings and prints often had multiple layers of meaning, inviting viewers to reflect on deeper concepts.
Seasonal Series: One of Bruegel’s notable accomplishments was his creation of a series of paintings that represented the different seasons of the year. These works include “The Gloomy Day” (early spring, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna), “Haymaking” (early summer, Lobkowicz Palace, Prague Castle), “The Harvesters” (late summer, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), “The Return of the Herd” (autumn, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna) and “The Hunters in the Snow” (winter). The “Spring” painting disappeared.
Influence: Bruegel’s work had a significant impact on subsequent generations of artists. His detailed depictions of nature and human life influenced the development of landscape painting and genre painting. Artists like Peter Paul Rubens and even later masters like the Dutch Golden Age painters drew inspiration from Bruegel’s work.
Humanism and Cultural Context: Bruegel’s art was created during a time when humanism was flourishing. Humanism emphasized the importance of individualism, human experience, and the natural world. Bruegel’s art reflected these ideals by portraying the common people, their joys, struggles, and the world they inhabited. While Brueghel did create some religious paintings, his most famous and distinctive works depict scenes of everyday life, landscapes, and the activities of peasants.
Printmaking: In addition to his paintings, Bruegel also created a number of prints. His detailed designs were engraved by skilled printmakers, allowing his works to reach a broader audience and leaving a lasting influence on art history.
This drawing from the Kunsthalle in Hamburg served as a relatively accurate preparatory sketch for the depiction of summer in a graphic sequence of the seasons planned by Bruegel towards the end of his life and which were put into engravings by Pieter van der Hayden (for a picture of the engraving “Summer” see above). Brueghel’s “Summer” offers a wealth of delicious pictorial inventions, such as the drinker’s foot, which pierces the front edge of the picture. Bruegel’s fine sense of humor is illustrated by the boy with a bundle of wheat growing out of his back, or the woman whose head is completely covered (or even replaced) by a basket of vegetables.
Bruegel was born in the town of Breda in the Duchy of Brabant, which is now part of the Netherlands. However, he spent a significant portion of his artistic career in Antwerp, a prominent city in Flanders. His work is associated with both the Netherlandish artistic tradition and the broader Flemish artistic movement. In essence, while Bruegel’s birthplace lies in what is now the Netherlands, his artistic contributions and much of his career are deeply connected to the artistic heritage and culture of Flanders. Therefore, he is often referred to as a Flemish artist within the context of art history.
Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s legacy has endured through the centuries. His works are celebrated for their ability to transport viewers into a detailed world of everyday life in the 16th century. His influence can be seen in the works of later artists, and he remains a highly respected figure in the history of Western art.
The story of Zeus and Callisto is part of Greek mythology and involves Zeus, the king of the gods, and Callisto, a beautiful nymph and one of the companions of the Artemis, goddess of the hunt and the equivalent of Diana in Roman mythology. Zeus is the same king of the gods as the Roman god Jupiter. The story of Zeus and Callisto serves as a tale about the capricious nature of the gods in Greek mythology. One of the most well-known versions can be found in Ovid’s “Metamorphoses”.
According to the myth, Callisto was a devoted follower of Artemis (Diana) and like the other companion nymphs in the group of Artemis, Callisto also swore to remain a virgin for her entire life. They are hunting together, bathing together and were a great subject for painters throughout the centuries to depict a group of female nudes. With the exception of Vermeer, who portrayed Artemis and her nymphs in a very discreet and decent manner.
Artemis (Diana) and her companion nymphs; Callisto was one of them. Diana can be recognised by the crescent moon worn as a tiara (c.1653). Johannes Vermeer (Dutch, 1632 – 1675), 98x105cm, Mauritshuis, The Hague.
However, Zeus, known for his numerous affairs and infidelities, set his eyes on Callisto and decided to seduce her. Disguising himself as Artemis, Zeus approached Callisto and took advantage of her, resulting in Callisto becoming pregnant.
Zeus (Jupiter), disguised as Artemis (Diana), even with the crescent mon on his/her head, seduces the nymph Callisto. The symbol of Zeus is the eagle and the arrows, which can be seen just behind Zeus, who now has the form and shape of Artemis (1727). Jacob de Wit (Dutch, 1695 – 1754), 240x205cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Zeus in the Guise of Artemis (Diana), and the Nymph Callisto; Zeus’ eagle can be seen just behind the pink cloth (1759). François Boucher (French, 1703 – 1770), 58x70cm), The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, MO.
When the truth came to light, Callisto faced the wrath of Artemis, who was furious at her for breaking her vow of chastity. The goddess could not bear to look at Callisto anymore, and she banished her from her company. Callisto was devastated and left to live a life of solitude.
Diana and Callisto; the pregnancy discovered. Diana on the left side, with the crescent moon on her head (c.1635). Most paintings have in their museum-titles “Diana” opposed to “Artemis”, but the two goddesses are the same; Artemis the Greek version and Diana the Roman one. Detail not to be missed on this Rubens painting is Diana’s enslaved servant. Peter Paul Rubens (Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), 203x326cm, Prado, Madrid.
As her pregnancy progressed, Callisto’s appearance began to change and she now has a baby belly. Hera, Zeus’s wife and the queen of the gods, noticed these changes and grew suspicious of her husband’s involvement. Feeling betrayed and enraged, Hera sought revenge on Callisto. After the nymph gave birth to a son named Arcas, Hera transformed Callisto into a bear.
Hera still wants to take revenge and changes Callisto into a Bear. On the left the peacock-carriage in which Hera descended from the sky. On the right the next moment from this episode, Callisto, now as a bear, walks away. (1590). Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Engraving, 18×26cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Arcas, son of Zeus and Callisto
In the meantime Arcas, the child of Zeus and Callisto, grew up and became a skilled hunter. He lived in a beautiful land and was chosen to be the king of that peaceful and pastoral area, called “Arcadia”, named after Arcas. Throughout history the name “Arcadia” has continued to be a symbol of an unspoiled and idyllic natural world.
Many years later, when Callisto is wandering around as a bear, her son Arcas is hunting and encounters a bear; his mother, and Arcas doesn’t know that (c.1725). Sebastiano Ricci (Venetian, 1659 – 1734), 65x54cm, latest at Sotheby’s London 2019.
As a bear, Callisto was forced to roam the wilderness, unable to communicate or return to her human form. Years passed, and one day, Arcas, now a young hunter, came across his mother-bear in the forest. Unaware that the bear was his own mother, he prepared to shoot it with his arrow. However, Zeus, who had been watching the events unfold, intervened to prevent a tragic outcome. To protect Callisto and her son, Zeus turned Arcas into a bear as well and placed them both among the stars, forming the constellations Ursa Major (the Great Bear) and Ursa Minor (the Smaller Bear). In this way, they were immortalized in the night sky, and their bond was forever preserved.
Callisto (as a bear) is hunted by her son Arcas. On the top right side, Zeus (with the eagle) is inviting Callisto and Arcas into the sky, where they will be the Great Bear and the Smaller Bear, the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor star constellations. (1590). Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Engraving, 18×26cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Hera did not like this at all; too much honour for Callisto and Arcas to be in the sky as stars. So, Hera descended from heaven and arrives with her carriage drawn by peacocks on sea-level, to complain to her friends the god Oceanus and his wife Tethis, a sea-goddess. Hera tells them that, in punishment for having such honorable place at the sky, they should never let the Callisto and Arcas, as Great and Smaller Bear, touch their waters and be able to wash themselves. Hera therefore instructs the gods of the sea that they shall not let either constellation sink below the horizon, and passing into the waters of the ocean. Indeed neither Ursa Major nor Ursa Minor ever set below the horizon, viewed from most regions in the Northern hemisphere.
Juno complaining to Oceanus and Thetis, ordering the sea gods to never let the Great Bear and Smaller Bear wash themselves in the ocean, to never have these star constellations sink into the sea (1590). Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Engraving, 18×26cm, Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Los Angeles, CA.
Ursa Major (Great Bear) and Ursa Minor (Smaller Bear)
Map (c.1760) with the constellations of the Northern Hemisphere; Ursa Major, the Big Bear and on this map as La Grande Ourse on the left bottom and Ursa Minor, the Smaller Bear and on this map as La Petite Ourse, in the centre of the map (c.1760). Phillipe de la Hire (French, 1640 – 1718), hand colored engraving, 50x50cm, The Barry Lawrence Ruderman Map Collection, Stanford University, Stanford, CA.
The Big Bear constellation is also known as Ursa Major, which means “Great Bear” in Latin. The more popular term “Big Dipper” is actually a colloquial name for a prominent asterism within the Ursa Major constellation. The Big Dipper is a group of seven bright stars that form a distinctive shape resembling a ladle or a dipper. This shape is a well-known feature of the northern night sky. The Great Bear has served as a navigational tool for travellers to determine directions.
The seven bright stars from the constellation Ursa Major (“the Big Bear”) together forming the Big Dipper; four stars forming the bowl and three stars forming the handle.
The Starry Night “La Nuit Étoilée” by Vincent van Gogh. It’s the starry night above the river Rhone. With in the center of the sky a bright depiction of the Big Bear (1888). Vincent van Gogh (Dutch, 1853 – 1890), 73x92cm, Musée d’Orsay, Paris.
Polaris (North or Pole Star)
Ursa Major (Callisto, the Great Bear), Ursa Minor (Arcas, the Smaller Bear) and Polaris (North or Pole Star).
Polaris, commonly known as the North Star or Pole Star, is the brightest star in the constellation Ursa Minor (the Smaller Bear). It holds a special place in the night sky because it appears very close to the celestial north pole, the point in the sky around which all other stars appear to rotate as Earth spins on its axis. This makes Polaris a valuable navigational reference point, especially for travellers in the Northern Hemisphere. Polaris appears relatively stationary in the sky while other stars appear to move in circles around it as the night progresses. This unique characteristic made Polaris an important celestial marker for ancient sailors, explorers, and navigators who used it to determine their northward direction. Polaris can be found by extending the two outer stars of the Big Dipper’s bowl (from the constellation Ursa Major) in a straight line. This extension leads you to Polaris, making it a helpful guide for finding true north in the night sky.
Greek and Roman Gods
The three gods involved in the story of Zeus and Callisto are:
Zeus (Ζεύς) is the god of the sky and thunder, and king of the gods, married to Hera. His symbol is the eagle. The Roman equivalent is Jupiter, also knows as Jove. Read more about Zeus in The Twelve Olympians.
Hera (Ήρα) is the goddess of marriage, women and family and the queen of gods, wife of Zeus. Her symbol is the peacock. The Roman equivalent is Juno. See Hera in The Twelve Olympians.
Artemis (Ἄρτεμις) is the goddess of the hunt, and to be recognised by the moon crescent as tiara on her head. Her Roman equivalent is Diana. More about Artemis in The Twelve Olympians.
The story of Zeus and Io is one of the many fascinating tales from Greek mythology. It involves love, deception, and a remarkable transformation. The story is written in various ancient Greek texts, but one of the most well-known versions can be found in Ovid’s “Metamorphoses”. Ovid was a Roman poet who lived during the 1st century AD and wrote a collection of mythical tales, including the story of Zeus and Io.
Here’s the story: Io was a beautiful mortal princess and her radiant beauty caught the attention of Zeus, king of the gods. He became infatuated with her and desired her affection. Zeus, being notorious for his amorous escapades, sought to pursue Io without the knowledge of his jealous wife Hera. To avoid detection, Zeus approached Io in the form of a cloud. It’s Zeus naughty and cunning habit to seduce his amorous victims in disguise, in the form of a cloud this time.
Zeus, disguised as a cloud, seduces the beautiful princess Io. Look at his face and his paw! (c.1530) Correggio (Italian, c.1489 – 1534), 162×74cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.
Zeus’ wife Hera became enormously suspicious when she saw that cloud hanging above the fields and went to see if her husband Zeus was behind it and maybe after another beautiful girl.
Oops, there is Zeus wife Hera! Catching her husband with Io; Hermes and Argus in the background, but that’s only later in the story… (1619) Hans Bock the Elder (German, c.1550 – c.1623), 47x62cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest.
Zeus then used his divine powers and transformed Io into a white heifer (a young and fertile cow) to hide their affair from his jealous wife. This transformation allowed Io to live among the other cattle without arousing suspicion.
Zeus (with the eagle) is surprised by his wife Hera (with the peacock) and quickly transforms his lover Io into a cow (c.1530) On the left the drawing as study for the print, and on the right the ultimate print. Drawing (c.1530), Michiel Coxie (Flemish, 1499 – 1592), Paper and Brown Ink, 17x14cm, British Museum, London. Print (c.1540), printmaker Cornelis Bos (Flemish, c.1508 – c.1555), after the drawing by Michiel Coxie (Flemish, 1499 – 1592), engraving, 18x14cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
However, Hera was no fool and soon became suspicious of her husband’s intentions. She suspected that Zeus was up to something and devised a plan to discover the truth.
Hera is now finding out what’s happening, having watched her husband Zeus with the beautiful Io in the body of a cow (c.1656) Jan Gerritsz. van Bronchorst (Dutch, c.1603 – 1661), 274x176cm, Centraal Museum, Utrecht.
Hera approached Zeus and cunningly expressed her admiration for the cow, suggesting that she would love to have the creature as a gift. Zeus, aware of his wife’s jealousy, could not refuse the request and reluctantly agreed to give the cow to her.
Hera demand Zeus: “Give that cow (Io, that is) to me!” (1638) David Teniers (Flemish, 1582 – 1649), 47×61cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.
Now, Hera had possession of the transformed Io, but she wasn’t entirely convinced of her husband’s innocence. To keep an eye on the situation, she assigned the many-eyed giant guy Argus Panoptes (the all-seeing Argus) to guard the cow. Argus was an extraordinary creature with hundreds of eyes, and he was capable of keeping watch over Io at all times, even while some of his eyes rested.
Hera tells Argus, the guy with 100 eyes, to guard the cow Io (c.1625) Printmaker Moyses van Wtenbrouck (Dutch, c.1595 – c.1647), engraving, 13x18cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Zeus was deeply concerned for Io’s safety and well-being. In a desperate attempt to free her, he sought the help of his son Hermes, the messenger of the gods and a skilled trickster.
Zeus instructs Hermes to kill Argus and to free the cow Io (c.1656) Jan Gerritsz. van Bronchorst (Dutch, c.1603 – 1661), 277x183cm, Centraal Museum, Utrecht.
Hermes devised a clever plan to rescue Io. He played a melodious tune on his flute and began to tell entertaining stories to Argus. As the music and tales enchanted the many-eyed giant, his eyes gradually closed, one by one, until all were shut in a peaceful slumber.
Hermes plays the flute and tells stories, until all the 100 eyes of Argus fell asleep,with the cow Io in the background (c.1592) Abraham Bloemaert (Dutch, 1566 – 1651), 64x81cm, Centraal Museum, Utrecht.
Argus fell asleep and Hermes is pulling his sword to kill Argus; the cow Io in the background (1610) Paulus van Vianen (Dutch, 1570 – 1614), Silver Plaquette, 13x16cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Taking advantage of the situation, Hermes swiftly slew Argus with a single stroke of his sword.
Hermes kills the 100-eyed Argus with Io as a cow in the back of the picture, 5th Century BC Greek Stamnos Vase, 5th Century BC, found in Cerveteri Italy, height 30cm, diameter 25cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.
After Argus’s death, Hera was informed of his demise, and she mourned the loss of her loyal servant. As a tribute to the fallen guardian, Hera transferred Argus’s eyes to the tail of her favorite bird, the peacock, which became a symbol of her power and authority.
The dead Argus on the ground, and Hera placing the eyes of Argus on the tail of a peacock (17th Century) Deifobo Burbarini (Italian, 1619 – 1680), 159x255cm, Private Collection, latest Christie’s New York 2017.
Io was finally free from her captor, but Hera’s rage did not subside. In her fury, she sent a tormenting gadfly to relentlessly sting and chase Io across the world, making her wander in agony.
Poor Io being pestered by a gadfly sent by Hera; the fly on her ear, she cannot reach it and it makes Io-as-cow running in panic all over the Mediterranean, through the Ionian Sea and over the Bosporus into Egypt (2019) Olivia Musgrave (Irish, 1958), Bronze, 39x54x26cm, John Martin Gallery, London.
Io’s wanderings led her to Egypt, where she eventually returned to her original human form. In Egypt, she gave birth to a son named Epaphus, who would later become a renowned king and ancestor of various legendary figures.
Io (left, back in human form but still with the cow horns) is welcomed in Egypt by Isis (right) and Io is living happily ever after fresco from the temple of Isis in Pompeii, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples, Italy.
The story of Io and Zeus is one of the many tales that highlight the complicated relationships among the gods and mortals in Greek mythology. It showcases the consequences of divine infidelity and the lengths to which the gods would go to protect their interests and secrets.
Ionian Sea and Bosporus
After her transformation into a cow and subsequent escape from Argus, Io roamed through various regions, enduring Hera’s torment in the form of a gadfly that continually stung her. Her wandering took her through different lands and over various seas. The Ionian Sea is named after Io and she crossed the Bosporus on her way to Egypt.
The word “Bosporus” does indeed have a connection to the idea of “cow crossing” in its etymology. The Bosporus, the strait that separates the European and Asian parts of Turkey, derives its name from ancient Greek. The Greek word “Βόσπορος” (Bosporos) is a combination of two words: “βοῦς” (bous), which means “cow,” and “πόρος” (poros), which means “crossing” or “passage.” So, the term “Bosporus” can be interpreted as the “Cow Crossing” or the “Cow Passage.” In a similar vein, “Oxford” in England has its name derived from “oxen ford,” which means a place where oxen (and likely other cattle) could cross a river. Same for “Coevorden” in The Netherlands. Place names often carry historical or mythological significance, and they can provide fascinating insights into the cultural heritage and stories of the regions they represent.
Greek and Roman Gods
The three gods involved in the story of Zeus and Io are:
Zeus (Ζεύς) is the god of the sky and thunder, and king of the gods, married to Hera. His symbol is the eagle. The Roman equivalent is Jupiter, also knows as Jove. Read more about Zeus in The Twelve Olympians.
Hera (Ήρα) is the goddess of marriage, women and family and the queen of gods, wife of Zeus. Her symbol is the peacock. The Roman equivalent is Juno. See Hera in The Twelve Olympians.
Hermes (Ἑρμῆς) is the messenger of the gods and the divine trickster. His Roman equivalent is Mercury. More about Hermes in The Twelve Olympians.
The National Gallery purchased the life-size painting of Saint Bartholomew by Bernardo Cavallino at Sotheby’s New York back in January 2023 from the Fisch Davidson collection – one of the most important collections of Baroque art ever to appear on the market. The cost was $3.9 million (hammer $3.2m). This depiction of Saint Bartholomew, a most splendid work by Cavallino, dates to the 1640s, when the Neapolitan artist was at the height of his artistic powers.
Saint Bartholomew (c.1642), Bernardo Cavallino (Neapolitan, 1616 – 1656), 176x126cm, National Gallery, London.
Saint Bartholomew sits alone in the wilderness. His expression is one of grim determination, at once horrified and resolved. Enveloped in the folds of his mantle, he turns towards us, unable to look at the knife clasped in his left hand. This will be the tool of his martyrdom, for Bartholomew was flayed alive. One of the Twelve Apostles, Bartholomew was said to have preached the gospel in India and in Armenia. When he refused to make a sacrifice to the local gods, he was horribly killed, first stripped of his skin and then beheaded. Gruesome depictions of Bartholomew’s martyrdom were popular in seventeenth-century Naples and often showed the act of flaying in progress. This painting’s power comes from how extremely it has been pared back. Bartholomew is the sole protagonist in this almost monochromatic, intensely psychological picture. Stark light illuminates the mantle and the flesh, which provides the only colour in a work otherwise composed of silvery grey tones. We are not confronted here with violence: rather, it is the threat and imminence of violence that is so menacing. Instead of witnessing Bartholomew’s flayed flesh, the picture is dominated by the creamy mantle, whose folds are so elaborate that they cannot help but make us think of skin. Whether in the crisply delineated edges of the fabric or the strong sense of outline created by pulling the white paint right up to the flesh, everything seems to allude to layers and unpeeling, the act of incision unseen but ever-present.
Bernardo Cavallino
Bernardo Cavallino (1616 – 1656?) was one of the leading Neapolitan artists of the first half of the 17th Century. While many details of his life and career remain shrouded in mystery, he was renowned in his lifetime for his small, sensitive paintings of mythological and biblical subjects which he painted for a private clientele. Cavallino probably received his training in Naples, the city of his birth. He was strongly influenced by Jusepe de Ribera (1591–1652), and seems to have mostly worked for private patrons, producing small, sensitive paintings of mythological and Biblical subjects. This life-size depiction of Saint Bartholomew, with its drama and intensity, is one of Cavallino’s masterpieces. Although we do not know for whom he painted it, its size and grandeur suggest it was an important commission. It probably dates from the latter years of the artist’s life, in which he became increasingly focussed on the emotional power of his works. Just eight of Cavallino’s known works are signed or initialled, and only one is dated. Cavallino probably died during the plague that devastated Naples in 1656. He was well regarded in the decades following his death, but knowledge of his paintings – which were often mistaken for the work of other painters – remained rudimentary until the second half of the 20th century when scholars developed a fuller sense of his poetic contribution to 17th Century art.
The influence of the Jusepe de Ribera is immediately apparent in Cavallino’s Saint Bartholomew, which recalls Ribera’s life-size portrayals of saints from the late 1630s and 1640s and resonates profoundly with Ribera’s near-contemporaneous depiction of the same saint, today in the Prado, Madrid.
Saint Bartholomew (1641), Jusepe de Ribera (Valencia, Spain 1591 – Naples, Italy 1652), 197x183cm, Prado, Madrid.
The whereabouts of Cavallino’s Saint Bartholomew were untraced until it was sold in 1903 (as by Ribera) at Christie’s, London. It next resurfaced in 1988, after which the painting’s correct attribution to Cavallino was reinstated. The painting was last exhibited in public in 1993, at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in in New York, so the public will now be able to enjoy it for the first time in 30 years. Saint Bartholomew is on display alongside other Italian 17th Century Baroque masterpieces in Room 32 of the National Gallery, London, where Saint Bartholomew will make its natural home among pictures by artists such as Caravaggio, Artemisia and Orazio Gentileschi, Guercino, Reni and Ribera.
More about Saint Bartholomew and the Twelve Apostles, click here.
More about the National Gallery, London, click here.
The prophet Jonah (Yunus يُونُس in Arabic) is a prominent figure in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. He is best known for the biblical story of “Jonah and the Whale” or “Jonah and the Great Fish.” According to the Bible, Jonah was a prophet sent by God to deliver a warning to the people of Nineveh, the capital of the Assyrian Empire and the biggest and most beautiful city of the ancient world; Nineveh is now Mosul in Iraq. The warning was that destruction of their city will happen because of the wicked and sinful behaviour of the Nineveh inhabitants. However, instead of obeying God’s command, Jonah attempted to flee in the opposite direction by boarding a ship heading to faraway. During the voyage, a great storm arose, and the crew believed that someone on board had angered the gods. Jonah eventually confessed that he was fleeing from God’s call, and he asked the crew to throw him overboard to calm the sea, which the crew then did. As the story goes, God calmed the sea, but also sent a large fish (commonly referred to as a whale) to swallow Jonah, saving him from drowning.
The desperate crew understands that Jonah is the reason they are in this big storm. They throw Jonah overboard, and Jonah will be swallowed by the “big fish” or the whale. That helps, because the storm will go and the sea will be calm again. First engraving from a series of three prints (c.1584), engraved and published by Johann Sadeler (Flemish, 1550 – 1600) after a drawing by Dirck Barendsz (Dutch, 1534 – 1592), Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Jonah Thrown into the Whale and Jonah Spat Up By the Whale, two miniatures from Manuscript 0139, f.028v-029, Jean Mielot, Miroir de l’humaine salvation, parchment, c.1450, Chantilly, Bibliothèque du Château, France. (2)
Jonah spent three days and three nights inside the fish’s belly, during which time he prayed and repented; he felt so very sorry that he had not followed God’s wish and order to go to Nineveh. He repents for his actions and promises to fulfill his mission if given another chance. In response to Jonah’s repentance and prayer, God commands the fish to release him. The fish spits Jonah out onto dry land, giving him a second chance. With a renewed sense of obedience, Jonah finally traveled to Nineveh to deliver God’s message of warning to the city. He warned the people of their wickedness and the impending destruction that would come if they did not repent. Surprisingly, the Ninevites listened to Jonah’s message, repented, and turned away from their evil ways. In response to their repentance, God showed mercy and spared the city from destruction. The story of Jonah is often interpreted as a lesson on the importance of obedience to God and the concept of divine mercy and forgiveness. It serves as a reminder that God’s compassion extends even to those who have strayed from the right path. It’s a message to everyone that even after having done bad things and being a not so good person, there is hope if you repent, change your life and say farewell to your sins.
After having been in the belly of the whale (or big fish at least) for three days and nights, Jonah is spat up on the shore. Jonah gets a second chance and can now go to Nineveh to warn the inhabitants about the danger that will come if they do not repent and let their wicked life go. Second engraving from a series of three prints (c.1584), engraved and published by Johann Sadeler (Flemish, 1550 – 1600) after a drawing by Dirck Barendsz (Dutch, 1534 – 1592), Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
The link between Jonah and Christ is a significant theological parallel found in the New Testament of the Christian Bible. The primary scriptural reference to this connection is found in the Gospel of Matthew, specifically in Matthew 12:38-41: “As Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of a huge fish, so Jesus will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.” On this basis Christians saw Jonah as a type of Christ and his story as a promise of resurrection, first for Christ but then also for everyone and all of us, there will be resurrection after death. But of course under the condition of being a good person and having said goodbye to your bad habits and sins.
This is the third print in the same series; as Jonah spent three days in the belly of the whale, so will Jesus spent three days in his tomb before his resurrection. Third engraving from a series of three prints (c.1584), engraved and published by Johann Sadeler (Flemish, 1550 – 1600) after a drawing by Dirck Barendsz (Dutch, 1534 – 1592), Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
The story of Jonah underscores the idea that Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection are part of a divine plan, prefigured in the Old Testament narratives. The story of Jonah in the Whale in the Old Testament is seen as a prefiguration of Jesus’ resurrection. And subsequently as everyone’s resurrection from death at the day of the last judgement. With other words: the story of Jonah gives hope that there will be life after death, but only if one repents and is obedient and does not lead a sinful life.
On this manuscript miniature, Jesus’ followers place his body in a sarcophagus. Expanding the meaning of the central scene, the artist included in the border on the lower left the Old Testament episode of Jonah swallowed by the great fish, as a prefiguration of Jesus’ Entombment and Resurrection; just as Jonah emerged unharmed after three days in the belly of the fish, so will Jesus rise after three days in the tomb. The Entombment (c.1471), from the Prayer Book of Charles the Bold, manuscript by Lieven van Lathem (Flemish, c.1430 – 1493), Tempera colors, gold leaf, gold paint, silver paint, and ink, 12×9cm, Getty Museum, Los Angeles.
This painting shows the resurrection of Jesus. Three days after his death, Jesus rose again and ascended to the heavens from the tomb in which he was buried. The tomb is here a sarcophagus, on the front of which a figure is pursued and going to be swallowed by a big fish. This refers to story of Jonah and the Whale and Jonah being spit out after three days. The relief on the sarcophagus connects with the resurrection as the main theme of this painting. Fray Juan Bautista Maíno (Spanish, 1581 – 1649), The Resurrection of Christ with Jonah and the Whale on the Tomb (c.1613), 295x174cm, Prado, Madrid.
In the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling painted by Michelangelo, several prophets from the Old Testament are depicted and Jonah gets the most prominent place, straight above Jesus on the Last Judgement on the wall behind the main altar. Michelangelo creates here a giant visual link between Jonah high above the viewers, and Jesus on the last judgement fresco directly under Jonah, and the humans raising from their graves at the underside of the fresco wall, and subsequently us viewers as watching this whole scene of hope and resurrection after death, but only for the ones who lead a good life and the ones who repent after committing their sins. Michelangelo (Italian, 1475 – 1564, The Last Judgment (1536 – 1541) with above it the Prophet Jonah (1508), fresco, 1370x1220cm, Sistine Chapel, Vatican.
Prophet Jonah and the Fish on the Sistine Chapel ceiling above the Last Judgement fresco. The fish is here just a “big fish” as the knowledge of how a whale looked like only came from the spread of 16th and 17th century prints of stranded whales on the European shores. Michelangelo (Italian, 1475 – 1564, (1508) on Sistine Chapel ceiling, fresco, 400x380cm (12.4 ft), Sistine Chapel, Vatican.
Big Fish or Whale?
Although the creature that swallowed Jonah is often depicted in art and culture as a whale, the original Hebrew text uses the phrase “big fish”. In the art of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the species of the fish that swallowed Jonah became closer to a whale. Most likely that’s also because in those centuries people got familiar with the concept of whales as truly big fish though prints of stranded whales. Before that hardly anyone will have seen a whale, let alone a huge whale that’s capable of swallowing a human person.
Whale on the Dutch coast at Berckhey, February 3, 1598. Print made by Jacob Matham (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), engraving dated 1598, 32x43cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Nineveh
Nineveh was an ancient city located on the eastern bank of the Tigris River in present-day Mosul, Iraq. It was one of the most important and influential cities in the ancient world and served as the capital of the Assyrian Empire for several centuries. The city’s history spans over 3,000 years, and it was a center of culture, commerce, and military power. Nineveh as capital of the powerful Assyrian Empire is considered to have been the biggest and most beautiful city in ancient times. Nineveh was surrounded by a series of massive defensive walls that were over 12 kilometers long. These walls were among the most impressive feats of engineering in the ancient world and provided excellent protection for the city. Despite its military might, Nineveh faced its eventual downfall. In 612 BC, a coalition of Babylonians, Medes, and Scythians attacked and razed the city. This marked the end of the Assyrian Empire, and Nineveh was abandoned and largely forgotten for centuries. The ruins of Nineveh were rediscovered in the mid-19th century during excavations by archaeologists such as Austen Henry Layard. These excavations unearthed numerous artifacts and cuneiform tablets, providing valuable insights into the history, culture, and language of the ancient Assyrians.
Artist impression of the Assyrian palaces from The Monuments of Nineveh by Sir Austen Henry Layard, 1853, British Museum, London.
Today, the ancient site of Nineveh, along with other nearby Assyrian cities like Nimrud and Khorsabad, are recognized as UNESCO World Heritage sites. However, the region has faced challenges due to political instability and armed conflicts, leading to damage and looting of its precious historical remains, mostly by ISIS around 2014.
Al-Nabi Yunus (The Prophet Jonah) Mosque
The Al-Nabi Yunus Mosque (Arabic: جامع النبي يونس) also known as the the Prophet Jonah’s Mosque, is an important religious site located in Nineveh, now Mosul, Iraq. It holds significance for both Muslims and Christians due to its association with the prophet Jonah (known as Yunus in Islamic tradition) from his stories in the Hebrew Bible and the Quran. The mosque is situated on top of a hill on the eastern bank of the Tigris River in Mosul. Its location is believed to be the site where the prophet Jonah was buried.
View on the (now destroyed by ISIS) Tomb of Jonah and The Prophet Jonah Mosque, Nineveh (now Mosul), Iraq, around 1965. Photograph from the Library of Congress, Washington.
The Al-Nabi Yunus Mosque is considered a place of veneration for Muslims, who come to pay their respects to the prophet Yunus. However, it also holds importance for Christians, as Jonah is recognized as a prophet in Christianity as well. This interfaith significance has made the site an important symbol of religious coexistence. The mosque’s origins can be traced back to the 14th century. The site itself however, has religious significance dating back to much earlier times.
In 2014, during the rise of the Islamic State (ISIS), the mosque suffered destruction along with other historical sites in Mosul. ISIS militants considered the veneration of shrines and tombs to be against their strict interpretation of Islam and targeted such sites. The mosque was used as a prison and later blown up by the militants. After the liberation of Mosul from ISIS in 2017, efforts were made to restore and rebuild the Al-Nabi Yunus Mosque. The reconstruction work has been carried out as part of broader efforts to preserve and revive the cultural and historical heritage of the city. During the reconstruction an even older Assyrian palace was found under the remains of the mosque.
Wives of the Patriarchs (Abraham, Isaac and Jacob).
In the context of the Jewish and Christian Bible, the term “matriarchs” refers to a group of prominent women who are considered the female founders or ancestral mothers of the Israelite people.
Sarah: wife of Abraham and considered the first matriarch. She is known for her faith and trust in God, as well as her role in the birth of Isaac, her son with Abraham.
Rebecca: wife of Isaac and the mother of Jacob and Esau. She played a crucial role in facilitating Jacob’s reception of his father’s blessing. Rebecca is remembered for her beauty, kindness, and her participation in God’s plan for the chosen lineage.
Leah: the older daughter of Laban and the first wife of Jacob. Though initially unloved by Jacob, she bore him many children. Leah is recognised for her perseverance and her significant role in the establishment, through her sons, of the twelve tribes of Israel.
Rachel: the younger daughter of Laban and the beloved wife of Jacob. She is known for her beauty and her deep love for Jacob. Rachel gave birth to Joseph and Benjamin, two significant figures in the biblical narrative. Her tragic death during Benjamin’s childbirth is also a notable event.
Judaism, Christianity, and Islam hold that the patriarchs, along with their primary wives, the matriarchs Sarah, Rebekah and Leah, are entombed at the Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron, a site held holy by the three religions. Rachel, Jacob’s other wife, is said to be buried separately at what is known as Rachel’s Tomb, near Bethlehem, at the site where she is believed to have died in childbirth.
Sarah (wife of Abraham)
Sarah, Abraham’s wife, cooking a meal for the three angel-guests and laughing about the conversation between her husband Abraham and the three angels outside in top right corner. The angels just told Abraham that Sarah (101 years old) will get a son next year. From the series The wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (1597), engraving, 22x16cm, print maker Jan Saenredam (c.1565 – 1607), after drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (1558 – 1617). With a Latin verse by Cornelius Schonaeus (1541 – 1611): “Effoeto sterilis quanvis sit corpore Sara, Concipit illa tamen divino numine natum.” (Although the barren Sarah is aged in body, by divine will she shall conceive a son).
Sarah is a biblical figure and the wife of Abraham. She is an important figure in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Sarah and Abraham faced challenges in conceiving a child, but according to the biblical account, God promised them a son. In their old age when Sarah was 101, she miraculously gave birth to Isaac, who became a significant figure in the religious traditions that followed. Sarah is celebrated for her faithfulness, loyalty, and resilience. Her story emphasizes the importance of trust in God’s promises and the strength of the family lineage that descended from her and Abraham. On the Goltzius engraving we see the very old Sarah laughing when she hears the angels on the background tell Abraham that they will get a son. Sarah cannot believe what she is hearing. It’s the background narrative on te print that depicts the encounter between Abraham and three angelic visitors who deliver this important message.
According to the story, Abraham saw three men standing near him. Recognising their divine nature, he hurriedly approached them and offered them hospitality, inviting them to rest and partake in a meal. Abraham and his wife Sarah quickly prepared a generous meal for their guests, consisting of freshly baked bread and cooked meat. As the guests enjoyed the meal, they engaged in conversation with Abraham. During the conversation, the visitors revealed that they were messengers from God and brought a message of great significance. They informed Abraham and Sarah that they would soon have a son, despite their old age and Sarah’s previous inability to conceive. Sarah overheard the conversation from inside the house and laughed incredulously, as she found it hard to believe such news. In response to Sarah’s laughter, one of the visitors questioned Abraham about her disbelief, asking, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” This emphasized the divine power and ability to fulfill their promise. It also served as a reminder that God’s plans can exceed human expectations and limitations.
The story of Abraham and the three angels highlights themes of hospitality, faith, and divine intervention. Abraham’s generous and welcoming nature, serves as an example of righteousness and compassion. The announcement of Sarah’s impending pregnancy, despite her age, showcases the fulfilment of God’s promises and the possibility of miracles. And indeed, Sarah gave birth to Isaac.
Rembrandt van Rijn (Dutch, 1606 – 1669), Abraham Entertaining the Angels (1646), 16x21cm, Private Collection, USA.
Rembrandt’s Abraham Entertaining the Angels of 1646 depicts the foretelling of the birth of Isaac to the elderly Abraham and his wife, Sarah. This episode, from chapter 18 of Genesis, begins with the visit of three travelers, to whom Abraham offers a meal and water with which to wash their tired feet. While eating, the guests ask about Sarah, and one of them announces that she will give birth to a son in a year’s time. Hearing this, the old Sarah, on the painting standing in the doorway on the right, laughs in disbelief, prompting the speaker – now identified in the text as God – to chastise her, asking, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” He thus reveals to the couple the divine and providential nature of his announcement.
Abraham (as Ibrahim) is also one of the most important prophets in Islam and is seen as a father of the Muslim people through his first child, Ishmael.
Here the angel tells Abraham and Sarah (101 years old!) that they will get a son next year. Abraham points at the super old Sarah as if he says: “She?” Sarah’s reaction: “LOL”. And that son will be Isaac. A sort of annunciation from the Old Testament. Jan Provost (Flemish, c.1464 – 1529), Abraham, Sarah and the Angel (c.1500), 71x58cm, Louvre, Paris.
A Son Is Promised to Sarah, Genesis 18: 1-151One day Abraham was sitting at the entrance to his tent during the hottest part of the day. 2He looked up and noticed three men standing nearby. When he saw them, he ran to meet them and welcomed them, bowing low to the ground. 3Abraham said, “if it pleases you, stop here for a while. 4Rest in the shade of this tree while water is brought to wash your feet. 5And since you’ve honored your servant with this visit, let me prepare some food to refresh you before you continue on your journey.”
“All right,” they said. “Do as you have said.” 6So Abraham ran back to the tent and said to Sarah, “Hurry! Get three large measures of your best flour, knead it into dough, and bake some bread.” 7Then Abraham ran out to the herd and chose a tender calf and gave it to his servant, who quickly prepared it. 8When the food was ready, Abraham took some yogurt and milk and the roasted meat, and he served it to the men. As they ate, Abraham waited on them in the shade of the trees.
9“Where is Sarah, your wife?” the visitors asked. “She’s inside the tent,” Abraham replied. 10Then one of them said, “I will return to you about this time next year, and your wife, Sarah, will have a son!”
Sarah was listening to this conversation from the tent. 11Abraham and Sarah were both very old by this time, and Sarah was long past the age of having children. 12So she laughed silently to herself and said, “How could a worn-out woman like me enjoy such pleasure, especially when my my husband is also so old?”
13Then the visitor (who in meantime revealed himself as God) said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh? Why did she say, ‘Can an old woman like me have a baby?’ 14Is anything too hard for the Lord? I will return about this time next year, and Sarah will have a son.” 15Sarah was afraid, so she denied it, saying, “I didn’t laugh.” But the Lord said, “No, you did laugh.”
Rebecca (wife of Isaac)
Rebecca, Isaac’s wife to be, at the well; beyond is a landscape with camels and travellers taking refreshment, the convoy sent by Abraham to find a wife for Isaac. As these are camels, this is Rebecca at the well, and not Rachel, as that would be a well with a flock of sheep. From the series The wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (1597), engraving, 22x16cm, print maker Jan Saenredam (c.1565 – 1607), after drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (1558 – 1617). With a Latin verse by Cornelius Schonaeus (1541 – 1611): “Morigeram dum se praebet Rebecca Tonanti, Accipit obsequio praemiae digna sculptor.” (As long as Rebecca is obedient to God’s will, she will receive blessings worthy of her obedience).
Rebecca is a biblical figure, also mentioned in the Book of Genesis. She is one of the matriarchs and the wife of Isaac and the mother of Jacob and Esau. According to the biblical narrative, the patriarch Abraham wanted to find a suitable wife for his son Isaac. He sent his servant with a convoy of camels to his homeland to find a wife and there the servant encountered Rebecca near a well. He approached Rebecca and asked for a drink of water. In a remarkable display of hospitality, Rebecca not only gave him water but also volunteered to draw water for his camels until they were satisfied. He was impressed by her kindness and hospitality and believed she was the chosen woman. The servant gave her gifts of jewellery and asked for her hand in marriage on behalf of Isaac, and Rebecca agreed to go with him.
Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini (Venetian, 1675 – 1741), Rebecca at the Well (c.1710), 127×105, National Gallery, London.
Rebecca married Isaac and became the mother of their two sons, Jacob and Esau. She played a significant role in the story of the deception that led to Jacob receiving Isaac’s blessing instead of Esau. The story of Rebecca at the well highlights themes of divine guidance, hospitality, and faith. It is regarded as a pivotal event in the biblical narrative, shaping through Jacob the future of the Israelite people.
Rembrandt van Rijn (Dutch, 1606 – 1669), Isaac and Rebecca, also known as The Jewish Bride (c.1667), 122×167cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Nowadays the subject of this painting is considered to be Isaac and Rebecca; for centuries it was simply known as “The Jewish Bride”.
A Wife For Isaac, Genesis 24: 1-67
1Abraham was now a very old man, and the Lord had blessed him in every way. 2One day Abraham said to his oldest servant, the man in charge of his household, 4"Go to my homeland, to my relatives, and find a wife there for my son Isaac. 9So the servant took swore to follow Abraham’s instructions. 10Then he loaded ten of Abraham’s camels with all kinds of expensive gifts from his master, and he traveled to the distant land. 11He made the camels kneel beside a well just outside the town. It was evening, and the women were coming out to draw water.
12“O Lord, God of my master, Abraham,” he prayed. “Please give me success today, and show unfailing love to my master, Abraham. 13See, I am standing here beside this spring, and the young women of the town are coming out to draw water. 14This is my request. I will ask one of them, ‘Please give me a drink from your jug.’ If she says, ‘Yes, have a drink, and I will water your camels, too!’—let her be the one you have selected as Isaac’s wife.” 15Before he had finished praying, he saw a young woman named Rebecca coming out with her water jug on her shoulder. 16Rebecca was very beautiful and old enough to be married, but she was still a virgin. She went down to the spring, filled her jug, and came up again.17Running over to her, the servant said, “Please give me a little drink of water from your jug.”
18“Yes,” she answered, “have a drink.” And she quickly lowered her jug from her shoulder and gave him a drink. 19When she had given him a drink, she said, “I’ll draw water for your camels, too, until they have had enough to drink.” 20So she quickly emptied her jug into the watering trough and ran back to the well to draw water for all his camels. 21The servant watched her in silence, wondering whether or not the Lord had given him success in his mission. 22Then at last, when the camels had finished drinking, he took out a gold ring for her nose and two large gold bracelets for her wrists.
50Then later Rebecca's brother said 51"Here is Rebecca; take her and go. Yes, let her be the wife of your master’s son, as the Lord has directed.” 52When Abraham’s servant heard their answer, he bowed down to the ground and 53then he brought out silver and gold jewellery and clothing and presented them to Rebecca. He also gave expensive presents to her brother and mother. 54Then they ate their meal, and the servant and the men with him stayed there overnight.But early the next morning, Abraham’s servant said, “Send me back to my master.” 55“But we want Rebecca to stay with us at least ten days,” her brother and mother said. “Then she can go.” 56But he said, “Don’t delay me. The Lord has made my mission successful; now send me back so I can return to my master.”
“Well,” they said, “we’ll call Rebecca and ask her what she thinks.” So they called Rebecca. “Are you willing to go with this man?” they asked her. And she replied, “Yes, I will go.” 59So they said good-bye to Rebecca and sent her away with Abraham’s servant and his men. The woman who had been Rebcca’s childhood nurse went along with her. 61Then Rebecca and her servant girls mounted the camels and followed the man. So Abraham’s servant took Rebcca and went on his way.
62Meanwhile, Isaac, when one evening as he was walking and meditating in the fields, he looked up and saw the camels coming. 64When Rebecca looked up and saw Isaac, she quickly dismounted from her camel. 65“Who is that man walking through the fields to meet us?” she asked the servant. And he replied, “It is my master.” So Rebecca covered her face with her veil. 66Then the servant told Isaac everything he had done.
67And Isaac brought Rebecca into his mother Sarah’s tent, and she became his wife. He loved her deeply, and she was a special comfort to him after the death of his mother.
Leah and Rachel (wives of Jacob)
Rachel and Leah, wives of Jacob, at the well with in the distance at left a shepherd and his flock of sheep, most likely Jacob who put the peeled rods in front of the sheep to produce speckled and striped sheep, which he may keep as his own. From the series The wives of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob (1597), engraving, 22x16cm, print maker Jan Saenredam (c.1565 – 1607), after drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (1558 – 1617). With a Latin verse by Cornelius Schonaeus (1541 – 1611):) “Prodijt ex nobis sacra, et divina propago, Quae totam largo complevit semine terram.” (From us has sprung a sacred and chosen line, that has filled the whole earth with abundant seed).
Leah and Rachel are prominent figures in the biblical narrative, specifically in the Book of Genesis. They are sisters and the daughters of Laban, who is Rebecca’s brother. They become the wives of Jacoband play significant roles in the story of the patriarchs.
Jacob, the son of Isaac and grandson of Abraham, traveled to the land of his uncle Laban in search of a wife. Jacob encountered the beautiful Rachel at a well, where she was going to water her sheep. Jacob fell in love with Rachel at first sight and desired to marry her. In exchange for marrying Rachel, Laban asked Jacob to work for him for seven years. However, on the wedding night, Laban deceived Jacob by giving him Leah instead of Rachel. Upon discovering the deception, Jacob confronted Laban, who explained that it was not their custom to give the younger daughter in marriage before the elder daughter. Laban offered Rachel to Jacob as well but required him to work for an additional seven years. As a result, Jacob married both Leah and Rachel, becoming polygamous according to the customs of that time. Leah, who was described as having “weak eyes,” became Jacob’s first wife, while Rachel, whom Jacob loved more, became his second wife.
The story of Leah and Rachel portrays a complex and often troubled relationship between the two sisters. Leah, feeling unloved by Jacob, yearned for his affection. She gave birth to several sons, including Reuben, Simeon, Levi, and Judah. Rachel, on the other hand, initially faced infertility and struggled with jealousy over Leah’s ability to bear children. Eventually, Rachel conceived and gave birth to two sons, Joseph and Benjamin. Tragically, Rachel died while giving birth to Benjamin.
The story of Leah and Rachel encompasses themes of love, rivalry, fertility, and the complexities of family relationships. Their roles as the wives of Jacob and the mothers of the twelve tribes of Israel make them significant figures in the biblical narrative.
Jacob meets the two sisters Leah and Rachel at the well; in the story it’s more Rachel he meets, but Raffaello includes Leah. On the left the heavy piece of stone that covers the well and that Jacob removed singlehandedly. Raffaello Sanzio (Italian, 1483 – 1520), Jacob’s Encounter with Rachel and Leah (c.1519) Fresco, Loggia di Raffaello, Vatican.
At the well, Jacob noticed a large stone covering its mouth. He asked the shepherds about the well and the people of the area. They informed him that they were waiting for all the shepherds to gather before they could remove the stone and water their flocks. While they were conversing, Jacob saw Rachel, Laban’s daughter, approaching the well with her father’s sheep. Overwhelmed by Rachel’s beauty, Jacob was immediately drawn to her. Filled with excitement, he approached the shepherds and asked them to remove the stone so that Rachel’s sheep could drink.
As Jacob helped Rachel water her flock, he was overcome with emotion. Without hesitation, he kissed Rachel and wept aloud. Jacob’s meeting with Rachel at the well is often romanticized as a moment of love at first sight. The story serves as a turning point in Jacob’s life, as it leads to his eventual marriage to Rachel and marks the beginning of his years of service to Laban in order to earn Rachel’s hand in marriage.
Jacob jumps up when he discovers that it’s Leah in the marriage bed and not Rachel; he confronts their father Laban and says: “you cheated me by putting the wrong daughter in the bed; it’s Leah and you promised me Rachel” and Laban answers: “well, what can I do, first the eldest sister needs to marry”. Leah in the bed on the right, the half-dresses Jacob reproaches their father in the center and the beautiful Rachel on the left. Jan Steen (Dutch, c.1626 – 1679), Jacob Confronting Laban; with Leah and Rachel (c.1667), 48x59cm, The Norton Simon Museum, Pasadena, CA.
Jacob fell in love with Rachel and to earn her hand in marriage agreed to work as a shepherd for her father, Laban, for seven years. But, presumably under cover of the marriage veil, Laban substituted his elder daughter Leah for Rachel. When Jacob discovered the deceit the morning after the marriage, he was bitterly disappointed. He reproached his new father-in-law, but Laban argued that the elder daughter must be married first. He compromised by offering to allow him to marry Rachel as well – in return for another seven years work. The determined Jacob agreed, and was eventually simultaneously married to both sisters, and had 12 children.
Jan Steen in the painting above, portrays the dramatic moment of surprise when Jacob discovers the Laban has deceived him. The younger woman in the bed is Leah whom Jacob married the night before. Her handmaid kneels before her offering a bowl of water. To the left stands Rachel, while Laban is obliged to explain the deceit to a beseeching and agitated Jacob. Celebrants from the wedding night’s festivities give context and a bit of levity to the scene. The rich, theatrical setting and lush appointments of the bedroom set the scene in the historical past, a device that Steen may have adopted from contemporary Dutch theatre.
Jacob putting the peeled rods in front of the sheep, creating speckled and striped offspring; and those lambs he could keep as his own; as such enhancing his flock. Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (Spanish, 1617 – 1682), Jacob Laying Peeled Rods before the Flock of Laban (c.1665), 223x361cm, Meadows Museum, Dallas, TX.
The story of Jacob and the speckled lambs depicts a scheme devised by Jacob to increase his own wealth while working for his father-in-law, Laban. After Jacob’s marriage to Laban’s daughters, Leah and Rachel, he agreed to work for Laban for a total of 14 years in exchange for marrying Rachel. During his service, Jacob became a skilled shepherd and developed a keen understanding of animal husbandry, although more relying on the hand of God than on Mendel’s Laws of Genetics.
Jacob noticed that Laban’s flock consisted mainly of solid-colored sheep and goats. He proposed a deal to Laban, suggesting that he would continue to work for him but requested a specific arrangement regarding the offspring of the flock. Jacob proposed that he would keep any lambs that were speckled, spotted, or otherwise marked differently from the rest of the flock as his own.
Laban agreed to this arrangement, likely thinking that the chances of such offspring were slim. However, Jacob had a plan. He took rods of poplar, almond, and plane trees and peeled off strips of bark to create striped patterns on them. He placed these rods in the watering troughs where the flock would come to drink. When the flock mated, Jacob strategically positioned the rods in the watering troughs so that the sight of the striped patterns would be imprinted in the minds of the animals during conception. As a result, many of the offspring were born with speckled, spotted, or striped markings.
Over time, Jacob’s flock began to grow, and Laban’s flock dwindled in comparison. Jacob’s understanding of animal breeding and the use of selective breeding techniques allowed him to increase his own wealth while Laban’s flock decreased. The story of Jacob and the speckled lambs demonstrates Jacob’s resourcefulness and cunning in outwitting Laban and increasing his own wealth. It also highlights the theme of divine intervention, as Jacob attributes his success to God’s guidance and favor.
Jacob arrives at the well, Genesis 29: 1-141Then Jacob hurried on, finally arriving in the land of the east. 2He saw a well in the distance. Three flocks of sheep and goats lay in an open field beside it, waiting to be watered. But a heavy stone covered the mouth of the well. 3It was the custom there to wait for all the flocks to arrive before removing the stone and watering the animals. Afterward the stone would be placed back over the mouth of the well.
7Jacob said, “Look, it’s still broad daylight, too early to round up the animals. Why don’t you water the sheep and goats so they can get back out to pasture?” 8“We can’t water the animals until all the flocks have arrived,” they replied. “Then the shepherds move the stone from the mouth of the well, and we water all the sheep and goats.”
9Jacob was still talking with them when Rachel arrived with her father’s flock, for she was a shepherd. 10And because Rachel was his cousin, the daughter of Laban, his mother’s brother, and because the sheep and goats belonged to his uncle Laban, Jacob went over to the well and moved the stone from its mouth and watered his uncle’s flock. 11Then Jacob kissed Rachel, and he wept aloud. 12He explained to Rachel that he was her cousin on her father’s side, the son of her aunt Rebecca. So Rachel quickly ran and told her father, Laban.
13As soon as Laban heard that his nephew Jacob had arrived, he ran out to meet him. He embraced and kissed him and brought him home. When Jacob had told him his story, 14Laban exclaimed, “You really are my own flesh and blood!”
Jacob Marries Leah and Rachel, Genesis 29: 14-30
14After Jacob had stayed with Laban for about a month, 15Laban said to him, “You shouldn’t work for me without pay just because we are relatives. Tell me how much your wages should be.”
16Now Laban had two daughters. The older daughter was named Leah, and the younger one was Rachel. 17There was no sparkle in Leah’s eyes, but Rachel had a beautiful figure and a lovely face. 18Since Jacob was in love with Rachel, he told her father, “I’ll work for you for seven years if you’ll give me Rachel, your younger daughter, as my wife.”
19“Agreed!” Laban replied. “I’d rather give her to you than to anyone else. Stay and work with me.” 20So Jacob worked seven years to pay for Rachel. But his love for her was so strong that it seemed to him but a few days.
21Finally, the time came for him to marry her. “I have fulfilled my agreement,” Jacob said to Laban. “Now give me my wife so I can sleep with her.” 22So Laban invited everyone in the neighborhood and prepared a wedding feast.
23But that night, when it was dark, Laban took Leah to Jacob, and he slept with her. 25But when Jacob woke up in the morning—it was Leah! “What have you done to me?” Jacob raged at Laban. “I worked seven years for Rachel! Why have you tricked me?” 26“It’s not our custom here to marry off a younger daughter ahead of the firstborn,” Laban replied. 27“But wait until the bridal week is over; then we’ll give you Rachel, too—provided you promise to work another seven years for me.”
28So Jacob agreed to work seven more years. A week after Jacob had married Leah, Laban gave him Rachel, too. 30So Jacob slept with Rachel, too, and he loved her much more than Leah. He then stayed and worked for Laban the additional seven years.
Jacob’s Wealth Increases, Genesis 30:25-4325Soon after Rachel had given birth to Joseph, Jacob said to Laban, “Please release me so I can go home to my own country. 26Let me take my wives and children, for I have earned them by serving you, and let me be on my way. You certainly know how hard I have worked for you.”
27“Please listen to me,” Laban replied. “I have become wealthy, for the Lord has blessed me because of you. 28Tell me how much I owe you. Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.” 29Jacob replied, “You know how hard I’ve worked for you, and how your flocks and herds have grown under my care. 30You had little indeed before I came, but your wealth has increased enormously. The Lord has blessed you through everything I’ve done. But now, what about me? When can I start providing for my own family?” 31“What wages do you want?” Laban asked again.
Jacob replied, “Don’t give me anything. Just do this one thing, and I’ll continue to tend and watch over your flocks. 32Let me inspect your flocks today and remove all the sheep and goats that are speckled or spotted, along with all the black sheep. Give these to me as my wages. 33In the future, when you check on the animals you have given me as my wages, you’ll see that I have been honest. If you find in my flock any goats without speckles or spots, or any sheep that are not black, you will know that I have stolen them from you.” 34“All right,” Laban replied. “It will be as you say.” 35But that very day Laban went out and removed the male goats that were streaked and spotted, all the female goats that were speckled and spotted or had white patches, and all the black sheep. He placed them in the care of his own sons, 36who took them a three-days’ journey from where Jacob was. Meanwhile, Jacob stayed and cared for the rest of Laban’s flock.
37Then Jacob took some fresh branches from poplar, almond, and plane trees and peeled off strips of bark, making white streaks on them. 38Then he placed these peeled branches in the watering troughs where the flocks came to drink, for that was where they mated. 39And when they mated in front of the white-streaked branches, they gave birth to young that were streaked, speckled, and spotted. 40Jacob separated those lambs from Laban’s flock. And at mating time he turned the flock to face Laban’s animals that were streaked or black. This is how he built his own flock instead of increasing Laban’s.
41Whenever the stronger females were ready to mate, Jacob would place the peeled branches in the watering troughs in front of them. Then they would mate in front of the branches. 42But he didn’t do this with the weaker ones, so the weaker lambs belonged to Laban, and the stronger ones were Jacob’s. 43As a result, Jacob became very wealthy, with large flocks of sheep and goats, female and male servants, and many camels and donkeys.
Abraham & Sarah
Two sons: Isaac (with Sarah) and Ismael (with Hagar).
Isaac & Rebecca
Two sons: Jacob and Esau
Jacob & Leah
Six sons and one daughter: Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar, Zebulun and Dinah
Lucas van Leyden was a Dutch Renaissance painter and printmaker. He was born in Leiden, The Netherlands, in 1494, and died there in 1533 at the age of 39. Lucas van Leyden was one of the most important artists of the Northern Renaissance. He was known for his intricate and detailed engravings in various genres, including religious subjects, portraits, and landscapes; with a particular interest in capturing the expressions and emotions of his subjects. Lucas van Leyden’s style combined the influences of the Italian Renaissance with the local traditions of the Netherlands. His religious works originate from the traditional Catholic background, as that was the widely accepted and almost exclusive religion during Lucas van Leyden’s life and that of his contemporaries. The Reformation started only during his lifetime.
In 1510 Lucas van Leyden produced a series of fourteen engravings with Christ as Salvator Mundi, Paul and the Twelve Apostles. Let’s have a look.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Jesus Christ as Salvator Mundi, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
“Salvator Mundi” is a Latin term that translates to “Savior of the World”. In the context of art, “Salvator Mundi” refers to a specific subject matter that has been depicted in Christian religious art. “Salvator Mundi” typically portrays Jesus Christ as the savior of humanity. The subject is often depicted with Jesus blessing the viewer with his right hand and holding a globe or crystal orb symbolizing his role as the ruler of the world.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Peter, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
The Apostles are the twelve disciples who were chosen by Jesus Christ to be his closest followers and to spread his teachings. They played a central role in the formation and early development of Christianity. Paul, not part of the original group of twelve, is considered so important in spreading the word of God, that he often is included in the group of apostles. Together with Jesus Christ himself, the group as depicted by Lucas van Leyden in 1510 consists of 14: Jesus Christ as Salvator Mundi, Paul and the Twelve Apostles.
Their names and symbols, in sequence of the series by Lucas van Leyden, are as follows:
Jesus Christ as Salvator Mundi
Peter, with the Keys, representing his role as the “keeper of the keys” to the Kingdom of Heaven
Paulus with a sword as a reminder of the means of his martyrdom.
Andrew, with an X-shaped cross known as the saltire or St. Andrew’s Cross, as he was crucified on such a cross.
John, holding a chalice or cup with a serpent in it, representing the cup of poisoned wine that he drank without harm, symbolising Christian faith prevailing over death, signified by the serpent.
James the Greater, with a pilgrim staff and bag, and a hat with scallop shells, symbol of pilgrimage.
Thomas, with a spear, referring to his martyrdom.
James the Less, with a club, as he was beaten to death.
Bartholomew, with a knife, alluding to the tradition that he was martyred by being skinned alive.
Philip with a cross, referring to his crucifixion.
Judas Thaddeus with a builder’s square, as he was an architect of the Christian church.
Simon, with a saw, as he was reportedly martyred by being sawn in two.
Matthew, A halberd, symbol of his martyrdom.
Matthias, with an axe, or cleaver, symbol of martyrdom.
Their symbols serve as visual cues to help identify and distinguish the individual Apostles in religious art and iconography. It’s worth noting that some variations and interpretations of the symbols may exist in different traditions or artistic representations.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Paul, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
An engraving is a printmaking technique that involves incising or carving a design onto a hard surface, typically a metal plate. The process is typically done with a sharp tool called a burin, although other tools can be used as well. Here’s a general overview of the engraving process:
Plate Preparation: The artist begins with a flat, smooth metal plate, often made of copper, zinc, or steel. The plate is polished and cleaned to create a clean surface for the engraving.
Incising the Design: Using a burin or another engraving tool, the artist cuts lines directly into the plate. The lines are incised with varying depths and thicknesses to create the desired effects of light, shade, and texture.
Ink Application: After the engraving is complete, ink is applied to the plate. The ink is usually spread across the surface, filling the incised lines.
Wiping and Printing: The excess ink is carefully wiped off the plate’s surface, leaving ink only in the incised lines. A sheet of paper is then placed on top of the plate, and both are passed through a printing press. The pressure transfers the ink from the incised lines onto the paper, creating the printed image.
Engravings can produce highly detailed and precise images with a distinctive quality. The process allows for intricate line work and shading effects, making it suitable for capturing fine details and subtle variations in tone. Engravings are often characterized by their crisp lines and rich contrasts. Engravings have been used for centuries by artists, particularly during the Renaissance and Baroque periods. They have also been utilized for illustrations, bookplates, currency printing, and decorative purposes.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Andrew, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), John, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), James the Greater, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Thomas, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), James the Less, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA. I am following the Rijksmuseum distinction here, that names this Lucas van Leyden print as James the Less; in the system of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, this is Judas Thaddeus.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Bartholomew, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Philip, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Judas Thaddeus, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA. I am following the Rijks museum distinction here, that names this Lucas van Leyden print as Judas Thaddeus; in the system of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, this is James the Less.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Simon, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Matthew, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, c.1494 – 1533), Matthias, from the series Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510), Engraving, 12×7cm, Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, PA.
Hereunder a timetable linking the Italian Renaissance and Northern Renaissance, and linking the invention of book printing to the spread of the Reformation over the continent. Lucas van Leyden lived and worked at the dawn of the Reformation. His work originates from the tradition Catholic background. As reference, Rembrandt and the Dutch Golden Age are a century later.
1433, Jan van Eyck
Northern Renaissance artists, such as Jan van Eyck and Albrecht Dürer incorporated new techniques like oil painting and printmaking, contributing to the advancement of artistic practices.
Jan van Eyck (Flemish, c.1390 – 1441), Portrait of a Man, Self-portrait (1433), National Gallery, London.
1450, Gutenberg Bible
The Gutenberg Bible was the first “printed” book. It was printed by Johannes Gutenberg in Mainz, Germany in 1450. The Gutenberg Bible is a landmark achievement in the history of printing and played a significant role in the dissemination of knowledge and the spread of the Protestant Reformation.
1479, Sandro Botticelli
One of the prominent artists of the Italian Renaissance whose works exemplify the ideals and themes of the classical mythology, humanism, and the exploration of perspective and proportion.
Sandro Botticelli (Florentine, 1446 – 1510), Portrait of Giuliano de’ Medici (c.1479), National Gallery of Art, Washington.
1498, Albrecht Dürer
Painter, printmaker, and theorist; one of the most renowned figures associated with the Northern Renaissance. Dürer’s mastery of printmaking allowed for the wider dissemination of his works and ideas throughout Europe.
Albrecht Dürer (German, 1471 – 1528), Self-portrait at 26 (1498), Prado, Madrid.
Lucas van Leyden (Netherlandish, 1494 – 1533) Series with Christ, Paul and the Twelve Apostles (c.1510)
1517, Maarten Luther
On 31 October 1517, Martin Luther (1483 – 1546) nailed his 95 Theses to the door of All Saint’s Church in Wittenberg protesting at the sale of papal indulgences. This led to public debate about corruption in the Catholic Church and about church doctrine itself, and sparked off the Reformation.
Lucas Cranach the Elder (German, 1472 – 1553), Portrait of Martin Luther (1528), Veste Coburg Art Collections, Coburg, Germany.
1550, Johannes Calvin
Johannes Calvin (1509 – 1564) was a French theologian and key figure of the Protestant Reformation. His teachings and writings, particularly the concept of predestination, shaped the development of Reformed theology and had a lasting impact on Protestant Christianity.
Portrait by unknown painter (c.1550), Museum Catharijne Convent, Utrecht, The Netherlands.
1566
The “Beeldenstorm” (Iconoclastic Fury) refers to a series of violent outbreaks in the Netherlands in 1566. Protestant reformers expressed their opposition to the Catholic Church and its practices by vandalizing and destroying religious images and statues, particularly those found in churches and monasteries. The “Beeldenstorm” became the starting point of the Eighty Years’ War or Dutch Revolt (1566 – 1648), the protracted conflict where the Dutch provinces fought for independence from Spanish (and Catholic) rule, ultimately leading to the establishment of the Dutch Republic.
1629, Rembrandt
Rembrandt (Netherlandish, 1606 – 1669), Self-Portrait, Age 23 (1629), Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, Boston, MA.
In religious contexts, the term “apostles” typically refers to the twelve individuals chosen by Jesus Christ to be his closest followers and to spread his teachings. They are also known as the Twelve Apostles or the Apostles of Jesus. The apostles played a significant role in the development and early spread of Christianity. They witnessed Jesus’ teachings, miracles, crucifixion, and resurrection. After Jesus’ ascension into heaven, the apostles became central figures in the formation of the early Christian community. They preached the gospel, performed miracles, and established churches in different regions. The word “apostle” comes from the Greek word “apostolos,” meaning “one who is sent out.” The twelve apostles are traditionally identified as:
Peter: fisherman, leader of the apostles and first pope according to Catholic tradition.
Andrew: brother of Peter, also a fisherman.
John: “The Beloved One”, known as the author of the Gospel of John.
James: the pilgrim, also referred to as James the Greater.
Matthew: former tax collector, maybe the author of the Gospel of Matthew.
Thomas: known for his initial doubt about Jesus’ resurrection.
Bartholomew: preaching as far as in India and Armenia, skinned alive.
Philip: baptised an Ethiopian courtier.
Simon: martyred by being sawn in half.
James: also known as James the Less.
Judas Thaddeus: not to be confused with Judas Iscariot.
Judas Iscariot: infamously known for betraying Jesus.
After Judas Iscariot’s betrayal and subsequent death, Matthias was chosen to replace him. The apostle Paul (originally known as Saul) is also considered an apostle, although he was not part of the original twelve. Paul played a significant role in spreading Christianity throughout the Mediterranean and authored several spiritual letters (epistles).
It’s worth noting that in some religious traditions, the term “apostle” may be used more broadly to refer to other individuals who were not part of the original twelve but were influential in the early Christian movement. For example, the apostle Paul is often considered an apostle due to his significant contributions to the spread of Christianity through his missionary journeys and his epistles included in the New Testament.
Peter
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Peter with his attributes the keys, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 107x82cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Petrus (“Petrus”) was a fisherman named Simon. Jesus called him and his brother Andrew to be Jesus’ followers. He received the name “Cephas” from Jesus, which means “rock” in the local Aramaic language; hence “Peter” (Πέτρος, Petros), which means “rock” in Greek, the language of the first bible books. Peter is recognised as the leader of the 12 apostles and as the first Pope and Bishop of Rome. He was crucified in Rome under Emperor Nero around AD 65. Peter’s attributes are a set of keys, one gold and one silver, which are The Keys of Heaven. He is buried in the St Peter Basilica in Rome.
A story from the life of Peter is as follows. When Jesus was arrested, Peter had followed at a distance. On the painting hereunder we can see what happened next. A servant girl apparently recognised Peter and said to him, “You also were with the Nazarene, Jesus. “ Peter denied it. But then she said it to some bystanders. Again Peter denied it. Finally, the bystanders said it to him as well and, for the third time, he denied knowing Jesus. This time he swore, “I do not know this man of whom you speak”. Then the cock crowed for the second time and Peter remembered the words of Jesus, “Before the cock crows twice you will deny me three times.” Then Peter broke down and wept (New Testament, Mark 14:72).
Gerard Seghers (Flemish, 1591 – 1651), The Denial of St. Peter with Peter on the left side (c.1622), 173x227cm, North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh, NC.
Andrew
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Andrew with the x-formed cross, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 108x84cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Andrew, in Latin “Andreas”, is the brother of Petrus. Both Andrew and Peter were fishermen by trade, hence the tradition that Jesus called them by saying that he will make them “fishers of men” These narratives record that Jesus was walking along the shore of the Sea of Galilee and initially used a boat, described as being Peter’s, as a platform for preaching to the multitudes on the shore and then as a means to achieving a huge trawl of fish on a night which had hitherto proved fruitless.
Andrew is said to have been martyred by crucifixion in the year 60, bound – not nailed – to a Latin cross of the kind on which Jesus is said to have been crucified. Yet a tradition developed that Andrew had been crucified on a cross of the form called crux decussata (X-shaped cross, or “saltire”), now commonly known as a “Saint Andrew’s Cross”, supposedly at his own request, as he deemed himself unworthy to be crucified on the same type of cross as Jesus had been. The “Saint Andrew’s Cross” is now also the national flag of Scotland. Several legends state that the relics of Andrew were brought by divine guidance from Constantinople to the place where the modern Scottish town of St Andrews stands today. Andrew preached along the Black Sea and the Dnieper River as far as Kiev, and from there he travelled to Novgorod. Hence, he became a patron saint of Ukraine, Romania, and Russia.
Andrew is traditionally portrayed with a long beard and a saltire cross. How to remember: the flag of Scotland and The Saint Andrews Golf Club, one of the oldest and most posh golf clubs worldwide
In the painting hereunder we find Jesus calling his first disciples. He approaches two fishermen at work on the Sea of Galilee: Simon, called Peter, and his brother Andrew. Their net is full when Jesus says to them: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (New Testament, Matthew 4:18).
Duccio di Buoninsegna (Italian, c.1250 – c.1319), The Calling of the Apostles Peter and Andrew (panel from the Maestá, Siena, c.1309), Tempera on Panel, 43×46cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.
John
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle John with the chalice, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 108x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
The Apostle John, also known as Saint John the Evangelist and not to be confused with John the Baptist, holds a significant place in Christian tradition and the New Testament of the Bible. John had a brother named James (often referred to as James the Greater). John, James and Peter, formed the inner circle of disciples closest to Jesus. They were present at all the important events in Jesus’ life and ministery. John is often referred to as “The Beloved One”, the disciple whom Jesus loved. He is portrayed as having a close and intimate relationship with Jesus. According to tradition, John is also credited as the author of the Gospel of John and the Book of Revelation. According to legend, John the Evangelist was given a cup of poisoned wine that he drank without harm. As emblems of the tale, John’s chalice symbolizes the Christian faith prevailing over death. In the painting above, Rubens depicted John with the chalice.
John (or Johannes) has an important presence at the crucifixion, as depicted in the painting hereunder. Immediately after Christ’s death, his followers lifted Jesus Christ down from the cross and lamented over his body. At the heart of the composition, the weeping Virgin kneels beside her dead son, supported by John. From the cross, Jesus had entrusted the care of his mother to his most beloved disciple. Joseph of Arimathea supports the dead body, Nicodemus holds up one end of the shroud. According to the Bible, these two men would anoint and bury the body. On the left, three women let their tears flow freely. One of them is Mary Magdalene (identified by her ointment jar), who dries her eyes with her cloak. On the right, by Christ’s feet, kneels a bishop, undoubtedly the man who commissioned the work. He is accompanied by Peter (with the keys of heaven) and Paul (with the sword used to behead him). The skull in the foreground is an allusion to Calvary, the site of the Crucifixion. The skull belongs to Adam, who was supposedly buried there. Van der Weyden rendered the bishop’s episcopal robes in breathtaking detail. The fact that the twelve apostles are depicted on the embroidered borders of the cope is significant. The bishop, after all, had followed in the footsteps of the apostles who spread the gospel after the Crucifixion. The presence of Peter and Paul behind the bishop can be explained in that light. As the first Bishop of Rome, Peter also had a special significance: he was the most eminent predecessor of the man who commissioned this painting.
Rogier van der Weyden (Flemish, c.1399 – 1464), The Lamentation of Christ with John in red robe supporting Mary in blue robe (c.1462), 81x130cm, Mauritshuis. The Hague.
James the Greater
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle James the Greater with pilgrim staff and hat, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 108x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
James the Greater, in Latin “Jacobus Maior”, preached the message and teachings of Jesus in Spain and became the patron saint of Spain and, according to tradition, his remains are held in Santiago de Compostela. This name Santiago is the local evolution of his name “Sancti Iacobi”. The traditional pilgrimage to the grave of the saint, known as the “Way of St. James”, has been the most popular pilgrimage in Western Europe from the Early Middle Ages onwards. James is styled “the Greater” to distinguish him from the Apostle James “the Less”, with “greater” meaning older or taller, rather than more important. James the Greater was the brother of John. James, along with his brother John and Peter, formed an informal triumvirate among the Twelve Apostles. He is mostly depicted clothed as a pilgrim, with a scallop shell (Coquille St Jacques) on his shoulder, and his staff and pilgrim’s hat beside him. Pilgrims to his shrine often wore the scallop shell as symbol on their hats or clothes.
How to remember? Think: Coquille St Jacques and Pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.
Georges de la Tour (French, 1593 – 1652) , The Apostle James the Greater as pilgrim with the coquille St. Jacques (c.1620) from the Albi Apostles, 66x54cm, private collection, latest at Sotheby’s Masterpieces from the Fisch Davidson Collection, January 2023, New York, Lot 9.
Matthew
Anthony van Dyck (1599–1641), The Apostle Matthew (c.1619), 84x73cm, Rubenshuis (King Baudouin Foundation), Antwerp, Belgium.
Before becoming an apostle, Matthew (“Matheus” in Latin) worked as a tax collector in Capernaum. Tax collectors were often despised by their fellow Jews because they were seen as collaborators with the Roman authorities and were associated with greed and corruption. However, Jesus called Matthew to be one of his disciples, demonstrating his inclusive message of grace and forgiveness. As an apostle, Matthew witnessed Jesus’ teachings, miracles, and ministry firsthand. He was chosen by Jesus to be part of the inner circle of disciples and was present at significant events such as the Transfiguration and the Last Supper. After Jesus’ death and resurrection, Matthew, along with the other apostles, was entrusted with spreading the message of salvation and establishing the early Christian community.
Matthew is traditionally regarded as the author of the Gospel of Matthew, which is the first book of the New Testament. This gospel focuses on presenting Jesus as the Messiah, the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecies, and the teacher of the new law. According to tradition, after his time with Jesus, Matthew traveled and preached the Gospel, possibly in regions such as Ethiopia or Persia. However, the historical records regarding his later life and martyrdom are limited and not universally agreed upon.
The painting hereunder depicts the story from the Gospel of Matthew (New Testament, Matthew 9:9): “Jesus saw a man named Matthew at his seat in the tax collector’s office, and said to him, “Follow me”, and Matthew rose and followed Him.” Ter Brugghen depicts Matthew as the tax collector sitting at a table with few companions who seem to be more interested in the money and earthly tax collecting business. Jewish tax collectors in the time of Christ worked for the occupying Roman government, so they were especially hated in Israel. If that were not enough, tax collectors commonly took more than was required by the Romans in order to pay themselves. This meant tax collectors were frequently much wealthier than most Jewish citizens, who were just barely getting by day by day. The typical stereotype of a tax collector, in that time, was that of a greedy, sinful, traitorous sinner. On this painting Jesus Christ has entered the room, and is pointing at Matthew. Matthew is surprised and seems to say: “Who, me?”. This is a depiction of a moment of spiritual awakening and conversion, the moment when Matthew abandons everything and joins the circle and life of Jesus Christ.
Hendrick ter Brugghen (Netherlandish, 1588 – 1629), The Calling of Matthew when being a tax collector (1621), 102x137cm, Centraal Museum, Utrecht, The Netherlands.
Thomas
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Thomas with the spear as his martyrdom attribute, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 108x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
The Apostle Thomas, also known as “Doubting Thomas”, is particularly known for his initial skepticism regarding Jesus’ resurrection. After Jesus’ crucifixion, the other disciples told Thomas that they had seen the risen Jesus. However, Thomas expressed doubt and insisted that he needed to see and touch Jesus’ wounds to believe. Later, when Jesus appeared to the disciples, he specifically addressed Thomas and invited him to touch his wounds. Thomas, upon seeing and touching Jesus, declared, “My Lord and my God!” This incident reflects Thomas’ transformation from doubt to faith. Thomas’ subsequent activities and ministry are not extensively documented in the biblical texts. However, early Christian tradition suggests that he may have traveled and preached the Gospel in regions such as Parthia (part of modern-day Iran) and India and maybe even into China.
The subject of this painting herunder is taken from the Gospels (New Testament, John 20:24–28). The scene depicts the moment when Thomas, seeking proof of the Resurrection, places his fingers in the wound in Christ’s right side. Thomas not only rejected all the evidence of the Resurrection, but he also demands the most absolute, personal proof possible. He wants more than visual proof. He insists on disbelieving until he can physically touch the wounds in Jesus’ resurrected body. Which Christ allows him to do so. Here he gained his nickname: “Doubting Thomas.” This is the theme of human weakness in believing and the tendency to disbelieving.
Matthias Stom (Netherlandish, 1600 – 1650), The Incredulity of Thomas (c.1645), 125x99cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Bartholomew
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Bartholomew holding the knife as reference to his martyrdom being skinned alive, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 107x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. Bartholomew holds the knife in his hand, used for his martyr death.
The Apostle Bartholomew, in Latin “Bartholomaeus”, is listed among the apostles but is not as prominently featured as some of the others. He is mainly mentioned in the context of being one of the twelve and participating in the ministry of Jesus. According to early Christian traditions, Bartholomew is believed to have traveled extensively as a missionary, spreading the teachings of Jesus. Some traditions suggest that he traveled to India and Armenia, where he preached the Gospel and established Christian communities. The accounts of his martyrdom vary, but many sources indicate that he was martyred for his faith, with some accounts suggesting that he was flayed or crucified upside down.
One famous painting that features the apostle Bartholomew is “The Last Judgment” by Michelangelo. It is a monumental fresco located on the altar wall of the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City. In this painting, Bartholomew is depicted holding his own flayed skin, as he was said to have been martyred by being skinned alive. In Michelangelo’s depiction, Bartholomew holds his skin in one hand, while his other hand holds a knife, symbolizing the instrument of his martyrdom.
Bartholomew is the patron saint of tanners, tailors, leatherworkers, bookbinders, and butchers.
Michelangelo (Italian, 1475 – 1564) Saint Bartholemew holding his skin in one hand and his knife in the other, detail from The Last Judgement (1536 – 1541) Sistine Chapel, Vatican City.
Philip
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Philip with the cross on which he was crucified, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 107x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. The attribute is the cross on which Philip was crucified. It’s a different form of cross compared to Saint Andrew’s cross.
According to the Bible, Philip was from the town of Bethsaida in Galilee, like Andrew and Peter. He is first mentioned in the Gospel of John, where he is called by Jesus to become his disciple. Philip played a role in several significant events in the New Testament. For example, he was present when Jesus fed the multitude of thousands with five loaves of bread and two fish. After Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection, Philip continued to spread the teachings of Jesus and played a role in the early Christian community. Philip is particularly known for his encounter with an Ethiopian courtier or eunuch. He explained the Scriptures to the eunuch and baptized him, leading to the spread of Christianity in Ethiopia. A note: this could also have been Philip the Evangelist; it’s unclear if these two are one and the same Philip or both different ones. Philip the Apostle’s later life and his ultimate fate are not extensively recorded in the Bible. However, according to tradition, he continued to preach the gospel and performed miracles in various regions, including Syria and Greece. It is believed that Philip died as a martyr, having been crucified upside down. He is therefor often depicted with a cross.
Rembrandt painted the scene related to the baptism of an Ethiopian eunuch. In his painting, Rembrandt depicts the biblical episode found in the Book of Acts (New Testament, Acts 8:26-40), where the apostle Philip encounters an Ethiopian eunuch on the road to Gaza. The eunuch is reading a passage from the Book of Isaiah but does not fully understand its meaning. Philip explains the Scripture to him, and upon their arrival at a body of water, the eunuch requests to be baptized. Rembrandt captures this pivotal moment as Philip performs the baptism.
Rembrandt (Dutch, 1606 – 1669),The apostel Philip Baptising of the Eunuch, the courtier from Ethiopia (1626), 64x48cm, Museum Catharijneconvent, Utrecht, The Netherlands.
Simon
Anthony van Dyck (Flemish, 1599 – 1641), The Apostle Simon with his martyrdom attribute, the same on the right (c.1618), 64×48cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.
The apostle Simon, also known as Simon the Zealot, was also one of the twelve apostles chosen by Jesus Christ. Not much is known about Simon’s background or his activities outside of being an apostle. The name “Simon the Zealot” suggests that he may have been a member of the Jewish political group called the Zealots, known for their fervent patriotism and opposition to Roman rule. As an apostle, Simon was entrusted with spreading the message of Jesus after his death and resurrection. Tradition holds that Simon continued to spread the Gospel after Jesus’ ascension, possibly traveling to Persia or further regions. Historical records regarding his later life and martyrdom are sparse and not widely agreed upon.
There are several paintings that depict the apostles, including Simon. However, there are no definitive or widely accepted artistic representations of Simon the Apostle, as there is no specific physical description of him in the biblical texts. In religious artwork, the apostles are often portrayed as a group or in scenes related to specific biblical events, such as the Last Supper or the Pentecost. In these depictions, Simon is typically included among the twelve apostles, but he may not always be individually highlighted or distinguishable. There is a vague story that Simon was martyred be being sawn in half and therefore in art, Simon sometimes has the identifying attribute of a saw.
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Simon, with on the left side, under the book, the saw. the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 108x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
James the Less
Pompeo Batoni (1708–1787), The Apostle James the Less with the club, symbol of his martyrdom (c.1741), 73x61cm, Basildon Park (National Trust), Berkshire, United Kingdom.
The apostle James the Less is called “Less” to indicate his relative obscurity or younger age compared to James the Great. Not much is known about James the Less beyond his designation as an apostle.
The martyr symbol traditionally associated with Saint James the Less is a fuller’s club, as he was said to have been martyred by being beaten to death with a club or a similar instrument. A fuller’s club was a tool used by fullers, the workers in the wool industry who beat or thump the cloth to clean, shrink and thicken it. James the Less is still the patron saint of the fullers and textile workers.
James the Less, from The Menologion of Basil II, (c.1000), an illuminated manuscript compiled for the Byzantine Emperor Basil II (reign 976 – 1025). It contains a synaxarion, a short collection of saints’ lives and around 430 miniature paintings by eight different artists, Vatican Library (Ms. Vat. gr. 1613), The Vatican.
Judas Thaddeus
Anthony van Dyck (Flemish, 1599 – 1641), The Apostle Judas Thaddeus (c.1620), 63×47cm, Louvre, Paris. The Louvre formerly identified this guy as Saint Joseph, the father of Jesus; understandable, as Joseph was a carpenter and here is someone pictured with a carpenter’s square. But this portrait fits very well in one of the two series of the apostles painted by Van Dyck, and therefore more likely this is an apostle.
Judas Thaddeus is one of the twelve original apostles, but information about him is limited. Although he certainly played an important role in spreading the teachings of Jesus Christ after his death and resurrection. Judas Thaddeus is believed to have traveled to various regions, including Syria, Mesopotamia, and Armenia, where he is highly venerated as one of the founding apostles of the Armenian Church. His attributes are ambiguous. It can be a club as symbol of his martyrdom, or a book as general “scripture” reference, or a flame around his head which represents his presence at Pentecost, when he received the Holy Spirit with the other apostles. I like the option of a carpenter’s square the most, as a metaphorical symbol of Judas Thaddeus being an architect of the church. Judas Thaddeus is the patron saint of desperate situations and lost causes; good to know!
A note: Judas Thaddeus is to be clearly distinguished from Judas Iscariot, the apostle who betrayed Jesus prior to his crucifixion.
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Judas Thaddeus, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 107x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. The Prado identifies this one as James the Lees, and in older catalogues as Thomas. In my view it’s Thaddeus, because of the carpenter’s square. Although Thaddeus is not very often depicted in this way, certainly James the Less and Thomas are not depicted with this tool With the more obscure apostles it’s sometimes guessing who the painter meant to depict.
Judas Iscariot was chosen by Jesus Christ to be one of his apostles but is known primarily for his betrayal of Jesus. According to the Gospels, Judas agreed to betray Jesus to the religious authorities in exchange for thirty pieces of silver. He identified Jesus to the authorities by giving him a kiss, leading to Jesus’ arrest. This event ultimately led to Jesus’ crucifixion. The act of betrayal has been widely condemned, and Judas is often portrayed as a symbol of treachery and betrayal. Judas’ story concludes tragically. After the betrayal, he reportedly felt remorse for his actions and attempted to return the money. However, overcome by guilt, he ultimately hanged himself.
On the frescos by Giotto, both from the wonderful Scrovegni Chapel in Padua, we can see (above) Judas who just plotted his betrayal and received the bag with the thirty pieces of silver; firmly in grip of the devil! And (below) Judas identifies Jesus Christ with a kiss, an act of friendship he would turn into betrayal.
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Matthias with the axe by which he was killed, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 107x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
The Apostle Matthias was chosen to replace Judas Iscariot as one of the twelve apostles following Judas’ betrayal and subsequent death by suicide. After Jesus’ ascension, the remaining eleven apostles felt the need to replace Judas Iscariot in order to restore the number of apostles to twelve, a significant symbolic number. They believed it was essential to have twelve apostles to fulfill the mission and ministry that Jesus had entrusted to them. To select a new apostle, the remaining apostles prayed and sought guidance from God. They determined that the new apostle must be someone who had been with them from the beginning of Jesus’ ministry and had witnessed his resurrection. The apostles prayed, cast lots, and ultimately chose Matthias as the one to take Judas’ place. Matthias was then counted as one of the twelve, and he joined the other apostles in spreading the message of Jesus Christ. The biblical account does not provide extensive details about Matthias’ activities or specific teachings, and he is not mentioned again in the New Testament after his selection. In art, Matthias does not have a well-defined or universally recognized symbol. While he is often depicted as one of the twelve apostles, his individual attributes or symbols are not as established or consistent as those of some other apostles.
Anthony van Dyck (Flemish, 1599 – 1641), The Apostle Matthias with just a book as apostle-reference (c.1619), 65×48cm, Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, CT.
Paul
Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Apostle Paul, from the series The Twelve Apostles (c.1611), 108x83cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
The Apostle Paul, originally known as Saul, is recognized as one of the most influential and prolific writers of the New Testament. Paul’s life and teachings played a crucial role in the spread of Christianity. Before his conversion to Christianity, Paul was a zealous persecutor of early Christians. However, his life took a dramatic turn when he encountered a vision of Jesus on the road to Damascus. This encounter led to his conversion and subsequent dedication to spreading the Gospel. Paul’s epistles, or letters, form a significant part of the New Testament. They provide theological insights, practical guidance for Christian living, and address various issues faced by the early Christian communities. Paul’s teachings contributed significantly to the development of Christian theology and helped shape the early Christian community. His writings continue to be studied and revered by Christians worldwide.
In addition to his theological and missionary contributions, Paul also endured hardships and persecution for the sake of the Gospel. He was imprisoned multiple times, faced opposition from both Jewish and Roman authorities, and eventually died as a martyr, traditionally believed to have been executed in Rome. Rubens includes Paul in his series of apostles, as many other artists also did. The depiction of Paul with a sword is primarily influenced by his writings and teachings. In his letters, Paul frequently uses metaphors related to warfare and battle to describe the Christian life and the spiritual struggle against evil. He speaks of the “sword of the Spirit” as a metaphor for the Word of God, emphasizing its power and authority.
And hereunder the Caravaggio painting with the moment of the apostle Paul’s conversion as described in the Acts of the Apostles in the Bible. Paul (then still known as Saul) is shown falling from his horse and extending his arms to the blinding divine light that emanates from heaven, in a gesture of astonishment and surrender.
Caravaggio (Italian, 1571 – 1610), Conversion of Paul on the Way to Damascus (1601), 230x175cm, Cerasi Chapel, Santa Maria del Popolo, Rome.
Peter and Paul
And to make the circle round, here is an El Greco painting that brings “Peter”, the first apostle, together with “Paul”, the last one. These two apostles are the most prominent figures in the early Christian community and have a common feast day. Peter, was chosen by Jesus as the leader of the apostles and is considered the first Pope. Paul, formerly a persecutor of Christians who underwent a profound conversion and became a significant evangelist and writer of several Epistles in the New Testament. The Feast of Saints Peter and Paul is observed on June 29 to commemorate the martyrdom of these apostles and to celebrate the role of these apostles in spreading the Gospel and establishing the early Christian Church. The feast is marked with special Masses and liturgical ceremonies, and it holds particular significance in Rome, where the Basilica of Saint Peter and the Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls are dedicated to these saints.
El Greco (Greek, Spanish, 1541 – 1614), The Apostles Peter and Paul; Peter with the keys in his left hand, which is difficult to see, and Paul holding the sword (c.1595), 116x91cm (45.6 in), Museu Nacional d’Art de Catalunya, Barcelona, Spain.
Jael, Samson, Judith and David are heroes from the Hebrew Bible and the Old Testament who risked their own lives to save their people from the enemy. They are unlikely but true heroes, charming, clever and cunning, and in the case of Samson fighting with physical strength. Paintings with these true heroes had often a political or moralising message. Their stories were associated with the underdog defeating an oppressor; a small country fighting victoriously against the big enemy. The four are commonly depicted as follows: Jael holds the hammer and peg with which she killed Sisera (Judges 4:17-23), Judith displays the head of Holofernes and holds the sword with which she decapitated him (Judith 13:6-10), David leans on the gigantic sword with which he cut off the head of Goliath (I Sam.17: 51), and finally Samson who holds the jawbone with which he slew a thousand Philistines (Judges 15:15-20).
Artemisia Gentileschi (Italian, 1593 – 1654), Jael and Sisera (1620), 93×128cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest.
The topic of the canvas is the moment in which Jael is about to kill Sisera, a general of the enemy. Jael welcomed Sisera into her tent and covered him with a blanket. Sisera asked Jael for a drink of water; she gave him milk instead and comforted him so that he fell asleep in her lap. Quietly, Jael took a hammer and drove a tent peg through Sisera’s skull while he was sleeping, killing him instantly. Jael was the woman with the honour of defeating the enemy and their army.
Andrea Mantegna (Italian, c.1431 – 1506), Judith with the Head of Holofernes (c.1497), Tempera on Panel, 30x18cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.
Besieged by the Assyrians, the beautiful Israelite widow Judith went into the enemy camp of Holofernes to win his confidence. During a great banquet Holofernes became drunk, and later in his tent Judith seized his sword and cut off his head. Often an elderly female servant is depicted taking away the head in a bag or basket. Look at the Mantegna painting, you can see Holofernes on the bed, just by way of one of his feet! Their leader gone; the enemy was soon defeated by the Israelites. This ancient heroine was understood in the Renaissance as a symbol of civic virtue, of intolerance of tyranny, and of a just cause triumphing over evil. The story of Judith and Holofernes comes from the “Book of Judith”, a text that’s part of the Old Testament of the Catholic Bible. The Book of Judith is excluded from the Hebrew and Protestant Bible, but still considered an important additional historical text.
Donatello or Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi (Italian, c.1386 – 1466), David (c.1440), bronze, 158cm, Museo Nazionale del Bargello, Florence, Italy.
This is the story of the Israelite boy David and the Philistine giant Goliath. The Israelites are fighting the Philistines, whose champion – Goliath – repeatedly offers to meet the Israelites’ best warrior in single combat to decide the whole battle. None of the trained Israelite soldiers is brave enough to fight Goliath, until David – a shepherd boy who is too young to be a soldier – accepts the challenge. The Israelite leader offers David armor and weapons, but the boy is untrained and refuses them. Instead, he goes out with his sling, and confronts the enemy. He hits Goliath in the head with a stone from his sling, knocking the giant down, and then grabs Goliath’s sword and cuts off his head. The Philistines withdraw and the Israelites are saved. David’s courage and faith illustrates the triumph of good over evil. Donatello’s bronze statue is famous as the first unsupported standing work of bronze cast during the Renaissance, and the first freestanding nude male sculpture made since antiquity. It depicts David with an enigmatic smile, posed with his foot on Goliath’s severed head just after defeating the giant. The youth is completely naked, apart from a laurel-topped hat and boots, and bears the sword of Goliath. The phrase “David and Goliath” has taken on a more popular meaning denoting an underdog situation, a contest wherein a smaller, weaker opponent faces a much bigger, stronger adversary.
Salomon de Bray (Dutch, 1597 – 1664), Samson with the Jawbone (1636), 64x52cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.
The biblical account states that Samson was a Nazirite, and that he was given immense strength to aid him against his enemies and allow him to perform superhuman feats, including slaying a lion with his bare hands and massacring an entire enemy army of Philistines using only the jawbone of a donkey. Holding the jawbone as his attribute, Samson looks upward, perhaps to God. The great strongman just slew a thousand Philistines with that jawbone. Overcome by thirst, he then drank from the rock at Lechi, a name that also means “jawbone” in Hebrew. Due to a mistaken translation in the Dutch Bible, some artists, like Salomon de Bray on the paining above, depicted Samson with a jawbone and water dripping out of the bone, rather than the rock issuing water.
Jael, Judith, David and Samson are just a few of the many heroes depicted in art. These four are exceptionally brave. Through their courage their people found victory and freedom. The message these four send, is to be brave in difficult times. Keep hope, keep faith, and set a step when there is the opportunity. It can change history, for oneself, and maybe for the world!
Jael, Judith, David and Samson; a print series.
In 1588 Hendrick Goltzius designed a series of four Heroes and Heroines from the Old Testament, after which Jacob Matham made the engravings. The print series could refer to events during the Dutch Revolt or The Eighty Years’ War (1568 – 1648), an armed conflict between The Netherlands under the leadership of William of Orange (“The Silent”) and Spain under King Philips II, the sovereign of The Netherlands. An end was reached in 1648 with the Peace of Münster when Spain recognised the Dutch Republic as an independent country. It’s the unlikely hero and heroine fighting and defeating the enemy; a print series with stories from the old bible books, translated into a contemporary political message.
On the drawings and the corresponding prints Jael, Judit, David and Samson are all portrayed full-length, in the foreground, with their characteristic attributes, while in the background their heroic deed is depicted. Jael holds the hammer and peg with which she killed Sisera, Judith displays the head of Holofernes and holds the sword with which she decapitated him, David leans on the gigantic sword with which he cut off the head of Goliath, that he carries in his left hand, finally Samson who holds the jawbone with which he slew a thoudanss Philistines. The preparatory drawings all still exist and are in the collection of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Hereunder on the left the drawings by Goltzius and on the right the prints as engraved by Matham. Once engraved into a copper plate and after printing, the print becomes a “negative” of the original drawing.
Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Jael (c.1588), drawing, 26×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Jacob Matham, engraver (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Jael with hammer and tent peg (c.1588), engraving, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Judith (c.1588), drawing, 26×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Jacob Matham, engraver (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Judith with Holofernes’ head and the sword (c.1588), engraving, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), David (c.1588), drawing, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Jacob Matham, engraver (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), David with Goliath’s head (c.1588), engraving, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Samson (c.1588), drawing, 26×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Jacob Matham, engraver (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) after a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), Samson with the jawbone (c.1588), engraving, 27×17cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
Today 25th of March is the feast of The Annunciation, also referred to as the Annunciation to the Blessed Virgin Mary. It is the announcement by the Archangel Gabriel to Mary that she would conceive and bear a son through a virgin birth and become the mother of Jesus Christ.
It’s easy to remember this date, as it’s a full nine months of pregnancy before Christmas, the birthday of Jesus. And it’s approximately the start of spring and the moment of the northern equinox when day and night are equally long. In medieval terms, start of spring is identified as the date of an unusual number of Biblical events: Adam’s and Eve’s fall into sin; Cain’s murder of Abel; Abraham’s near-sacrifice of Isaac; the martyrdom of John the Baptist; and the Crucifixion. Still more strongly associated with this date is the Annunciation, at which, according to the Gospel of Luke, the archangel Gabriel brought word to the Virgin Mary that she would conceive the Son of God: “Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.”
The Annunciation at the Well flourished in Byzantium, an ancient Greek city that became known as Constantinople and as Istanbul today. In this illustration from a 12th century manuscript, two meetings are implied: at left, Mary dips her pitcher into a well as she turns to hear Gabriel’s message; at right, she approaches a house where she will receive the angel a second time while sitting on a throne-like chair. This illustration is following the Annunciation as written in the Gospel of James. Jacobus Monachus also known as the Kokkinobaphos Master, Homiliae in Beatam Mariam etc, 12th Century, Bibliothèque Nationale de France. Département des Manuscrits, Inv Nr Grec 1208, page 159v.
The Annunciation has been one of the most frequent subjects of Christian art. Its composition and details vary in accordance with its setting: the Virgin might appear on a throne, in a loggia, in a bedroom, or outdoors, and she often is shown sewing or reading. A variant of particular interest is the depiction of the Annunciation at the Spring, also known as the Annunciation at the Well. Inspired by accounts preserved in early apocryphal (non-Bible) texts such as the Gospel of James, this variant of the Annunciation depicts the Virgin Mary greeted by the angel Gabriel as she is fetching water at a well.
Cultures in the western part of the Mediterranean, like Venice with its strong trading links to the Byzantine area, adopted the image of the Annunciation at the Spring. This scene appears among twelfth-century mosaics of the Life of the Virgin in the transept of the church of San Marco in Venice.
There are two basic sources that describe the Annunciation. The Gospel of Luke (1:26-38) and the Gospel of James (v.11). Luke’s Gospel is part of the traditional Bible books and mostly the story that is depicted in Western art from the 14th Century onwards. The other source is the 2nd Century Gospel of James, which is an “apocryphal” book, meaning it’s not included in the traditional Bible collection of books. James’s Gospel is mostly the source in Eastern art up to the 15th Century and – remarkably – again by British painters in the 19th Century. The Gospel of James describes how one day Mary took the pitcher and went forth to draw water at a well when she heard an angelic voice: “Hail, you are highly favored, the Lord is with you, blessed are you among women.” And Mary looked around on the right and on the left to see from where this voice could have come.” During this first encounter, at a well or spring, the angel was heard but not seen. Mary appeared to be alone. Mary then went inside and it’s there that the angel appeared to her in person, while Mary is sitting on a throne-like chair.
In this beautiful illustration form an early 14th Century Armenian manuscript known as the Glazdor Gospels, a flattened, stylized well and pitcher offer only a reminder of the original “Annunciation at the Well” images. The figures’ static postures, animated only by Gabriel’s speaking gesture and the Virgin’s raised palm, recall Western Annunciation scenes, but Mary’s gilded brocade, the throned seat and the ogival dome at the top of the composition attest to its Eastern roots. The Glazdor Gospels, Los Angeles, University of California Research Library, MS. 1, p. 305.
From the 14th Century onward most Annunciations in Western art focus more on the story as written in the Gospel of Luke rather than the apocryphal Gospel of James. They dispense with the pitcher and the well and more and more they will also omit Mary sitting on a the throne-like seat. Many more images placed the event in a specific and unified space such as a portico (Fra Angelico), a private home (Rubens), or a church (Van Eyck).
The Archangel Gabriel delivers a salutation from God: “Ave Gratia Plena” (Hail, Full of Grace). His words flow out in gold letters. Mary draws back with surprise and modesty. She has been chosen to bear the Son of God. As she speaks her acceptance: “Ecce Ancilla Domini” (See, I am the Servant of the Lord), written upside-down for God to read it more easily from above. The dove of the holy spirit descends to her on rays of light. Jan van Eyck (Netherlandish, c.1390 – 1441), The Annunciation (c.1435), 90x34cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.
In this Annunciation by Fra Angelico, Gabriel is seen approaching Mary outdoors in the cloister of San Marco in Florence. Mary is depicted as sweet and innocent yet taken aback by Gabriel’s arrival. Her innocence and virginity is represented by the “Hortus Conclusus” (Walled Garden) seen in the background. Her arms are folded in the same manner as Gabriel, and show her acceptance, humility, and submission. Fra Angelico (c.1395 – 1455), The Annunciation (c.1442), Fresco, 230x297cm, Convent of San Marco, Florence.
When Cosimo de’ Medici rebuilt the convent of San Marco, he commissioned Fra Angelico to decorate the walls with frescos. This included the inside of the monk’s cells and inside the corridors; around fifty pieces in total. Out of all of the frescos at the convent, the Annunciation is the most well known. This fresco was not intended just for aesthetic purposes. Running across the loggia at the bottom of the fresco there is an inscription that instructs the viewer: “Virginis Intacte Cvm Veneris Ante Figvram Preterevndo Cave Ne Sileatvr Ave.” It means “When you come before the image of the Ever-Virgin take care that you do not neglect to say an Ave”. This was a daily reminder for the monks to pray.
Leonardo’s Annunciation depicts the Archangel Gabriel announcing to Mary that she would conceive miraculously and give birth to a son to be named Jesus. The angel holds a Madonna lily, a symbol of Mary’s virginity as well as that of the city of Florence. It is presumed that, being a keen observer of nature, Leonardo painted the wings of the angel to resemble those of a bird in flight, but later, the wings were lengthened dramatically by another artist. Leonardo da Vinci (Italian, 1452 – 1519), Annunciation (c.1474), 98x217cm, Uffizi, Florence.
In this Annunciation by Rubens, painted around 1628, Mary is portrayed in her sitting room. The homy atmosphere is emphasized by the wicker basket that contains Mary’s sewing and the sleeping cat in the bottom right-hand corner. Rubens started working on this painting after his stay in Italy, where he had come under the influence of the great painters of the Renaissance. This Italianate influence is evident from the unusually bright colors and the free dynamic style, which was new in the Netherlandic countries. Rubens used ultramarine for Mary’s cloak, a precious pigment made from finely ground lapis lazuli. Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577 – 1640), The Annunciation (1628), 310x179cm, Rubens House, Antwerp.
This scene shows the intercession of the Holy Ghost, symbolised by the white dove. The Virgin is accompanied by three of her traditional attributes: a sewing basket, a book as symbol of Mary’s devotion, and a spray of lilies which symbolize her purity. Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (Spanish, 1617 – 1682), The Annunciation (c.1660), 125x103cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
In the 19th Century a group of British painters broke with traditional imagery and went back to pre-Raphael depiction of stories. This group is therefor called the Pre-Raphaelites. Here on this painting, Mary is back at the well as in the Byzantine annunciation images. She encounters the voice of the angel and his message, although she doesn’t see him. Edward Burne-Jones (British, 1833–1898), The Annunciation (1879), 250x105cm, Lady Lever Art Gallery, Liverpool, England.
This Annunciation of 1892, by Arthur Hacker from the Tate Britain, London, is depicting the story from the 2nd Century apocryphal (non-Bible) Gospel of James. As Mary gathers water at the well, unexpectedly an angel she cannot see appears. Arthur Hacker chose to portray the young Mary in portrait form, rather than focus upon the angelic meeting. Serious and sombre, Mary rests her hands on her heart. She is aware of something very important happening to her. She knows she has a role to play, and seems humbled to be chosen for it. Hovering behind Mary is the angel. He holds out a lily to Mary, the flower that symbolises Mary’s purity. Arthur Hacker spent time in Spain and Morocco. This had a strong influence on his art. Mary’s clothing probably reflects Islamic dress Hacker saw during his travels. Arthur Hacker (English, 1858 – 1919), The Annunciation (1892), 233x126cm, Tate, London.
Beatrice Emma Parsons chooses to portray the innocence and vulnerability of a young woman faced with the important responsibilities of motherhood. While the virginity of Mary has always held theological importance, with this work Parsons uses it to emphasize the humanity of the scene. Parsons captures the vulnerability of Mary, dressed in white and standing among a field of Madonna lilies, a symbol of the Annunciation and Mary’s purity. Also seen growing in Mary’s garden are red roses, emblematic of Christ’s Passion. The Holy Spirit, represented according to the traditional iconography of scenes of the Annunciation as a Dove fluttering above the Virgin’s head, is here translated into a group of birds sitting on the roof of the Virgin’s cottage. Beatrice Emma Parsons (English, 1870 – 1955), The Annunciation (1897), 114x183cm, Sotheby’s New York, 2007.
Tanner painted The Annunciation after a trip to Egypt and Palestine in 1897. Influenced by what he saw, Tanner created an unconventional image of the moment when the angel Gabriel announces to Mary that she will bear the Son of God. Mary is shown dressed in rumpled Middle Eastern peasant clothing, without a halo or other holy attributes. Gabriel appears only as a shaft of light. Tanner entered this painting in the 1898 Paris Salon exhibition, after which it was bought for the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 1899. Henry Ossawa Tanner (American, 1859 – 1937), The Annunciation (1898), 145x181cm Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia PA.
March 25 was used as New Year’s Day in many pre-modern Christian countries. The holiday was moved to January 1 in France by Charles IX in 1564. In England, the feast of the Annunciation came to be known as Lady Day, and Lady Day marked the beginning of the English new year until 1752.
Here are the two stories, written by Luke and by James, both accounts of the Annunciation and written down in the first few centuries after the birth of Jesus.The story as told by Luke in his Gospel (1:26-38) is focusing on the discussion between the Angel and Mary. It’s as follows:
Luke 1: 26-38
God sent the angel Gabriel, to a virgin named Mary. The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”
Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Highest.”
“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”
The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.”
“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled.” Then the angel left her
The story as told by James in his Gospel (v.11) gives also details about the setting. It happens at the well and inside Mary’s house, and it mentions that Mary is doing some sewing and needlework. It’s as follows:
James v.11
And she took the pitcher and went out to fill it with water. And suddenly a voice could be heard, saying: “Hail, you who has received grace; the Lord is with you; blessed are yiou among women!” And Mary looked round to the right hand and to the left, to see from where this voice came. And she went away, trembling, to her house, and put down the pitcher; and she took her sewing basket with needlework, and she sat down on her seat. And then, look, an angel of the Lord stood before her, saying: “Fear not, Mary; for you have found grace before the Lord, and you shall conceive, according to His word.” And she is hearing, reasoned with herself, saying: “Shall I conceive by the Lord, the living God? and shall I give birth as every woman gives birth?” And the angel of the Lord said: “Not so, Mary; for the power of the Lord shall overshadow you: wherefore also that holy thing which shall be born with you shall be called the Son of the Highest. And you shall call His name Jesus, for He shall save His people from their sins.” And Mary said: “See, I am the servant of the Lord before His face: let it be upon me according to your word.”
Spring is in the air! I wrote about Winter in Art not so long ago. The pictures in that story were all about keeping ourselves warm in the cold season. It made me so much longing for Spring and Summer, even Autumn would be fine. Can the dark winter days be gone please, and will we soon see some spring flowers and sunshine! To get in the mood for the warmer weather, here are two series of the Four Seasons, both starting with Spring: a cute series of paintings by David Teniers (made around 1644) with seasonal activities, and four prints by Hendrick Goltzius (from 1601) with the seasons represented by children growing up and falling in love. These pictures are all to get you in the mood for the warmer seasons. Stay warm for now and enjoy!
Four Seasons by David Teniers (1610 – 1690)
The series of four small paintings by David Teniers is an allegory of the seasons where Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter have been given human forms that embody the essence of each. Teniers placed his characters, of an appropriate age and dressed accordingly, in the foreground with a symbolic seasonal object. In the background figures doing work associated with each season. The paintings are from c.1644 and pretty small, about 22x16cm.
Spring is personified as a gardener heaving a large pot containing a young tree, kept during winter in the orangery and now back outside as weather is getting milder. There is still a chilly background; it seems as if April showers are approaching. Other gardeners dig the soil, making a formal garden in the fashionable style set by French designers and followed with keen interest in Flanders.
David Teniers the Younger (Antwerp 1610 – Brussels 1690) is one of the most famous 17th-century Flemish painters and particularly known for developing the peasant genre and tavern scenes. He was working for the King of Spain, as well as for Prince William of Orange and the Governor of the Netherlands, the Archduke Leopold. Teniers moved to Brussels where Archduke Leopold became his main employer. One of Teniers’ key tasks was to look after and enlarge the Archducal collection, which grew to incorporate about 1300 works. The archduke’s collection became the nucleus of the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna.
Summer is a young peasant with a sheaf of wheat he has just finished binding together with straw. The peasants behind him are working hard. The man wields a scythe to cut the wheat, while the woman bends to heap it into sheaves, ready to be tied. Behind them the trees are in full leaf and the distance is hazy with the summer heat.Autumn is a jolly wine drinker – a stout fellow with a handsome moustach and a comfortable belly. In the background, a man raises a hammer to fasten down the lid of a barrel of wine. Another guy attends to a barrel that has spilled grapes onto the ground. It’s the grape harvesting season. Autumn holds a flagon in one hand and raises a glass with a fancy stem in the other, like tasting Beaujolais Primeur, and seemingly happily ignorant of the grey autumn clouds piling up behind him.Winter brings the cycle of the seasons (and life!) full circle with an old man representation the coldest of the four seasons. Wrapped in velvet and fur, he hunches over to warm his hands at a brazier. In the background a skating scene with some misty figures.
Fours Seasons by Hendrick Goltzius (1558 – 1617)
The Four Seasons (1601), designed and drawn by Hendrick Goltzius and engraved by his pupil Jan Saenredam, offer lush depictions of flora and fauna through changing times of the year. The prints simultaneously follow a young girl and boy’s journey into adulthood. The discovery of the bird’s nest of Spring passes seamlessly into the harvesting of Summer’s ripe crops. Autumn’s root vegetables and fruits attract the interest of a full-grown goat and a pig, while the adults and their loyal hound skate the Winter away on a frozen river. On Spring and Summer an Amor figure is shooting his arrows of love towards the boy and girl, and in all four prints the warm or cold wind is blowing from the mouth of a child’s head high in the sky. This is a series about the four seasons, about falling in love, and about growing up.
Two young children, a boy and a girl, study a bird’s nest containing chicks. A kid goat and a young deer are in foreground. And Amor, God of Passion and Desire, flies around; ready to shoot his arrow. Love is in the air. “Humanas recreo mentes, volucresque ferasque: Omnia floriferi laetantur tempore veris.” or “I am enlightening every man’s heart, and the birds and the wild animals; everything is happy and in full flower in the season of Spring.”
Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558–1617), draftsman, engraver, print publisher, and painter, was one of the most important engravers and print publishers of his time. He lived and worked in Haarlem, close to Amsterdam, and established his own print publishing business. He trained a number of engravers to work in his distinctive style. Goltzius and his workshop were internationally acclaimed; his patrons included sovereigns from all parts of Europe, most notably the art-loving Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II who also granted Goltzius copyright protection, which can be seen on the Spring engraving. It mentions “Cum Privil Sa Cae M” which means Cum Privilegio Sacrae Caesarea Majestatis or With Privilege of his Holy Imperial Majesty, and with the date Anno – in the year – 1601. This should prevent other engravers from copying Goltzius’ design and prints. Once such privilege was granted, artists indeed went to court and took action against illegal copying of their works of art.
An encounter between a boy and a girl: the boy at left holding a sheaf of wheat and a rake over his shoulder while she has a yoke and two water buckets. A cock and hen are in the foreground. And Amor still flying around! In the background farmers are harvesting wheat, a typical summer activity. “Per me larga Ceres densis canescit aristis, Agricolasque beo foecundi frugibus anni.” or “Through me, the wheat fields are full and golden shiny; I make the farmers happy with gifts in this fruitful year.”
Jan Pieterszoon Saenredam (Dutch, 1565 – 1607) was a printmaker in engraving, born in Zaandam (hence his name). He showed great artistic talent and the young Saenredam was sent to learn drawing and engraving from Hendrick Goltzius in Haarlem, where he became a master at the age of 24. After working for some time with Goltzius, he encountered the almost inevitable professional rivalry and jealousy, prompting his departure and set up his own workshop in Assendelft (just north of Amsterdam and Zaandam). He died of typhus at the age of 41, and was buried in the Saint Adolphus church at Assendelft. Jan left his wife a sizeable estate as a result of lucrative investments in the Dutch East India Company.
A boy and a girl, now young adults, are picking grapes and carrying a basket with freshly picked pears. Vegetables in the foreground and a goat chewing one a branch with vine leaves. Is this the goat from Spring, but older? “En ego maturos Autumnus profero fructus, Efficioque mei ne sit spes vana coloni.” or “Look at me Autumn, who gives fruits that are ripe and takes care that the hope of my farmer is not in vain.”A young woman and a young man in rich clothes, are holding hands and skating, oblivious of the deer beset by a wolf in the background, or any of the season’s dangers. Is this poor deer the same one from Spring? A dog in lower right corner is the couple’s companion and a symbol of loyalty in love. “Accumulant homines totum quaecunque per annum, Haec ego consumo, soli haec mihi cuncta parantur.” or “All that has been gathered and collected throughout the year, that’s consumed by me, it’s all prepared for just me alone.”
David Teniers the Younger (Flemish, 1610 – 1690), Spring, The Four Seasons: Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, c.1644, Oil on Copper, 22x16cm, National Gallery, London.
Jan Saenredam, printmaker (Dutch, 1565 – 1607) after design by Hendrick Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617), The Four Seasons represented by four pairs of children: Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, 1601, with Latin text by C. Schonaeus (Dutch, 1540 – 1611), Engraving on cream laid paper, 22×16 cm, The Art Institute of Chicago.
About the annotations on the prints:
H. Goltzius Invent. or HG Inve. This means that Hendrick Goltzius is the “inventor” or “drawer” of the design of the print.
I. Sanredam Sculpt or I.S Sculp. This means that Jan Saenredam is the “sculptor” or the “engraver” of the print.
Cum Privil Sa Cae M,. This means that the print was protected “Cum privilegio Sacrae Caesarea Majestatis” or “With imperial privilege from the Holy Roman Emperor”, as protection against illegal copies.
A° 1601 means “Anno 1601” or “in the year 1601”
C.S. means “Cornelis Schonaeus”, a scholar from Haarlem who wrote many Latin lines and verses that are found on prints of the Haarlem circle of print designers and engravers.
Two magnificent pictures by Joseph Mallord William Turner (British, 1775 – 1851) returned to the UK for the first time in over 100 years. Harbour of Dieppe: Changement de Domicile and Cologne, the Arrival of a Packet-Boat: Evening are on display at the National Gallery, London, until 19 February 2023. Lent by The Frick Collection, New York.
Exhibited at the Royal Academy London in 1825 and 1826 respectively, the paintings reflect Turner’s lifelong fascination with ports and harbours. Turner’s sketching tours within Europe were central to his fame as an artist-traveller, drawing in sketchbooks and producing paintings from them back in his studio in England. These monumental paintings have always belonged together. “Dieppe” in brilliant afternoon sun, pulls you into the hustle and bustle of a fishing harbour; “Cologne” at dusk, is set at the shore of the river Rhine in the centre of the German city. In 1911 the two paintings were acquired by the American industrialist and art patron Henry Clay Frick.
Joseph Mallord William Turner (British, 1775 – 1851), Harbor of Dieppe: Changement de Domicile, 1826, 174x225cm, Frick Collection, New York.
Turner visited the French fishing port of Dieppe, in Normandy, twice in the early 1820s before painting Harbour of Dieppe: Changement de Domicile in his London studio. Set in the afternoon, the work draws from sketches made on site, as well as from memory and imagination. In this Romantic view, signs of modernisation, such as the steamboats then in use, are excluded. Turner focuses on the vibrant energy of the town filled with glowing sunlight and hundreds of figures engaged in lively activities. He captured the details of local dress, studied the ships and their rigging up close and made detailed renderings of the town’s architecture. The French subtitles Turner assigned the painting – “Changement de Domicile” (change of home address) – may refer to the couple to the right, who appear to be loading or unloading objects from boats.
Joseph Mallord William Turner (British, 1775 – 1851), Cologne, the Arrival of a Packet-Boat: Evening, 1826, 169x224cm, Frick Collection, New York.
Cologne, Germany, had long been a major commercial, educational, and religious centre. Situated on the banks of the Rhine, Cologne was still largely medieval in appearance when Turner visited. Only a small section of the city is visible in his painting: the tower and spire of the church of Groß St. Martin piercing the evening sky, with defensive towers, walls, and the customs house leading up to it. There is a sense of time standing still. The ferry boat carrying tourists to shore is about to disturb the peace of the scene.
Turner visited Italy in 1819 and was highly inspired by the Mediterranean sun. Light became an increasingly important motif in Turner’s later work, and these two paintings certainly are the start of that artistic journey. Turner said: “The sun is God”. These words and the two paintings on view in the National Gallery summarise his belief.
Charles Baudelaire (French, 1821 – 1867) wrote a collection of short prose poems “Petits Poèmes en Prose”, published in 1869, one of those is “The Port”. Turner’s use of light in “Dieppe” and “Cologne” is a poem in painting, as Baudelaire’s words are a poem in prose.
The Port A port is a delightful place of rest for a soul weary of life’s battles. The vastness of the sky, the mobile architecture of the clouds, the changing coloration of the sea, the twinkling of the lights, are a prism marvelously fit to amuse the eyes without ever tiring them. The slender shapes of the ships with their complicated rigging, to which the surge lends harmonious oscillations, serve to sustain within the soul the taste for rhythm and beauty. Also, and above all, for the man who no longer possesses either curiosity or ambition, there is a kind of mysterious and aristocratic pleasure in contemplating, while lying on the belvedere or resting his elbows on the jetty-head, all these movements of men who are leaving and men who are returning, of those who still have the strength to will, the desire to travel or to enrich themselves.
Le Port Un port est un séjour charmant pour une âme fatiguée des luttes de la vie. L’ampleur du ciel, l’architecture mobile des nuages, les colorations changeantes de la mer, le scintillement des phares, sont un prisme merveilleusement propre à amuser les yeux sans jamais les lasser. Les formes élancées des navires, au gréement compliqué, auxquels la houle imprime des oscillations harmonieuses, servent à entretenir dans l’âme le goût du rythme et de la beauté. Et puis, surtout, il y a une sorte de plaisir mystérieux et aristocratique pour celui qui n’a plus ni curiosité ni ambition, à contempler, couché dans le belvédère ou accoudé sur le môle, tous ces mouvements de ceux qui partent et de ceux qui reviennent, de ceux qui ont encore la force de vouloir, le désir de voyager ou de s’enrichir.
Now that we are in the middle of the winter, I’ve started thinking about how this “winter” concept has been represented in art. It’s the harshest season of the year, certainly when there was no electricity or gas, but some touching images have been produced over the centuries.
It was not just landscape painters who gave us winter scenes with frozen rivers and skaters. Painters also personified winter as an old man with a fur coat and warming his hands at a brazier. And from the the 18th century, artists depicted winter as a young woman, adding a sensual and warm touch to the cold.
I choose some ten works of art, all depicting winter as a “personification”; as a human figure depicted with symbolic attributes, representing the abstract idea of “winter”. Starting with the French Impressionist Berthe Morisot, as I like her paintings so much. And then going back in time to the 17th century Flemish painter David Teniers, to Madame de Pompadour – lover of King Louis XV of France, to the bedroom of King George III of England, to La Frileuse, the chilly girl, by the French sculptor Houdon. It’s an eclectic batch of art, but all lovely. They give inspiration and warmth in this cold season. Like Vivaldi’s Winter from The Four Seasons.
Berthe Morisot (French, 1841 – 1895). On the right: Hiver or Winter, 1880, 75x62cm, Dallas Museum of Art, Dallas, Texas. On the left: Été: Jeune femme près d’une fenêtreor Summer: Young Woman by a Window, 1879, 76x61cm, Musée Fabre, Montpellier, France.
Along with its Summer pendant, Winter depicts a fashionable Parisian woman who personifies a season. Berthe Morisot debuted the paintings together at the Paris Impressionist exhibition in 1880. Morisot’s images of the Parisienne, a popular figure type representing an elegant, upper-class Parisian woman, were considered utterly contemporary. A critic said about Morisot’s Winter: “with its figure, so courageously modern, of the Parisian woman braving the cold in her furs.”
Berthe Morisot (Édouard Manet’s model and sister-in-law) was one of the most respected members of the Impressionist movement. At the beginning of the 20th century, her aura began to dim and her painting, labelled “feminine”, was relegated to second rank. Only recently, thanks also to the grand 2019 Morisot exhibition in the Musée d’Orsay, Berthe Morisot was incontestably regarded again as a great artist.
Abraham Bloemaert (Dutch, 1566 – 1651), Allégorie de l’hiver (et de l’amour) or Winter (and love), c.1627, 70x58cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris.
This old man by the Dutch Golden Age painter Abraham Bloemaert is representing Winter. Wearing a fur hat and very carefully warming himself at a small stove full of red-hot coals or charcoal. His nose and cheeks reflect the heat of the coal. It’s not only a representation of winter, but also hinting to love and passion. Love – and it’s pleasure – happens to be gallant to the ones who court the fire of love with caution.
David Teniers the Younger (Flemish, 1610 – 1690), Winter, from the series The Four Seasons, c.1644, Oil on Copper, 22x16cm, National Gallery, London.
David Teniers the Younger brings the cycle of the seasons to an end with an old man representing Winter. Wrapped in velvet and fur, he hunches over to warm his hands at a brazier, a small stove that’s heated with charcoal. His face is wrinkled, his beard long and frosted with white. In the background a small, monochrome skating scene. It’s a personification of winter and Teniers chose a character of an appropriate age and dressed him accordingly. Winter as the last season of life.
The tiny picture is on a copper base, which allowed the paint to flow more freely than it would on canvas. Teniers could show minute detail: the facial characteristics and expressions, Winter’s splendid hat and the objects on his table. Allegorical paintings of the seasons were popular at the time, and Teniers painted several versions of the subject. David Teniers was cashing in on the popularity of the series and turning them out quickly to fulfil demand.
Caesar Boëtius van Everdingen (Dutch, 1616 – 1678), A Young Woman Warming her Hands over a Brazier: Winter, c.1646, 97x81cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
This young woman by Caesar Boëtius van Everdingen warms her hands above a dish of glowing coals, holding her hands under a piece of cloth. She personifies Winter. This season was usually represented as an old man: old because the year is coming to an end, like towards the end of life. Van Everdingen’s choice of a young, richly attired woman is rather unusual. Cesar Boëtius van Everdingen was a Dutch Golden Age painter, from Alkmaar.
Giovanni Battista Pittoni the younger (Italian, 1687 – 1767), Allegory of Winter and Summer, c.1730, 125x112cm, Bristol City Museum & Art Gallery, Bristol, United Kingdom.
For this allegory of Winter and Summer, the painter Giovanni Battista Pittoni turned to traditional iconographic examples. Summer is personified as a young woman, and Winter as an old man warming his hands over a brazier. Summer gestures to a small angel-like figure in the top right corner (difficult to see on the picture). That’s the Spirit of Dawn whose urn of water provides the dew droplets of summer and frost in the winter.
Rosalba Giovannia Carriera (Italian, 1673 – 1757). On the left: A Personification of Winter, c.1726, Pastel on blue paper, 62x50cm, Royal Collection Trust, London. On the right: A Personification of Summer, c.1744, Pastel on blue paper, 60x50cm, Royal Collection Trust, London.
The Winter pastel by Rosalba Giovannia Carriera was acquired by George III, King of England. It entered the Royal Collection in 1762 as “a Beautiful Female covering herself with a Pelisse”. In traditional images Winter was typically shown as an old man, but Rosalba Carriera transformed the subject into a beautiful young woman. “Winter” was put on display in George III’s bedchamber at Buckingham Palace, alongside “Summer”.
Rosalba Carriera was born in Venice. She began her career as a painter of snuffboxes, but rose quickly to fame for her pastel portraits, which became highly desired across Europe. Carriera made several sets of allegories of the Four Seasons. The largest group of pastels by Carriera belonged to Frederick Augustus Elector of Saxony. Over 100 of her pastels were on display at his residence in Dresden in a ‘Rosalba Room’. The artist became blind in later life and died in 1757.
François Boucher (French, 1703–1770), The Four Seasons: Winter, 1755, 57x73cm, The Frick Collection, New York.
François Boucher painted this Winter from the series The Four Seasons in 1755 for Madame De Pompadour, King Louis XV’s long-term official mistress. Their original location is unknown, but their peculiar shape suggests that they were used as overdoors, no doubt in one of Pompadour’s many properties in France.
Instead of the hardship that traditionally illustrates the theme of winter, Boucher depicts a delightful encounter in joyous colours, a frosty background and a landscape buried under snow. A Tartar in pseudo-Russian dress pushes an elaborate sleigh with the heroine – most likely referring to Madame de Pompadour herself. Glancing out at us coyly, she sports a billowing fur-trimmed gown and a little fur necklace. Her hands may be warmed by a muff, but her upper body is completely exposed. This combination of luxury and seduction, treated in a fanciful and humorous manner, is typical of Boucher.
In April 1764, the 42-year-old Madame Marquise de Pompadour, the official chief mistress of King Louis XV of France unexpectedly died, and in the workshop of her beloved sculptor Etienne Maurice Falconet, the last of the statues she commissioned remained unfinished – the marble Winter, a young woman sitting on an ice cube and gracefully covering flowers with her robe.
A year later Falconet received an invitation from the Russian Empress Catherine the Great to work at her court. It was agreed that at the expense of the Russian treasury all unfinished work from the Falconet workshop would travel with him to Russia. And part of that deal was the unfinished “Winter” sculpture. Falconet completed “Winter” only 5 years after arriving in Russia. That’s how this statue, made by a French sculptor, ended up in the Winter Palace of the State Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg. Contemporaries of Falconet received the work as a masterpiece and the artist himself wrote: “This might be the very best work which I can do; I even dare to think that it is good.”
Jean Antoine Houdon (French, 1741 – 1828), Winter (La Frileuse), 1787, Bronze, 144x39x51cm, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
L’Hiver or Winter is a bronze statue of a young woman cast by the neoclassical French sculptor Jean-Antoine Houdon. The statue personifies the winter season and is nicknamed La Frileuse, The Chilly Girl. This is reflected in both the medium (a cold, dark bronze) and the features of the sculpture, a young woman clad only in a shawl. Upon its completion and presentation at the 1787 Salon, the French yearly art fair, Winter shocked the French artistic establishment but delighted art lovers. The critics at the Salon indulged in some irony: “La Frileuse by Monsieur Houdon does not seem to achieve its effect. When someone is really cold, he tries to pull all his limbs close to him and covers his body more than his head. Nevertheless, it is pleasant to the eye and the proportions are correct” and “One must concur that winter would be a very desirable season if pretty shivering girls did not cover themselves in any other way.” Don’t think this critic will still have a job after saying this nowadays. In terms of her clothing, the Metropolitan Museum of Art describes it as “elegant but hardly adequate”. La Frileuse made me think of the song Let it Go from Frozen, “The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway.”
The statue was bought by Louis Philippe Joseph, Duc d’Orléans, confiscated during the French Revolution and now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Paul Heermann (German, 1673 – 1732), Winter, c.1700, Marble, 65x64x34cm, Getty Center, Los Angeles.
Shrouded in a heavy hooded cloak, this elderly man by Paul Heermann looks down with a deeply furrowed brow. As a personification of Winter, the bust gives visual expression to the chilling cold of that season. His old age refers to winter’s occurrence at the very end of the calendar year. This bust was probably part of a series of sculptures personifying the four seasons. At the Versailles Palace, it was fashion including statues of the seasons in the program for garden sculpture. The high level of finish and finely worked details of this bust, however, suggest that Winter was meant to be viewed up close, in an indoor palatial setting.
Jacob Matham (Dutch, 1571 – 1631) engraver, after Hendrik Goltzius (Dutch, 1558 – 1617) drawer, Winter, 1589, from the series The Seasons, engraving, diameter 26cm, National gallery of Art, Washington DC.
This Winter engraving has a very traditional iconography. The personification of Winter is an elderly man wearing a coat and warming his hands by holding a pot containing a fire; beyond is a wintery townscape with ice skaters and people collecting fire wood; the signs of the winter zodiac (Pisces, Aquarius and Capricorn) in the sky; and a cute little putto plays the cold Northern wind blowing into a cloud which results in rain and snow. And just so that we do not get it wrong, Hendrick Goltzius put the name “Hyems” just above the man, which is Latin for “Winter”.
Hendrick Goltzius designed four series with the seasons; Winter depicted here is from the set engraved by Jacob Matham.
The Courtauld Gallery is a museum in Somerset House, on the Strand in London. It houses the collection of the Courtauld Institute of Art. Famous for its French Impressionist and Post-Impressionist paintings, of which you can see my favourites hereunder.
The Courtauld was founded in 1932 by the industrialist and art collector Samuel Courtauld, who in the same year presented an extensive collection of paintings, mainly the French Impressionist and Post-Impressionist works on view now. Further bequests were added even up to these days, from Old Master paintings and drawings to modern English abstract works. The gallery reopened in 2021 after a major redevelopment. It’s a treasure-house, on 3 gallery levels, and certainly no museum fatigue! It’s a very pleasant place to visit.
Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841 – 1919), La Loge or The Theatre Box, 1874, 80x64cm, The Courtauld Gallery (Samuel Courtauld Trust), London. Bequeathed by Samuel Courtauld, 1948.
Pierre-Auguste Renoir’s La Loge (The Theatre Box) is celebrated as one of the most important paintings of the Impressionist movement. The heart of the painting is a play of gazes enacted by these two figures seated in a theatre box. The elegantly dressed woman lowers her opera glasses, revealing herself to admirers in the theatre and looking towards us viewers, whilst her male companion trains his gaze elsewhere in the audience, trying to spot who are seating in the other boxes. Renoir focuses upon the theatre as a social stage where status and relationships were on public display. This scene was staged in Renoir’s studio. His brother Edmond and Nini Lopez, a model from Montmartre, posed as the couple.
George Seurat (1859 – 1891), The Bridge at Courbevoie, c.1886, 46x55cm, The Courtauld Gallery (Samuel Courtauld Trust), London. Bequeathed by Samuel Courtauld, 1948.
George Seurat painted this view on The Bridge at Courbevoie at the river Seine near Paris. The scene shows an island called the Grande Jatte, which Seurat often painted, but now the mood is unusually sombre and silent. The socially distanced human figures add to the sense of melancholy. The grass, sailing boats and the fisherman contradict with the smokey factory chimney. These images signify the adverse effects industrialisation has brought on the environment that was formerly calm and unpolluted. Courbevoie was a riverside town but became an industrial suburb of Paris.
Seurat is using a technique he had recently created, called “pointillism”. It means painting with lots of tiny dots or points of colour. If you look closely at this painting you will see that everything in the picture is made up of tiny dots. Seurat wanted colours painted side by side to mix in our eye when we look at the pictures, this is called Optical Mixing. Seurat believed that this would make his pictures brighter and more vibrant. Although here he created a picture full of sadness.
Vincent van Gogh (1853 – 1890). On the left Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear, January 1889, F527, 60x49cm, The Courtauld Gallery (Samuel Courtauld Trust), London. On the right Self-portrait with Bandaged Ear and Pipe, January 1889, F529, 51×45cm, Private Collection, on view in Kunsthaus Zürich.
Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear (above on the left) by Vincent van Gogh and painted in January 1889, is one of the highlights of the Courtauld Gallery collection. It’s one of the two self-portraits painted by Van Gogh in January 1889, a week after leaving hospital. He had received treatment there after cutting off most of his left ear (shown here as the bandaged right ear because he painted himself in a mirror). This self-mutilation was a desperate act committed a few weeks earlier, following a heated argument with his fellow painter Paul Gauguin.
Van Gogh had moved from Paris to Arles in the south of France, in hopes of creating a community for artists. He invited Paul Gauguin, an artist whom he had befriended in Paris, to come stay with him. They proved to be a disagreeable pair. The evening of December 23, 1888 during one of their arguments, Van Gogh threatened Gauguin with a razor, but then injured himself, severing part of his left ear. Van Gogh lost a lot of blood and had to be taken to the hospital. Van Gogh returned to his house at the beginning of January. He wrote to Gauguin, apologizing for the incident and assuring him of their continued friendship. He was keen to start painting again and worked on two self portraits during the weeks following his return home. The second self-portrait (above on the right) is the other self-portrait with bandaged ear, wearing same coat and hat, and also painted in January 1889. Vincent van Gogh died on July 29, 1890.
Paul Cézanne (1839 – 1906), Montagne Sainte-Victoire with Large Pine, c.1887, 67x92cm, The Courtauld Gallery (Samuel Courtauld Trust), London. Gift from Samuel Courtauld, 1934.
The Montagne Sainte-Victoire dominates the countryside surrounding Paul Cézanne’s hometown of Aix-en-Provence in southern France. For Cézanne, the mountain embodied the rugged landscape and people of Provence. Cézanne painted and drew the mountain from different vantage points throughout his career, each time finding a new mood or atmosphere. The timeless quality of the setting is interrupted only by the modern railway viaduct on the right and the trail of steam left by a passing train. The sweeping pine branches in the foregrounded of this painting are like a curtain and follow the contours of the mountain. The pine tree acts as a “repoussoir” (French for “pushing back”), a painting technique by which an object acts as a frame along the foreground and directs the viewer’s eye into the depth of the composition and emphasizes distance, like here the contrast between the pine tree and the faraway mountain. A highly advisable trick for nowadays instagrammers, getting more depth and effect in their insta-pics.
Cézanne lived in Aix-en-Provence for most of his life. He inherited his family estate and was free of financial worries, making him able to focus on art and painting. The Montagne Sainte-Victoire became the subject of about forty of Cézanne’s oil paintings and twenty of his water colors.
Édouard Manet (1832 – 1883), A Bar at the Folies-Bergère, 1882, 96x130cm, The Courtauld Gallery (Samuel Courtauld Trust), London. Gift from Samuel Courtauld, 1934.
This celebrated work A Bar at the Folies-Bergère is the last major painting by Édouard Manet, completed a year before he died. The central figure is a barmaid in front of a mirror, engaged with a customer we can see in the reflection on the right. In the mirror behind her, we see the world she surveys in front of her. In the top left corner a pair of green feet, which belong to a trapeze artist who is performing above the restaurant’s patrons. Amidst the bottles are two brown ones with a red triangle on its label, from the UK’s Bass Brewery Beer, still existing today. And the wine label on the red bottle on the left has the artist’s signature, “Manet 1882“.
TheFolies-Bergère was the first music hall in Paris; a nightclub where every one spoke the language of pleasure. The barmaids were vendors of drink and love. Manet knew the Folies-Bergère well. He made preparatory sketches for A Bar at the Folies-Be on site, but the final painting was executed in his studio. He set up a bar and employed Suzon, one of the barmaids of the Folies-Bergère, to pose behind it. In 1882 when this painting made its début at the Paris Salon, the yearly French art fair, Édouard Manet’s health was fading as he struggled to complete this painting. Manet died at the age of 51 the following year.
Paul Cézanne (1839 – 1906), Pot of Flowers and Fruit c.1889, 46x56cm, The Courtauld Gallery (Samuel Courtauld Trust), London. Bequeathed by Samuel Courtauld, 1948.
This Pot of Flowers and Fruit is such a simple still life, and at the same time there is so much to see. It’s not about the objects, but it’s all about the colors and the forms. Paul Cézanne contrasts the roundness of the fruits with the flat leaves of the plant and the rectangular forms at the reverse of the stretched canvas in the background. The colors are in great balance, yellow on the two sides of the green leaves of the plant, with the green-yellow leaves connecting everything. The white flower is a modest – but also triumphant – touch in the centre. We read the image as a balanced play of shapes and colours.
Musée du Louvre Paris is hosting an exceptional exhibition, “Les choses, une histoire de la nature morte” or “Things, a history of still life”. Still life, the exhibition argues, is not about “nature morte” which is the French expression for still life and literally translates to “dead nature”, but about a living form of art, animated by the heart and mind of the artist, the viewer and their surroundings. The French expression “nature morte” is implying that, in order to capture the richness of the natural world around us, it needs to be fixed and robbed of life. The Louvre exhibition changes this view. The “things” on the exhibition encourage to look at “still lifes” in a fresh way and to think and dream together with the artist. To contemplate the world of “things” as if they were indeed alive. The Louvre proves there is still life in still lifes.
Hereunder a personal selection, starting in 1964 and backwards to the 15th Century. I will try to emphasise the “life” in these still lifes.
Marcel Broodthaers (1924 – 1976) “Casserole and Closed Mussels” 1964, Mussel shells, pigment, polyester resin and iron casserole with wooden handles, 31x28x25cm, Tate, London.
Casserole and Closed Mussels (1965) by Marcel Broodthaers is a work that uses empty mussel shells as both subject and medium. The mussel shells were obtained from a restaurant that he frequented in Brussels. The cooking pot belonged to the Broodthaers’s family and was used right up until the time that the work was created. The mussel shell can be read as symbolizing the artist’s native Belgium, mussels being a popular national dish. Broodthaers’s use of mussels also refers to the representation of shellfish in Flemish 17th Century still life painting, where the empty shell became a symbol of vanity and the futility of luxury.
Giorgio Morandi (1890 – 1964) “Natura morta” 1944, 31x53cm, Centre Pompidou, Paris.
This Natura Morta is exemplary of Giorgio Morandi‘s art of translating the mystery and poetry of simple things. He would depict the same familiar bottles and vases again and again in paintings notable for their simplicity of execution. Morandi chose these ordinary objects and staged the pots and vases in an ever different manner, against a neutral background, and painted in soft whitish colors. They seem frozen in time, silent and secret. Morandi has thus immortalized these things and made them present to the world, in a way that exceeds their function and simplicity. Morandi made over 1000 paintings and created his own recognizable style. The artist lived his whole life in Bologna, Italy, where the Morandi Museum contains a major collection of his work. The Casa Morandi, where he lived with his sisters and where he had his workshop can be seen in its original form, including the cupboards with the simple pots, bottles and vases he used for his many still lifes.
Joan Miró (1893 – 1983) “Still Life with Old Shoe” Paris 1937, 81x117cm, MoMA Museum of Modern Art, New York.
Joan Miró painted Still Life with Old Shoe in 1937, being exiled to Paris in the midst of the Spanish Civil War. Over a few months he created Still Life with Old Shoe, which was his first painting with recognisable objects after a decade of abstract work. Miró said: “The composition is realistic because I was paralysed by the feeling of terror and almost unable to paint at all… We are living through a terrible drama, everything happening in Spain is terrifying in a way you could never imagine.” Miró painted in his words “something very serious”, a “tragedy of things, a miserable piece of bread, an old shoe, an apple pierced by a cruel fork and a bottle, like a flaming house that spread the fire over the whole surface”. The whole painting seems to be set against the backdrop of a burning, hellish landscape. The apple is brownish-yellow, which suggests rotting. Miró himself stated “The fork attacks the apple as if it were a bayonet. The apple is Spain.” This painting is Miró’s traumatised reaction to the Spanish Civil War.
Paul Cézanne (1839 – 1903) “La Table de cuisine, The Kitchen Table” c.1889, 65x82cm, Musée d’Orsay, Paris.
The “things” on the Kitchen Table by Cézanne are assembled by the painter’s mind, not by putting the objects on a table and copying that image on a canvas. For Cézanne, it’s not about showing reality. The ginger-pot, which appears in 12 of Cézanne’s paintings, has no surface to sit on, and neither has the large basket at the back. None of the table, cupboard and chair are holding any probable perspective. And yet, Cézanne creates a harmonious and lively ensemble. It’s not a static still life or “nature morte”; it’s a kitchen table that comes to life. Cézanne’s painting represents more truth than ever can be made visible on a real-life kitchen table. Cézanne creates the predecessor of VR, Virtual Reality. In his lifetime, Cézanne was ridiculed for lack of conventional artistic skill; he did not paint like the others. But Cézanne said: “I shall astonish Paris with an apple”, what he does in this painting with apples, pears and melons.
Le Citron by Manet, painted three years before his death, is in its seemingly simplicity one of the painter’s most powerful still lifes. Manet isolates this yellow fruit on a sober black ceramic saucer, making the fruit an important “thing”, with such bright colour and touching structure of the skin. Manet proves that less is more. Le Citron is a main character in the big world of Impressionist and Modern Art Painting.
Luis Egidio Meléndez (1716 – 1780) “Still Life with Watermelons and Apples in a Landscape” 1771, 63x84cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Luis Egidio Meléndez put his Watermelons against the backdrop of a stormy sky. Majestic, they dominate their environment. This still life was painted for the natural history cabinet of Charles de Bourbon, the Prince of Asturias and heir to the throne of Spain. The melons show such attractive freshness and a perfectionist realism that extends to even the smallest details like the fallen seeds, drops of juice and tiny bits of watermelon flesh. This painting is used for the poster of the Louvre exhibition “Things, a history of still life”. But is this a still life, is this nature morte? I dare to answer “no” and declare this painting a portrait, a portrait of two real life watermelons.
Sébastien Stoskopff (1597 – 1657) “Corbeille de verres et pâté, Basket with glasses and pâté” c.1635, 50x64cm, Musée de l’Œuvre Notre-Dame, Musée de la Ville de Strasbourg, France.
Sébastien Stoskopff painted Basket with Glasses and Pâté, as if it’s the end of a meal when, according to German custom, the dishes are collected in a basket. The simplicity of the composition, the dark and empty background, accentuate the presence of all the things: glasses, the crust of the pâté, and the letter. The painting encourages reflection on the relationship between reality and appearance, on what art can do and how painters of everyday life made the materiality of things tangible.
Stoskopff was an painter from the Alsace, where German and French influences blend. He is one of the most important German still life painters, specializing in portraying goblets, cups and especially glasses. His works were only rediscovered after 1930 and can now be seen in some of the world’s most important art museums (MET, Louvre, KHM, Gemäldegalerie). His chief works hang in his hometown of Strasbourg.
Louise Moillon (1610 – 1696), “Coupe de cerises, prunes et melon, Bowl with cherries, plums and melon” c.1633, 48x65cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris.
Louise Moillon, one of the most talented female painters of the 17th century, affirms her virtuoso here with this Bowl with Cherries, Plums and Melon. It’s perhaps Moillon’s most famous painting. The intense red of the cherries bursts against the dark green of the leaves, the blue touches of the plums and the orange-yellow of the melon. In this orderly and balanced composition, the painting invites us to calmly meditate on the simple beauty of things. We know of around twenty paintings by Moillon, three of which are kept in the Louvre. Louise married when she was 30, and basically did not paint anymore after her marriage. She became 86 years old.
Anonymous, North Germany, “Nature morte aux bouteilles et aux livres, Still life with bottles and books” c.1500, Oil on Wood, 81x106cm, Museé Unterlinden Museum, Colmar.
This panel, a Trompe l’Oeil with Books and Bottles, is divided into two parts: a niche, where various objects are placed, and an upper part with two doors, one locked, the other ajar. The niche with bottles and books is like a rebus. The things represent clues about the owner of this work, and it all refers to the medical world: the books and the small ink bottle hanging above the red book refer to reading and writing, a bottle whose label reads “fur zanwe” (“for toothache”) shows that it contains medicine for toothache, a pot with ointments, a glass urinal, the medicine box, all indicate that the owner was a doctor or a barber. He commissioned this work to embed it as a panel in a piece of furniture in his interior in northern Germany. This “trompe-l’oeil”, a highly realistic optical illusion of three-dimensional space and objects on a two-dimensional surface, makes the things look real. The owner of this panel was most likely very pleased to use these “things” to trick the eye of his visitors.
The Rijksmuseum Amsterdam presents Clara the Rhinoceros, an exhibition about an animal who travelled far from her native land of India and became the most famous rhinoceros in the world, a true pre-intstagram Jurassic Park hype in the 18th century. The objects on display show the celebrity status of Clara and how “Claramania” spread over Europe.
Pietro Longhi (1701 – 1785), “Exhibition of Miss Clara the Rhinoceros at the Venice Carnival” 1751, Museum of 18th-century Venice, Ca’ Rezzonico, Venice. Throughout the Venetian carnival, which lasted a full three months, the various booths set up in the St. Mark’s area kept coming curious and various vendors: puppeteers, magicians, astrologers, charlatans. Among the major attractions there were also exotic animals such as lions, elephants and, in this case, Miss Clara the Rhinoceros. During the carnival of 1751, as stated in the notice painted in trompe l’oeil to the right of the painting, this portrait of the rhinoceros was commissioned by Giovanni Grimaldi, who had a private menagerie with many exotic animals in his villa on the mainland. At the center of the composition, we find the commissioner of the painting himself (who was 23 years old) next to his beautiful and unfortunate bride, Caterina Contarini, who was to die shortly after giving birth to their only daughter. Sadly, in this painting you can see that Miss Clara’s horn has been removed. The showman holds it along with a whip, perhaps used to encourage the animal to move about. Many of the spectators have masked faces, as was customary during the Carnival. But this is actually a rather sombre scene: Miss Clara stands in a simple enclosure, languidly munching on hay. Certainly no carnival for her!
Clara is just one month old when she is captured by hunters in her native Assam, in present-day India, in 1738. Her mother was killed in the process. A powerful prince presents Clara to director Sichterman of the Dutch East India Company (VOC) trading post in Bengal. The aim of exchanging gifts is to maintain sound mutual relations and promote trade. Bengal is vital to the Dutch: this is where they buy cotton fabrics, saltpetre, opium and enslaved people.
Sheet issued in 1742 by Clara’s owner, Douwe Most, to advertise the exhibition of Clara and pump that hype to the max. Clara, the Dutch rhinoceros visits the town of Middelburg in August 1742. The fee to see Clara is 20 cents for adults and 10 cents for children. Text in Dutch: Advertissement. Aan alle Heeren en Liefhebbers wort Bekent gemaakt, dat alhier is gearriveert een Levendige Rhinoceros int Gebiet van den Grooten Mogol gevangen int Lantschap Assem, en uijt Bengalen in Hollant Aangelant. wiens weergaa noyt Bevorens hier is geweest, en men seght hij wort wel hondert Jaar Oud, en Deese is soo Tam als een Kalf, en is te sien . . . tot . . . Eijder Persoon voor 4 stuijvers en kindere van elf a twaalf jaar voor 2 stuijvers. Below printed text in manuscript “dit beest is te seen over de Mol Straat bij de Kraan. en is wel 3500 lb swaar.”
Clara is cherished in the household of director Sichterman and looked after by an Indian caretaker. She is considered so special that Clara is sometimes allowed to mingle with the dinner guests. After about two years, she has grown so much that she is passed on to a new owner, VOC captain Douwe Mout, who takes her with him when he sets sail at the end of 1740. He is the first person to successfully bring a rhino to the Netherlands safe and sound.
Petrus Camper (1722 – 1789), “Clara as a young Rhinoceros” 1742, drawing, Allard Pierson Museum, collection of the University of Amsterdam. Clara is about three years old when she arrives in The Netherlands. Petrus Camper was a Dutch scientist, physician, anatomist and zoologist in the Age of Enlightenment. He took the opportunity to make several drawings of Clara when she visited Amsterdam.
Clara tours Europe for seventeen years, from her arrival in 1741 until her death in 1758. Her owner, former VOC captain Douwe Mout from Amsterdam, has a wooden carriage made in which Clara is transported from town to town, over mountains and rivers, in winter and summer. Mout exhibits her wherever there is an audience, at fairs and markets at inns and palaces, and against a fee of course.
David Redinger (active first half 18th century), “Exhibition of the Dutch Rhino Clara in Zurich” 1748, Woodcut, 17x33cm, Zentralbibliothek Zürich. This print is documenting Clara’s visit to Zurich, Switzerland. Note the depiction of Clara’s traveling cage to the left, with one wheel visible. Text on the print in German: “Wahrhafte und nach dem Leben gezeichnete Abbildung des liegenden Rhinoceros oder Nashorns, welches bereits in verschiedenen Ländern von Europa zur Schau herum geführt, und erst neulich in den meisten Haupt-Städten der Schweitz gesehen worden.”
Clara is a hype during her lifetime. Precisely her unknown, extraordinary and exotic aspects are emphasised. She features in clocks and sculpture and even influenced Parisian fashion “mode au rhinocéros“. Clara is no longer an individual but has become an archetype. She remains the Rhino model for many years after her death in 1758.
J.J. de Saint Germain (1719 – 1791) and F. Viger (1708 – 1784), “Rhinoceros Musical Table Clock” 1755, c.75cm high, Parnsassia Collection. The Parisian bronzier and clockmaker Jean-Joseph de Saint-Gemain fashions exclusive timepieces for the elite. He makes a bronze sculpture of Clara when she is on view in Paris in 1749, which he uses as the support for such a clock, surmounting a music box. It seems as if Clara herself is making a sound and listening at the same time: her mouth open and ears pointed.
People touched, teased, admired and studied Clara. She prompted this sensational level of interest because no one in Europe had ever been able to see a real live rhinoceros. She was a hyped up, must-see cultural and scientific phenomenon.
Jean-Baptiste Oudry (1686 – 1755), “Clara in Paris” 1749, 310x453cm, Staatliches Museum Schwerin, Schwerin, Germany. As an experienced animal painter, Oudry seizes the opportunity to portray Clara in the spring of 1749, when she was in Paris. He depicts her life-size and almost tangibly, just as the visitors saw her. A real portrait. She is 11 years old, 3.6 meters long and 1.7 meters tall, and weighs over 2500 kilograms. This magnificent painting was shown at the Paris Salon in 1749 and acquired in 1750 by Duke Christian Ludwig II of Mecklenburg-Schwerin together with a series of menagerie paintings. In fact, the Clara painting was never put properly on display, probably due to its size. The painting remained stored away for a long time. Only since 2008, following extensive restoration work at the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, has it been on exhibit in the Staatliches Museum Schwerin, permitting the “Claramania” to be rekindled once more in Schwerin.
Clara became famous because she lived virtually her entire life in captivity in countries where she did not belong, far away from her own habitat. She served as entertainment, as decoration as well as a source of knowledge. But what might Clara have thought of her experiences?
Königliche Porzellan-Manufaktur Meissen, “Rhinoceros with a Turkish Man on its back” c.1755, Porcelain, 28x26x11cm, Museumslandschaft Hessen Kassel, Sammlung Angewandte Kunst, Kassel, Germany. The stereotypical man and the rhinoceros are both archetypes here. What matters most to the European buyers of this kind of painted porcelain figurines is that they were out of the common and real talking pieces, as Clara the Rhinoceros travelled though Europe those years and had become a mega celebrity hype. Incidentally, the man’s proportions are much too large in relation to the rhino.
Clara never fails to be a sensation. Douwe Mout is nothing if not enterprising. Anyone can see here – for a fee! He has prints made for advertising purposes, which can also be bought as a souvenir. He calls her a wonder beast, tells how heavy and large she is and also how much she eats and drinks per day: 60 pounds of hay, 20 pounds off bread, and 14 buckets of water. Clara becomes a celebrity. A veritable must-see!
Johann Elias Ridinger (1698 – 1767), “The Rhinoceros Miss Clara in Augsburg” 1748, drawing, 29x44cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington. Local artists Ridinger makes a few sketches on June 12, 1748, when Clara is in Augsburg, Germany. He truly portrays here as an animal of flesh and blood. He later incorporates some of the sketches in his engravings (see hereunder). Written on the sheet by the artist at bottom right in brown ink: Anno 1748 den 12. Junii habe ich disen/Rhinoceros allhier in Augspurg nach dem Leben gezeichnet. Seine Grösse war in der Höhe 6. Schü die Länge 12 Schü, von Farbe ist er meist Castanien braun unten am Bauch und in der tieffe seiner falten Leib od Fleisch farbe gewesen. J.E. Ridinger hatt ihn von 6. Seiten gezeichnet (On June 12, 1748, I drew this rhinoceros from life here in Augsburg. It was six feet tall and twelve feet long, it was mostly chestnut brown, but on its belly and in the folds of its skin flesh color. J.E. Ridinger drew it from six angles).
Clara may not have been the first rhinoceros to come to Europe, but she did become the most famous one. After her long voyage from India, she travelled around Europe in her custom-made cart, accompanied by her entourage. She travelled for 17 years, far and wide: to Vienna and Paris, to Naples and Copenhagen, Germany, Switzerland, The Netherlands, everywhere. Eventually, Clara died in London in 1758.
Johann Elias Ridinger (1698 – 1767), “The Rhinoceros Miss Clara in Augsburg” 1748, etching, 34x28cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington. Lower center in plate: Anno 1748 im Monath Maij und Junio ist dieses Nashorn Rhinoceros in Augsburg… (Anno 1748 in the month May and June this Rhino was in Augsburg). Print after the drawing by Ridinger as can be seen above. By etching after a drawing the print becomes a reverse image, like a “negative” of an old-fashioned photo or selfie.
Clara was almost never free to walk or run. She depended on humans for her survival, and was rarely able to display natural behaviours – except for example the occasions when she needed to cross a river by swimming, and clearly enjoyed the water. In 1750 the Neurenberg biographer Christoph Gottlieb Richter published a conversation between a rhinoceros and a grasshopper, in which the rhinoceros bemoans the way people treat her and stare at her. This book presents a role-reversal, with the rhinoceros appraising and studying people rather than the other way around.
"Were it possible in the future to liberate myself from the slavery that presently imprisons me and return to my homeland, in revenge I would exhibit men to my brothers. I am sure that the genus of rhinoceroses will look upon the wonder beast that man seems to be with more favour than human beings view a rhinoceros."
- said the rhinoceros, according to Christoph Gottlieb Richter.
Clara the Rhinoceros runs to 15 January 2023 in the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. The texts above have been adapted from the Rijksmuseum press release and the exhibition sheets.
The San Diego Museum of Art has an eclectic collection, housed in a beautiful Spanish-style not-too-big building, located in San Diego’s Balboa Park. The Museum holds a broad collection of Arts of the Americas, Spanish old master paintings, Asian and European art. And oddly enough, one of the strongest collections of German Expressionism in the United States.
Francis Luis Mora (American, born Uruguay died New York, 1874 – 1940), “Morning News” (1912), 30x41cm, The San Diego Museum of Art. Mora, known for his depiction of every day, features in this painting commuters riding close together on a streetcar, highlighting the increasing presence of women in the workplace at a time of rapid social and industrial change. Scenes of New York City, undergoing enormous transformation, blur through the window.
The original inspiration for a permanent public art gallery can be traced to the Panama-California International Exposition, held in Balboa Park during 1915–1916. The Exposition was organized to celebrate the opening of the Panama Canal and to promote San Diego as a seaport. Among its numerous displays representing various industries and products was a prominent exhibition of fine arts featuring European old masters, American art, and works by California and San Diego artists. The public response to the art exhibition convinced civic leaders and prominent local artists that San Diego needed its own fine arts gallery and collection.
Guy Orlando Rose (American, 1867 – 1925), “Fisherman’s Cove, Laguna Beach” (c1918), 50x61cm, The San Diego Museum of Art. Born in San Gabriel, on his father’s ranch, Rose studied at the California School of Design (now San Francisco Art Institute). He left for Paris in 1888, and soon joined the international artist colony in Giverny, home of Claude Monet. When Rose returned to California several years later in 1914, he was drawn to the scenery of La Jolla, Laguna Beach, and Carmel, painting the sun-drenched vistas in a vigorous and loose impressionistic style. Rose’s experience in France and his passion for the local scenery made him a central figure in the movement of California Impressionism.
Planning for the new museum began in 1922. A prominent site on the north side of Balboa Park’s Plaza de Panama was secured. As “The Fine Arts Gallery of San Diego”, the museum officially opened its doors on February 28, 1926.
Georgia O’Keeffe (American, 1887 – 1986), “The White Trumpet Flower” (1932), 76x101cm, The San Diego Museum of Art. Despite the influence of many established artists, O’Keeffe was able to develop her own distinctive response to modernism, separating herself from her contemporaries through her focused study of the natural world and, specifically, the copious canvases in which she presented flowers. She often enlarged flowers, making a single bloom dominate the entire pictorial space. In The White Trumpet Flower, O’Keeffe explores the beauty of nature and emphasizes formal qualities such as shape, color, and line. The independence O’Keeffe exuded in her paintings was reflected in her creative practice as she refined her artistic process and kept to a consistent regime. She stretched and primed her own canvases, kept cardboard squares of her favorite colors, which she typically used to select her color palette before beginning a work, and often visualized a work completely before she began painting.
The architect William Templeton Johnson (1877–1950) designed and constructed the new art gallery. The Spanish Colonial–style architecture from the 1915 Exposition suggested the style for Johnson’s design. Johnson however, went one step further and looked directly to sixteenth-century Spanish Renaissance models for inspiration. For the building’s exterior, they borrowed motifs from the Cathedral of Valladolid, Spain, and the façade of the University of Salamanca, Spain, while for the interior they adapted features of the Hospital de la Santa Cruz in Toledo, Spain. Also enhancing the façade with the addition of sculptural elements including life-sized sculptures of Spanish Old Master painters Velázquez, Murillo, and Zurbarán as well as heraldic devices and the coats-of-arms of Spain, the United States, California, and San Diego.
Juan Sánchez Cotán (Spanish, 1560 – 1627), “Still Life with Quince, Cabbage, Melon, and Cucumber” (1602), 69x84cm, The San Diego Museum of Art. Still-life painting was virtually nonexistent in European art before the 1590s, and Juan Sánchez Cotán is among the first practitioners of the genre and this work is universally acclaimed as his masterpiece. Brilliantly executed, the painting is unflinching in its naturalism and simplicity. The mysterious serenity of the composition has led many to question the meaning or function of the image. For some, the work is an exercise in pure painting and a straightforward depiction of vegetables in a cold cellar. Others however, believe that the picture may have religious overtones, and that it should be understood as a celebration of God’s most humble creations. In support of the latter reading, it is often noted that Sánchez Cotán gave up his possessions and entered a Carthusian monastery in 1603.
Juan Manuel Hernández (Costa Rican, 1969), “Paisaje de Cachi” (2002), 80x100cm, The San Diego Museum of Art. Hernández paints what he calls “the essence” of his native Costa Rica, currently the most biologically diverse area on the planet, in a deliberately historical and realistic style to evoke what may be lost if care is not taken for its fragile ecosystems.
Raphaelle Peale (American, 1774 – 1825), “Still-life with Peaches” (1816), 35x55cm, The San Diego Museum of Art. Raised in Philadelphia, a center of American art, Peale preferred still life painting, even though he was an able portrait painter and portraits were more lucrative. Around 1812, Peale began to focus on still lifes, as his ill health interfered with his ability to interact with sitters. In fact, Peale was one of the first American painters to make the still life the focus of his oeuvre.
As we near December and Christmas, all our attention turns to the story of the birth of Jesus. But how about his mother Mary? How about Mary’s pregnancy, and what did she do in those nine months before giving birth to Jesus? Around May that year, when Mary was 2 months pregnant with Jesus, she travelled some 150km from her home in Nazareth to a small town in Judea, to visit her relative Elizabeth who was 8 months pregnant of John the Baptists. This visit of Mary to Elizabeth is called the “Visitation” and is told in the Bible in the chapter that’s the Gospel of Luke (1:39-56). The Visitation took place on May 31st and Mary stayed with Elizabeth for three months, during which Elizabeth gave birth to John the Baptist, on June 24th.
Rogier van der Weyden (c.1400 – 1464), “Visitation” (c.1437), 58x36cm, Museum der Bildenden Künste, Leipzig. Mary meets Elizabeth, both pregnant, in front of Elizabeth and Zacharias’ house. Although the story is set in Judea, Rogier van der Weyden choose a Flemish setting, which will have appealed to the contemporary viewers.
Elizabeth and her husband Zacharias were both very old and without children. Miraculously Elizabeth suddenly got pregnant, which was predicted to Zacharias by the angel Gabriel. Zacharias could hardly believe this, as his wife was too old to get a baby. Here is a similarity with the message Maria got from the same angel Gabriel: “Ave Maria, you will be pregnant and give birth to Jesus!” When Mary got pregnant, her fiancé Joseph could also hardly believe what had happened.
Albrecht Dürer (1471 – 1528), “Visitation”, from The Life of the Virgin series (1503), Woodcut, 30x21cm, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. The Life of The Virgin is a series of 20 woodcuts, published as a book with the prints facing a page with Latin verses. These series focus on Mary as a human and even a mother, opposed the the suffering as in many other series of the life of Mary and Christ. Also, Dürer is using a very contemporary approach, look at the clothes of Mary and Elizabeth and Zacharias standing in the door of their house. This depicting of a “bourgeois” Mary will immediately have been familiar and attractive to Dürer’s clientele. From the moment of publishing, the woodcuts were copied and sold illegally, Dürer started many legal cases to protect his copyright.
Mary knew well that her cousin Elizabeth had grieved for so many years on account of being childless. Mary travelled all the way to share Elizabeth’s joy and of course to help her in her household affairs and be with her during birth and in the months after the birth of the little John. It was a mission of charity.
Rembrandt Harmensz van Rijn, (1606 – 1669), “Visitation” (1640), 57×48cm, Detroit Institute of Arts, Detroit, MI. On the left the elderly Zacharias, husband of Elizabeth, easing himself down the stairs with the help of a young boy; on the right Joseph, Mary’s fiancé, climbing up the hill leading his donkey. Considering tradition and the need for security, Joseph probably accompanied Mary to Judea and then returned to Nazareth, to come again after three months to take his wife home. The dog symbolizes faithfulness. This painting may relate directly to Rembrandt’s life. The face of Elizabeth is reminiscent of the artist’s mother, who died in 1640 just as his wife was about to give birth.
Mary’s visit also brought divine grace to both Elizabeth and her unborn child, John the Baptist. Even though he was still in his mother’s womb, John became already aware of the presence of Jesus who was still in Mary’s womb. When Mary and Elizabeth met at the doorsteps of Zacharias’ house – the “Visitation” – Elizabeth spoke out with a loud voice and said to Mary: “Blessed are you among women and blessed is the fruit of your womb. Why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” And Elizabeth said that as soon as she heard the voice of Mary’s greeting, her baby leaped in her womb for joy. At that moment the still to be born John the Baptist was filled with the Holy Spirit.
Drawn by Raphael (1483 – 1520) and finished by his workshop, “The Visitation” (c.1517), 200x145cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid. The two figures can be told apart by their age. Mary is depicted as a young woman while Elizabeth, on the left, is an old woman, which emphasizes the miracle of her pregnancy, as the Bible texts have it. The scene takes place in a landscape and in the background we can see an event which would take place years later: Jesus being baptized by John the Baptist in the Jordan River. This work was drawn by Raphael, who was paid 300 escudos. He then had the painting done by one of his assistants, though it is not clear which one.
Since the Medieval era, Elizabeth’s greeting, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb,” has formed the second part of the “Ave Maria” or the “Hail Mary” song. The first part are the words the angel Gabriel said to Mary when he announced she will be pregnant of Jesus. One of the most famous composed music versions is Franz Schubert’s “Ave Maria” from 1825. Listen to it via the link, with English and Latin lyrics provided in the clip and hereunder.
Hail Mary, full of grace,
the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners,
now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
Ave Maria, gratia plena,
Dominus tecum.
Benedicta tu in mulieribus,
et benedíctus fructus ventris tui, Jesus.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,
ora pro nobis peccatoribus,
nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.
Domenikos Theotokopoulos (aka El Greco) (1541 – 1614), “Visitation” (c.1612), 97x71cm, Dumbarton Oaks, Washington, DC. This Visitation painting was intended for the Church of San Vicente in Toledo, Spain, and the contract signed in 1607 stipulated “in the ceiling a story of the Visitation of Saint Elizabeth, … which is to be placed in a circle. ” By April 17, 1613, El Greco declared the paintings completed. However, it is not certain that The Visitation was installed. El Greco used quite some artistic – almost modern – abstractions in this 17th century work.
In response to Elizabeth, Mary proclaims the famous words “My soul magnifies the Lord” in what is now called “Song of Mary” or “Magnificat”. Mary rejoices that she has the privilege of giving birth to Jesus. While Mary speaks to Elizabeth, she also turns a bit into a revolutionary as she continues looking forward to God transforming the world. “The proud will be brought low, and the humble will be lifted; the hungry will be fed, and the rich will go without.” In her answer to Elizabeth, Mary transforms herself from an obedient humble girl into an adult fighter for justice and protector of the poor. This “Magnificat” is nowadays banned in certain countries, as seen dangerous by the ruling oppressors. Johann Sebastian Bach put music to the words and created in 1723 his masterpiece “Magnificat”. Listen to it via the link, at least for the first few minutes. Lyrics in English and Latin hereunder.
My soul magnifies the Lord;
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for He has looked with favor on His humble servant; from this day all generations will call me blessed.
The Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is His Name,
He has mercy on those who fear Him in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm;
He has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich He has sent away empty.
Magnificat anima mea Dominum;
Et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo,
Quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae; ecce enim ex hoc beatam me dicent omnes generationes.
Quia fecit mihi magna qui potens est, et sanctum nomen ejus,
Et misericordia ejus a progenie in progenies timentibus eum.
Fecit potentiam in bracchio suo;
Dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.
Deposuit potentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles.
Esurientes implevit bonis, et divites dimisit inanes.
Pontormo (1494 – 1557), “Visitation” (c.1529), 202x156cm, San Michele e San Francesco, Carmignano, Tuscany, Italy. This “Visitation” has remained in the church for which it was painted for almost its whole existence. In the foreground of the painting, we see Mary and Elizabeth, in the background two handmaids.
Mary, through her meeting with Elizabeth, is no longer a silent participant of the Christmas story. She is a protector of the suppressed and a revolutionary, a fighter for a better world. Celebrating Christmas, is celebrating hope for a better world, for true justice to come.
Johann Sadeler (I) (1550 – 1600) engraver, after Maerten de Vos (1531 – 1603) drawer, “Visitation” (c.1588), 2nd print from the series of 15, “Life and Passion of Christ and the Virgin”, Engraving, 19x14cm, RijksMuseum, Amsterdam. An almost nowadays meet and greet between two couples. Mary and Elizabeth, who are both pregnant, kiss and hug. And their husband, Joseph and Zacharias, shake hands.
And for the sake of completeness, here is the full text of the Bible story of The Visitation; Luke 1:39-56, in the new international version.
Mary Visits Elizabeth (39 - 45)
At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea,
where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth.
When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit.
In a loud voice she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear!
But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?
As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.
Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!”
Mary’s Song (46 - 55)
And Mary said: “My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me — holy is his name.
His mercy extends to those who fear him, from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel, remembering to be merciful
to Abraham and his descendants forever, just as he promised our ancestors.”
Mary stayed with Elizabeth for about three months and then returned home. (56)
The Hammer Museum is an art museum and cultural centre in Los Angeles, known for its artist-centric and progressive array of exhibitions and public programs. Founded in 1990 by the entrepreneur-industrialist Armand Hammer, the museum has since expanded its scope to become “the hippest and most culturally relevant institution in town.” Here are four paintings from the original art collection of its founder.
John Singer Sargent (1856 – 1925), “Dr. Pozzi at Home” (1881), 202x102cm, The Armand Hammer Collection, Gift of the Armand Hammer Foundation. Hammer Museum, Los Angeles. Dr. Samuel Jean de Pozzi was a Parisian dandy, art collector, gynaecologist, and a womanizer. An extremely handsome man, who, if he had lived during the 21th century, would surely have become a celebrity. Standing in his scarlet dressing gown, his robe is reminiscent of a monastic habit, and recalls Renaissance portraits of Catholic popes and cardinals. Dr. Pozzi was described by a contemporary as “himself a kind of beautiful work of art.” This grand painting was the trigger for the 2019 book by Julian Barnes, “The Man in the Red Coat“.
The Hammer Museum opened 1990, founded by Dr. Armand Hammer, former Chairman of Occidental Petroleum Corporation. Financed by Occidental, the Museum was built adjacent to the Corporation’s international headquarters in Westwood, Los Angeles. At that time, the Museum featured galleries for Dr. Hammer’s collections — old master paintings and drawings — as well as galleries for traveling exhibitions. Dr. Hammer passed away in December 1990, three weeks after the opening of the Museum.
Claude Monet (1840 – 1926), “View of Bordighera” (1884), 66x82cm, The Armand Hammer Collection, Gift of the Armand Hammer Foundation. Hammer Museum, Los Angeles.
The original Armand Hammer Collection features works of art from the sixteenth through the twentieth century that reflect the interest and dedication of Armand Hammer. The highlights from the collection are on permanent display at the museum, and four of these are depicted here. Over the last 20 years, the Hammer Museum has formed a Hammer Contemporary Collection which now holds over 2,000 artworks. The museum also instituted the internationally acclaimed Hammer Projects, a series of contemporary exhibitions and installations featuring local, national, and international emerging artists.
Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 – 1669), “Portrait of a Man Holding a Black Hat” (c.1637), 76x69cm, The Armand Hammer Collection, Gift of the Armand Hammer Foundation, Hammer Museum, Los Angeles.
The Hammer Museum is nowadays affiliated with UCLA (University of California, Los Angeles). The museum and its art centre believe in the promise of art and ideas to illuminate our lives and build a more just world. The Hammer understands that art not only has the power to transport us through aesthetic experience but can also provide significant insight into some of the most pressing cultural, political, and social questions of our time. The Hammer shares the unique and invaluable perspectives that artists have on the world around us.
Vincent van Gogh (1853 – 1890), “Hospital at Saint-Rémy” (1889), 92x73cm, The Armand Hammer Collection, Gift of the Armand Hammer Foundation. Hammer Museum, Los Angeles.
The Hammer Museum hosts a diversity of programs throughout the year, from lectures, symposia, and readings to concerts and film screenings in its Billy Wilder Theatre. The museum’s collections, exhibitions, and programs are completely free to all visitors.Watch 1,000+ talks, performances, artist profiles, and more on the Hammer Channel.
HAMMER MUSEUM 10899 Wilshire Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90024
The Four Church Fathers were influential theologians and highly intellectual writers who established from the 4th to the 5th century the foundations of Christianity. Let’s see how we can identify these four guys in pictorial art, based on some of their legends. Their Latin names are Ambrosius, Augustinus, Gregorius and Hieronymus, in English Ambrose, Augustine, Gregory and Jerome. Each of them has its own fairytale legend, and these stories are perfect for recognising them as a group and as individuals.
Jacob Jordaens (1593 – 1678), “The Four Church Fathers” (c.1640), 219x252cm, Nationalmuseum, Stockholm. From left to right: Jerome with the Cardinal’s hat and and with his friend the lion, Augustine in Bishop’s costume with mitre, pastoral staff and with the flaming heart, Gregory as Pope with the Papal tiara, and Ambrose as Bishop and with his beehive.
Their common attributes are books, quills to write with and sometimes a dove, who whispers holy spiritual inspiration into their ears. They are scholars and sitting in their study while writing, reading or discussing; or at least they give the impression that they are in deep thoughts! And they are all saints and you might see the “halo”, which is a symbol of holiness represented by a circle around the head of a saint. Ambrose and Augustine were Bishops, they wear a “mitre” on their head. Gregory was Pope, he wears the papal “tiara”. Jerome was Cardinal and he wears a “galero”, the Cardinal’s hat.
Ambrosius, Engraving (c.1575), Print maker Petrus Cool after design by Maerten de Vos, 29x22cm, RijksMuseum, Amsterdam. Abrose wears the Bishop’s mitre and staff, and his beehive-symbol on the background.
Ambrose (Saint Ambrosius, c.340 – 397) was Bishop of Milan. He is dressed as a Bishop, with a mitre and the pastoral staff. There is a famous legend about Ambrose. When he was in his cradle as a baby, a swarm of bees covered his face and left a drop of honey. That’s the sign of Ambrose’s future ability as an eloquent and sweet-tongued speaker. His attribute is a beehive and he is Patron Saint of beekeepers, candle makers, and Milan. Ambrose is buried in the Basilica di Sant’Ambrogio, Milan. His feast day is December 7th.
Augustinus, Engraving (c.1600), Print maker Aegidius Sadeler (II) after design by Peter de Witte, 15x11cm, RijksMuseum, Amsterdam. He is a Bishop, thus the mitre and the pastoral staff. And that toddler in the foreground told Augustine that he will have emptied the sea with a spoon before Augustine will have understood the essence of God. Well, that makes one think; and certainly Augustine!
Augustine (Saint Augustinus, c.354 – 430) was a Bishop, like Ambrose, and dressed as such with a mitre and Bishop’s staff. Often Augustine is portrayed with a child with a spoon in his hand. According to the legend, Augustine was walking along a beach one day when he meets a child trying to empty the sea with a spoon into a hole in the sand. When Augustine asked the child if he would ever succeed, the child replied: “Certainly before you will understood the essence of God”. Augustine is also often depicted with a flaming heart, as symbol of his love for God. He is the Patron Saint of printers and theologians and his feast day is August 28th.
Gregorius, Engraving (c.1600), Print maker Aegidius Sadeler (II) after design by Peter de Witte, 15x10cm, RijksMuseum, Amsterdam. Gregory is the only Pope amongst these four Church fathers; his Papal tiara, the three-tiered crown, in the background.
Gregory (Saint Gregorius, c.540 – 604) was Pope, and thus shown in Papal vestments and with the Papal tiara, the three-tiered crown. Gregory renewed church music, now known as “Gregorian Chanting”. He is the Patron Saint of musicians, choristers and singers, teachers and Popes. His feast day is September 3th and he is buried in Saint Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican.
Hieronymus, Engraving (1589), Print maker Antonie Wierix (II) after design by Cornelis Ingelrams, 17x21cm, RijksMuseum, Amsterdam. Jerome is here with his friend the lion and Jerome’s Cardinal hat hangs on the wall. The look on the face of the lion is, in my opinion, adding to the seriousness of Jerome studying on the book!
Jerome (Saint Hieronymus, c.347 – 420), was Cardinal and is depicted with the crimson Cardinal’s attire and hat, or just with the cardinal’s hat when he is depicted as a hermit in the wilderness, desert or cave, when Jerome lived for a few years a life of penitence. He is most famous for translating the Old and New Testament from Hebrew and Greek into the “Vulgate”, the simplified Latin Bible version, which became the official version of the Bible for over thousand years. Jerome is mostly depicted together with a lion. There is a well-known legend in which St. Jerome drew a thorn from a lion’s paw. The beast became his companion wherever Jerome went. It is the symbol of compassion conquering brute force. Jerome is the Patron Saint of translators, librarians and teachers. His feast day is September 30 and he is buried in the Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome.
Frans Francken II (1581 – 1642), “The Four Church Fathers” (c.1620), Oil on copper, 16x22cm, Agnes Etherington Art Centre, Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario. This is a tiny oil-on-copper painting, just a bit bigger than an A5 sheet of paper. And from left to right: Gregory (Papal tiara), Jerome (Cardinal hat), Augustine (Bishop’s mitre) and Ambrosius (Bishop’s mitre and beehive).
Looking at the paintings in this article, we see Church Fathers who lived from the 4th to the 6th century, but dressed as Church officials from the 16th and 17th century. This imagery appeals probably more to the contemporary viewer than some ancient monk-style non-elaborate dressed men from the pre-medieval centuries. Jerome’s Cardinal hat (“galero”) was only worn from the 14th century. The Bishop’s headgear (‘mitre”) as worn by Ambrose and Augustine was only en vogue from the 11th century, and the Pope’s ceremonial headdress (“tiara”) was used from the 8th century.
Pier Francesco Sacchi or Il Pavese (1485 – 1528), “The Four Church Fathers; Augustine, Gregory, Jerome and Amrose; with the symbols of the Four Evangelists: eagle, ox, angel and lion)” (1516), 196x168cm, Louvre, Paris. From left to right: Augustine, Gregory, Jerome and Ambrose.
In the last painting, by Pier Francesco Sacchi and painted around 1516, we see again the Four Church fathers, but now they are hijacking the symbols of the Four Evangelist. As if they want to identify themselves with the writers of the Four Gospels, written 1st and 2nd century, opposed to just being the translators and commentors of these holy books. The symbols of the Evangelists are as follows from left to right: John – Eagle, Luke – Ox, Matthew – Angel, and Mark – Lion. The animals are under the table, the angel peeps in between two of the Church fathers. The lion on the right bottom corner is therefore Mark’s lion and not Jerome’s! The Church Fathers from left to right are Augustine, Gregory, Jerome and Ambrose.
This is a story of ambition, pride and downfall. It’s about Icarus (Ἴκαρος) and his father Daedalus (Δαίδαλος) and how they escaped imprisonment, flying out of the infamous Labyrinth on the isle of Crete. But with a tragic ending. Icarus flies too high and too close to sun; he loses his wings, falls out of the sky, plunges into the water, and drowns in what’s now called the Icarian Sea. A story from Greek mythology and written down in Ovid’s Metamorphoses.
Anthony van Dyck (1599 – 1641), “Self-Portrait as Icarus with Daedalus” (1618), 112x93cm, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Daedalus is concentrating on adjusting the ribbons with the wings over his son’s shoulders, and may be explaining to him the importance of flying at the right altitude. Icarus though, is already making his own plan. He looks with pride and will follow his own path. Its a self-portrait by Van Dyck, when he was 19 years old. About to start his own career and become a famous painter on his own merits. That’s what he is expressing in this painting.
According to the classical Greek legend, Daedalus was a master architect most famously responsible for building the Labyrinth on the island on Crete, as prison for the Minotaur monster, a half-man, half-bull. Because of his knowledge of the Labyrinth, King Minos of Crete shut Daedalus and his son Icarus, up in his own created Labyrinth, to simply keep the mysteries of the labyrinth a secret. Daedalus decided that for him and his son the only way to escape was up through the air.
Laurent Pécheux (1729 – 1821), “Daedalus and Icarus in the Labyrinth”, 97x73cm, current whereabouts unknown, latest at Sothebys January 19, 2005. Daedalus tells his son the that the only way out of the Labyrinth is through the air. In the front left corner the instruments of Daedalus as architect, on the right the stove where the beeswax was melted to glue the feathers together.
Daedalus constructed for himself and Icarus sets of wings made from feathers held together by beeswax. He then cautioned his son to fly a middle course: neither so low that the sea would wet the feathers and make them heavy, nor so high that the heat of the sun would damage them.
School of Joseph-Marie Vien (1716 – 1809), “Daedalus in the Labyrinth, attaching the wings to his son Icarus” (c.1750), 195x130cm, Louvre, Paris. Daedalus is attaching the wings to the shoulders of Icarus and gives his son the vital pre-flight briefing. Seems Icarus has other thoughts, he is pointing out to where he wants to go. Is that towards the sun?
“Daedalus said: Let me warn you, Icarus, to take the middle way between earth and heaven, if you fly too low the moisture from the sea weighs down your wings, or if you go too high, the sun scorches them. Travel between the extremes. Take me as your guide and follow the course I show you!” (From Ovid’s Metamorphoses book VIII. Verse 183-235)
Jacob Peeter Gowy (1615 – 1661) after Peter Paul Rubens (1577 – 1640), “The Fall of Icarus” (1637), 195x180cm, Prado, Madrid. Icarus, his wings in tatters, plunges past Daedalus into the sea. Icarus’ mouth and eyes are wide open in shock and fear, and his body tumbles as it falls. Daedalus is still flying, his wings intact and fully functional; he looks alarmed towards the falling body of his son. They are high above a bay containing people and a fortified town at the edge of the sea.
Overcome by a feeling of pride and confidence, Icarus disobeyed his father and soared high into the sky trying to quench his thirst. But he came too close to the sun. And without warning, the heat from the sun melted the wax holding his feathers together. One by one, Icarus’s feathers fell like snowflakes. Icarus kept flapping his “wings”, but he had no feathers left and was only flapping his bare arms. Then he fell into the sea and drowned.
Joos de Momper (1564 – 1635), “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus”, 154173cm, Nationalmuseum, Stockholm. Joos de Momper is closely following the narratives from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. These include an angler catching a fish with a rod and line, a shepherd leaning on a crook, a ploughman resting on the handles of his plough. According to Ovid, they are amazed with this sight of Daedalus and Icarus and believed to be gods. Up at the top left, Daedalus is seen to be flying well, but Icarus is in an inverted position as he tumbles down.
“Icarus, Icarus where are you? Which way should I be looking, to see you?”, screamed Daedalus. Finally, Daedalus found the body of his son floating amidst feathers. Cursing his inventions, he took the body to the nearest island and buried it there. The island where Icarus was buried is named Icaria.
Paul Ambroise Slodtz (1702 – 1758), Fall of Icarus” (1743), Marble, 38x64x55cm, Louvre, Paris. A beautiful intimate marble from the Louvre. Icarus fell into the sea, a wave comes from the right, his wings detached and the feathers in disarray. As if he washed ashore on the island of Icaria, in the middle of the Icarian Sea. The island where his father Daedalus will burry him.
What do we learn from this story? Icarus is instructed to fly between the extremes; not too high but also not too low. This is a warning to avoid being too ambitious while also not becoming completely unambitious. One need to find a golden ratio. In the story are significant changes of fortune. When Daedalus and Icarus start their flight, it marks a change from prison to freedom, from bad to good fortune but then comes the moment that Icarus gets overconfident and flies too high, he wants to reach the sun! With as result that his wings disintegrate, and his fortune changes from good to bad. Pride goes before the fall! The story of Icarus is the perfect example of hubris!
Herbert Draper (1863-1920), “The Lament for Icarus” (1898). Draper’s painting a more romantic view, in which three nymphs have recovered the (apparently dry) body of Icarus, and he is laid out on a rock, while they lament his fate, to the accompaniment of a lyre. Perhaps influenced by contemporary thoughts about human flight and aerospace travel, Draper gives Icarus huge wings, and they are shown intact, rather than disintegrated from their exposure to the sun’s heat.
The European and Asian continent are both named after female characters from Greek mythology. Let’s have a closer look at “Europa” and her representation in art. It’s all about a beautiful princess who is abducted by a divine bull and gives her name to a whole continent.
Nöel-Nicolas Coypel (1690 – 1734), “The Abduction of Europa” (1722), 90×102cm, Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Richmond VA.
The story about Europa (Εὐρώπη in Greek) is simple. She was a beautiful princess from the ancient Phoenician city of Tyre, located on the southern coast of Lebanon. One day, Europa and her friends were picking flowers and playing on the beach. Zeus – or Jupiter, the Roman version – sees her and immediately falls in love. As King of the Gods and having a reputation for endless affairs, Zeus decides to take what he wants. He transforms himself into a marvelous bull with a snow-white body and walks towards the girls. Charmed by the bull’s docile behavior, the girls start petting him and decorate him with garlands of flowers. The bull Zeus lays down at Europa’s feet and pretends to be the most kind and gentle animal ever. Encouraged by her friends, Europa thinks she might ride such gentle beast and climbs on the animal’s back. Of course, this is exactly what Zeus had planned. Now he can abduct Europa!
Jean François de Troy (1679 – 1752), “The Abduction of Europa” (1716), 66x82cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.
Zeus gets up and slowly starts walking around. Soon however, the bull Zeus accelerates his pace and eventually breaks into a gallop, with Europa clinging on for her life. The King of the Gods and the frightened princess reach the seaside and dive into the sea, leaving Europa’s bewildered friends behind. Europa could do nothing but hold on in fear.
Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (1606–1669), “The Abduction of Europa” (1632), 65×79cm, J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles.
The bull swam with her on his back, all the way from the coast of Lebanon to the isle of Crete. Here the Greek god regained his human form and, under a cypress tree, made love with Europa. She became pregnant and gave birth to three sons of Zeus, all becoming kings and famous heroes. Europa married the King of Crete, became Queen and she lived happily ever after. The story about Europa is a classic Greek tragedy, but this time with a happy ending.
Europa riding the bull of Zeus was a popular subject in art. The earliest Greek reference is in Homer’s Iliad from the 8thcentury BC. The Roman poet Ovid (born 43 BC) describes the story in his Metamorphoses. Hereunder a fresco from the Casa di Giasone in Pompeii, dated before 79 AD as that’s the year when Pompeii was buried under 5m of volcanic ash from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.
Pompeii, Casa di Giasone, “Europa seated on the Bull” (1st century AD), Fresco, 125x95cm, Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, Naples. Several frescos from the Casa di Giasone (House of Jason; Reg IX, Ins 5, 18-21) have been preserved and can be seen in the National Archaeological Museum in Naples. The house itself is in a seriously dilapidated condition having been neglected and left to the ravages of the elements since its initial excavation in 1878.
The abduction of Europa has long been a great source of inspiration for artists. Many of those produced superb works of art, but only a few have made serious attempts to tell this story faithfully to the myth. With two actors: Europa, a fair maiden, and a white bull, which the viewer must recognise as Zeus (or Jupiter) in disguise, and a setting full of suspense and male dominance. Most artists skipped the suspense part and turned the story into a fairytale image of beauty and romance.
Meissen Manufactory (Germany), “Europa and the Bull” (c.1760), Porcelain with colored enamel decoration, 2221x13cm, Museum of Fine Arts Boston, MA.
The story of Europa and Zeus is indeed an excellent subject for a light, pastoral and joyful scene with semi-nudeness, garlands of flowers, and stress-free pastime, like the Meissen figurine above or the painting by Jean-Baptiste Pierre hereunder. It’s in strong contrast to the paintings by Titian and Rembrandt which follow the myth more precisely. They depict a bewildered Europa raising the alarm to her companions on the shore, who watch helplessly and stare at the departing princess in horror. Europa holds on to the bull, not because she wants to, but because she would otherwise fall and drown. She was tricked by a friendly bull, one who coaxed her into taking a ride, one she even crowned with flowers before she realized who he was: a bullyish God!
Jean-Baptiste Pierre (1714–1789), “The Abduction of Europa” (1750), 244× 276cm, Dallas Museum of Art, Dallas TX.
Jean-Baptiste Pierre was First Painter to King Louis XV of France. His painting is a typical rococo confection, here is no serious drama anymore; it’s a lighthearted, elegant and frivolous composition. Few painters felt it necessary to include the eagle in their paintings of Europa. The eagle is the symbol of Zeus and Jean-Baptiste Pierre does this favour to the viewer, to be sure we will not miss the plot. Although he seems to have ignored the fact that the bull was white.
The ancient Greeks first applied the word Europa to the geographical area of central Greece and then the whole of Greece. By 500 BC, Europa signified the entire continent of Europe (although the Greeks were only really familiar with the areas around the Mediterranean) with Greece at its eastern extremity. The story of Princess Europa starts with her abduction from the shores of Lebanon, becoming Queen of Crete, giving her name to – and thus being godmother of – the European continent, and indirectly being the name-giver for the Euro! And on top of that, the story of the abduction of Europa is depicted on the modern Greek two Euro coin!
It’s August, the month of “Pride” in many cities around the world and in Amsterdam today! What started as Gay Pride is now a celebration of LGBTQ+. I take this as an opportunity to speak about the beautiful boy Ganymedes, a hero from Greek mythology and a major symbol of homosexual love in the visual and literal arts.
Homer, who wrote in the 8th Century BC the legendary “Odyssey”, already describes Ganymedes as the most beautiful of mortals. Ganymedes was abducted from earth to become Zeus’s lover on Mount Olympus, serving wine to the Gods and blessed with eternal youth and immortality.
Peter Paul Rubens (1577 – 1640), “The Abduction of Ganymedes” (c.1637), 181x87cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid
Ganymedes (Γανυμήδης) was a young man from Troy and the most stunning guy walking around. Even Zeus, the King of the Gods, couldn’t resist his beauty. Zeus first tried to seduce him in a traditional way as shown on the Greek vase hereunder (from around 480 BC). Zeus pursues Ganymede on one side while the youth runs away on the other side, rolling along a hoop and holding aloft a crowing cock. A cock (the bird, that is!) was a common gift presented by an older man to a younger to indicate romantic interest. This custom took place in ancient Athens where such relationships were widely accepted and depicted many times on the visuals from those days, which was painted pottery as paintings did not exist yet. Considering the connotation of “cock” with penis, the bird nowadays mostly called “rooster”!
Berlin Painter, Red-figure krater vase with Jupiter and Ganymedes, c.495 BC, place of creation Athens; found in central Italy, 34x39cm, Louvre, Paris.
This “krater” is an ancient Greek vessel used for diluting wine with water. It’s made in Athens, most likely for the export market as this krater was found in Italy like so many other Greek vases. “Berlin Painter” is the name given to a Greek vase-painter who is widely regarded as one of the most talented vase painters of the early 5th century BC and he got his name after a large vase in the Antikensammlung Berlin.
Julien de Parma (1736 – 1799), “The Abduction of Ganymedes” (1778), 249x128cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Ganymedes was a beautiful and young shepherd boy from the city of Troy. His beauty was so great and “godlike” that Zeus decided that Ganymede was too perfect to walk the earth. One day, when Ganymedes was tending the family flock of sheep, Zeus transformed himself into an eagle and abducted the unsuspected Ganymede, who was then taken to Mount Olympus. There, Zeus made him his cupbearer; it was Ganymedes’ duty to serve cups of wine and the divine drink nectar to Zeus and the other Gods.
Antonio Allegri “Corregio” (c.1492 – 1534), “The Abduction of Ganymedes” (c.1530), 164x72cm, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.
On Correggio’s painting above, Ganymedes looks rather younger and less flagrantly showing the sensual male body. The boy seems happy to be abducted by an eagle, as if he knows that it’s Zeus who takes him into heaven. Rembrandt hereunder makes it more realistic. No toddler would like to be picked up by such ferocious bird, so Rembrandt has his Ganymedes bawling and urinating in fright.
Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 – 1669), “The Abduction of Ganymedes” (1635), 177x129cm, Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister, Dresden.
Nicolaes Maes, famous for his children portraits, is portraying a child from the Bredehoff de Vicq family as Ganymedes. Guess the boy’s parents thought their son was the most beautiful one ever!
Nicolaes Maes (1634 – 1693), “Portrait of George Bredehoff de Vicq as Ganymedes” (17th century), 99x85cm, Harvard Art Museums, Cambridge, MA.
Not everyone was pleased with Ganymedes presence at Mount Olympus. Hera, Zeus’ wife and Queen of the Gods, was pretty jealous, certainly when it turned out that Zeus did not only abduct Ganymedes to serve the Gods wine, water and nectar, but also to become his lover. For the sake of family peace, Zeus promoted Ganymedes to an outside post and made him the stars in the sky that are the constellation Aquarius, the Water Bearer. And in post-Medieval times, Ganymedes’ name was given to the largest moon of the planet Jupiter.
Bertel Thorvaldsen (1770 – 1844), “Ganymedes and the Eagle” (c.1823), Marble, 88x118x47cm, Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN.
Ganymede’s myth was popular amongst the Greeks and the Romans, the Greek version is with Zeus and the Roman version with Jupiter, both being the same King of the Gods. The first recorded mention of Ganymede is found in Homer’s Iliad dating back to the 8th century BC. The Greek vases shown are from around 500 BC and the Thorvaldsen sculpture is from around 1823. Ganymedes intrigues and inspires art and artists already more than 2500 years!
Géras Painter, Red-figure vase with Jupiter and Ganymedes as cup-bearer, c.475 BC, place of creation Athens; found in Vulci, Italy, 36x24cm, Louvre, Paris.
Ganymede’s myth is yet another piece in the history of sexuality, with particular importance for queer history. If the King of the Gods was allowed to have a male lover, then this certainly adds to the joy of all LGBTQ+ people attending Pride festivals this August.
Today July 29 is the official celebration day of two sisters and a brother: Martha, Mary and Lazarus. They are from Bethany, a city on the West Bank close to Jerusalem. And it’s the place where Lazarus miraculously resurrected from death, through the hand of Jesus, four days after his entombment. This has been a popular story throughout history and depicted for over 1000 years. Now we have Netflix and “The Walking Dead” series, but in those days there were only paintings to support imagination. The miracle of returning to life gave hope over the fear of death. And from a religious point of view this is a true “Act of God”.
The raising of Lazarus is a miracle of Jesus recounted in the Gospel of John (John 11:1–44) in the New Testament part of the Bible. Jesus raises Lazarus of Bethany from death, four days after his entombment. It went as follows. Lazarus became ill and his sisters Marta and Mary (note: this is Mary of Bethany and not Mary, the Mother of Christ) contacted Jesus to help curing their brother. He visited the sisters only after Lazarus already passed away. But no worries, they went to the tomb of Lazarus and Jesus said, “Take away the stone”. Martha then said, “it will stink, he has been in that tomb for four days”. That’s depicted by members of the crowd cover their noses with cloth. They took away the stone and Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead Lazarus came out, his hands and feet wrapped in his grave cloths, but alive and kicking and lived for another 30 years. Jesus also said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”
Giovanni di Paolo, “The Resurrection of Lazarus” (1426), 41x44cm, The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore.
On the pictures are usually Martha and Mary, the two sisters of Lazarus, whose gestures and expressions record successive states of awareness and awe, and a crowd of astounded witnesses and some of Jesus’ followers. And the two main characters of course: Jesus making signs to resurrect Lazarus, and Lazarus himself getting up out of his grave. The story goes on, as Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his four-day stay in Hell.
The Limbourg Brothers Paul, Johan and Herman, (active 1385 – 1416), “Raising of Lazarus”, from Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry (C.1412), Château de Chantilly, near Paris.
The event is said to have taken place at Bethany. This is the last of the miracles that Jesus performs before the passion, crucifixion and his own resurrection, linking Lazarus’ resurrection with Jesus’ resurrection, and through faith as a sign of hope for all Jesus’ followers. John Calvin summarized it nicely when he said, “not only did Christ give a remarkable proof of his Divine power in raising Lazarus, but he likewise placed before our eyes a lively image of our future resurrection.” The Lazarus story also appeared in Islamic tradition. Although the Quran mentions no specific figure named Lazarus, among the miracles with which he Quran credits Jesus, the raising of people from death is included.
Juan de Flandes (c.1460 – 1519), “The Raising of Lazarus” (c.1516), 110x84cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
The reputed tomb of Lazarus is in Bethany (now called: Al-Eizariya, which means “Place of Lazarus”) and continues to be a place of pilgrimage to this day. Several Christian churches have existed at the site over the centuries. Since the 16th century, the site of the tomb has been occupied by the al-Uzair Mosque to serve the town’s (now Muslim) inhabitants and named it in honor of the town’s patron saint, Lazarus of Bethany.
In medical science “Lazarus syndrome” refers to an event in which a person spontaneously returns to life (the heart starts beating again) after resuscitation has been given up. The “Lazarus sign” is a reflex which can occur in a brain-dead person, thus giving the appearance that they have returned to life. The difference between revival immediately after death, and resurrection after four days, is so great as to raise doubts about the historicity of the Lazarus story. The hand of God is needed!
I cannot resist to share an image of a more modern “Lazarus”, an artist impression of Béla Lugosi as Dracula from the famous 1931 film. At night, Dracula awakes from death and steps out of his coffin. Béla Lugosi made this Dracula image as iconic as Giotto did with his Lazarus fresco around 1305. Death and resurrection are eternal themes, based on a mixture of fear and hope. It’s with much wonder how we look at death and at the possibility to come back from the underworld. Are we identifying ourselves with Lazarus? And how about the nowadays series on Netflix, like “The Walking Dead”? I dare to see a similarity between a 13th century visitor to the Scrovegni Chapel, looking amazed at Giotto’s Lazarus, and ourselves watching an episode of The Walking Dead. It’s all a mixture of fear and hope. May we conquer death and may we come back to life, not like a zombie but in true divine Lazarus style!
Artist Impression of Béla Lugosi as Count Dracula in the the film “Dracula” (1931).
Today July 25 is the day of Saint Christopher, since the dark Middle Ages the patron saint of travellers and nowadays also the protector of motorists. He is a popular saint, but there is no certainty that he really existed. In 1969 his name was dropped from the official calendar of the Catholic Church. The calendar was getting crowded with many secondary saints and some clean-up was needed to make space for the more important ones. There are hardly any historical data about Christopher, but he became super popular over the centuries. And on top of that, images of Christopher arose, bigger in size than Christ’s, and belief in Saint Christopher became close to superstition. Although Christopher’s day is no longer official and obligatory, he is still recognised as saint. Villages and cities that carry his name celebrate the feast of their saint. And there are many places with his name (Spanish: San Cristobál, Italian: San Cristoforo, Dutch: Sint Christoffel, French: Saint Christofe), even up to the island country of Saint Kitts and Nevis in the West Indies, officially the Federation of Saint Christopher and Nevis.
Images of Saint Christopher depict him as a giant man standing in water, holding a staff in his hand and with a child on shoulder who sometimes holds a terrestrial globe in his hand. This image tells the story of Christopher carrying a child across a raging river, and the child revealed himself as Christ.
According to the legendary account of his life, Christopher was a man of significant physical stature: 7.5 feet (2.3 m) tall, full of muscle and with a fearsome face. He took it into his head to serve the mightiest king on earth. He went to the king who was reputed to be so, but one day he saw the king cross himself at the mention of the devil. On thus learning that the king feared the devil, Christopher decided that the devil was even mightier and departed to look for him. He came across a gang of robbers, whose leader referred to himself as “The Devil”. But when this leader avoided a wayside cross out of fear of Christ, Christopher learned there was someone even more powerful than the devil. He left the gang of thieves and asked around where to find Christ. He met a hermit (often also depicted with Christopher, see hereunder the Joachim Patinir painting) who instructed him in the Christian faith. Christopher asked the hermit how he could serve Christ. The hermit suggested that because of his size and strength, Christopher could serve Christ by assisting people to cross a dangerous river, where many people with less strength had drowned.
After Christopher had performed this service for some time, a little child asked to take him across the river. During the crossing, the river became swollen and the child seemed as heavy as lead, so much that Christopher could scarcely carry him and found himself in great difficulty. When he finally reached the other side, he said to the child: “You have put me in the greatest danger. I do not think the whole world could have been as heavy on my shoulders as you were.” The child replied: “You had on your shoulders not only the whole world but Him who made it. I am Christ your king, whom you are serving by this work.”
It is because of this experience that Christopher got his name, for Christopher in Greek is Χριστό-φορος (Christó-foros), which literally translate as “Christ-bearer.”
Jheronimus Bosch (c.1450 – 1516), “Saint Christopher Carrying the Christ Child” (c.1500), 113x72cm, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam.
So, the child revealed himself to be the Christ Child, and that the weight Christopher felt was the weight of the entire world he was carrying on his shoulders. Then the Christ Child told Christopher to fix his staff in the bank of the river and come back tomorrow to see what had occurred. This would be the sign to Christopher that the child was truly Christ. The child then vanished. When Christopher returned the next day, the staff had become a palm tree, bearing fruit. On some paintings we may see the staff already replaced by a palm branch or even an entire palm tree. On the Garofalo painting above and the Ghirlandaio one hereunder, the staff is growing into a palm tree.
Domenico Ghirlandaio (c.1448 – 1494), “Saint Christopher and the Infant Christ” (c.1473), Fresco, 285x150cm, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Saint Christopher is still today valued by travellers. Small devotional medals with Saint Christopher’s name and image are commonly carried in a pocket or placed in vehicles by more religious (or superstitious?) travellers. Pilgrims who looked upon an image of St. Christopher were believed to gain a special blessing. Many medieval and later churches put up huge images that no pilgrim could miss, either on a prominent interior wall or on the outside of the building. Although condemned as superstitious, it appears this belief has endured. See the Ghirlandaio fresco, it measures almost 3 x 1.5 meters. Not to miss by any traveller or pilgrim.
Jusepe de Ribera “Lo Spagnoletto” (1591 – 1652), “Saint Christopher” (1637) ,127x100cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Joseph de Ribera stripped the story of all the side elements, and kept it to the giant Christopher carrying the child and a terrestrial globe, juxtaposing the colossal size of the saint with the delicacy of the child, creating an image of great expressive power. Like a new Atlas, Saint Christopher crosses the river carrying a child, who is in fact Christ bearing the world. It’s a devotional image of a Christian story, but comparable to the Greek mythological story of Atlas carrying the celestial globe on his shoulders.
Giovanni Francesco Barbieri “Guercino” (1591 – 1666), “Atlas” (c.1545), 127×101cm, Museo Stefano Bardini, Florence.
In Greek mythology, Atlas was condemned by the Olympian god Zeus to hold upon his shoulders the heavens or sky, for eternity and while standing at the western edge of the earth which in those ancient days was northwest Africa. Zeus ultimately felt sorry for Atlas carrying the celestial globe and turned him into an entire mountain range, reaching up to the sky. That’s how Atlas became commonly identified with the “Atlas Mountains”. Also, “Atlantic Ocean” is derived from “Sea of Atlas”.
The term Atlas has been used to describe a collection of maps since the 16th century when Flemish geographer Gerardus Mercator published his work in honour of the mythological figure of Atlas.
Bernard Picart (1673 – 1733), “Atlas Turned Into A Mountain” (1731), engraving, 35x25cm, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
What to learn from the giants Christopher and Atlas? Apparently it will give eternal fame when you carry the world or the sky on your shoulders. But that’s not what we want, when dealing with our nowadays problems. Look at Christopher, he could carry a child so light, but once he started to overthink this burden, it became heavier and heavier. Stick to your sorrows as they are and do not make it heavier than it is. The weight on your shoulders is heavy enough, but you are able to carry it and deal with it. As long as no phantasy takes it over and adds all those kilos of worrying. Now to Atlas…, once your feet are in solid ground and stuck to earth like a rock, you will be able to carry even the heaviest on your shoulders. Make yourself standing up with both feet on the ground. First thing to arrange is your own stability. And then you can carry all that weight and deal with any burden, for yourself and for others.
This is a 101 crash course in Greek and Roman gods. In ancient Greek mythology, twelve Olympian gods and goddesses ruled over the affairs of mankind from their palace on Mount Olympus. Besides this canon of major deities, many other gods, half-gods, human offspring and heroes visited the Olympus, and these twelve Olympians descended frequently to earth to have their wars, love affairs, parties and weddings, with other gods and humans. With 2,917 meters, Mount Olympus is the highest mountain in Greece, about 80 km southwest from Thessaloniki.
Cornelis van Poeleburgh (1594 – 1667), “Feast of the Gods” (1623), 32x84cm, Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford, Connecticut.
Roman mythology draws directly on Greek mythology and the Romans identified their own gods with those of the ancient Greeks. Greek and Roman mythologies are therefore often classified together as Classical mythology. The interpretations of Greek myths by the Romans often had a greater influence on narrative and pictorial representations of “classical mythology” and therefore the twelve Olympians are often known under their Roman or Latin names.
There is a certain hierarchy, with Zeus being the King of the Gods and Hera their Queen. Almost all of these twelve have family relationships, Zeus often is the father although his kids have different mothers. The Olympian Gods and Goddesses have their own field of reign, covering all aspects of antique mankind. They can be recognised by their posture and physics, and by their attributes. Hereunder the Twelve Olympians, also with their Roman names and of course with their attributes. After some practising it becomes an easy and fun task to recognise them. Here is the 101 crash course!
Zeus (Jupiter)
King of the Gods and ruler of Mount Olympus, god of the sky, lightning, thunder, law, order and justice. The Roman equivalent is Jupiter. He is associated with a bundle of thunderbolts and the eagle. Zeus is married to Hera.
Heinrich Friedrich Füger (1751 – 1818), “Jupiter” (c.1800), 103x79cm, Hungarian National Gallery, Budapest.
Zeus (Greek Ζεύς, Roman Jupiter) is the senior god, ruling over the other deities who are living on their divine Mount Olympus. He held dominion over the earth and sky and was the ultimate arbitrator of law and justice. He controls the weather, specifically with thunder and lightning. He married Hera, but he had a wandering eye and a penchant for flings with any and all women and occasionally a man or boy. His romantic interests gave birth to numerous other gods, demi-gods, and mortal heroes on the earth. Many of the myths about Zeus concern his seemingly endless adulterous rapes of mortals and demi-gods. His wife Hera doesn’t like this at all of course. Zeus’ amorous adventures and Hera’s counterattacks and revenge provide an endless source of fun and many of these stories are inspiration for generations of artists. On the painting Zeus (Jupiter) enthroned, with the eagle at his feet and in his hand a bundle of thunderbolts.
Hera (Juno)
Queen of the Gods, Goddess of marriage and family. The Roman equivalent is Juno. Her attribute is the peacock. Hera is the wife of Zeus.
Hera (Greek Ἥρᾱ, Latin Juno) rules as the queen of the gods. As the goddess of marriage and fidelity, she was one of the only Olympians to remain steadfastly faithful to her spouse, Zeus. Though faithful, she was also vengeful, and tormented many of Zeus’s extramarital partners. This has been depicted multiple times throughout history of art and is an endless source of stories and inspiration for painters. Acting as a matronly Queen of the deities of Olympus, she is normally associated with women, marriage and childbirth. Hera’s most usual attribute is her favourite bird, the peacock, as can be seen in-extremis on Glotzius’ drawing from the Rijksmuseum.
Poseidon (Neptune)
The God of the Sea. The Roman equivalent is Neptune. He can be recognised by his trident, horses and dolphins. Poseidon (God of the Sea) is a brother of Zeus (God of the Sky) and Demeter (God of the Land).
When Zeus became king, he divided the universe amongst himself and his two brothers of which Poseidon (Greek Ποσειδῶν, Latin Neptune) received dominion over the seas and waters of the world, its storm and earthquakes. He was the protector of seamen and the god of horses. Poseidon lived with his wife in a magnificent palace under the sea, though he was a frequent visitor on Mount Olympus. On the painting, as usual, Neptune is depicted as an old man with long flowing white hair and beard, riding over the waves of the sea in a coach made of a shell and drawn by his horses. His head crowned as king of the seas, trident in one hand and a big pearl in his other hand.
Demeter (Ceres)
Goddess of the Harvest and Agriculture. The Roman equivalent is Ceres. Her attributes are wheat and the cornucopia, which is the horn of plenty. Demeter is the sister of Zeus and Poseidon.
Antoine Watteau (1684 – 1721), “Ceres” (c.1717), 142x116cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington.
Known as the “good goddess” to the people of the earth, Demeter (Greek Δημήτηρ, Latin Ceres) is the goddess of the harvest, who oversaw farming, agriculture, and the fertility of the earth. Not surprisingly, as she controlled the production of food, she was very highly worshipped in the ancient world. On the paining by Watteau she represents summer. Ceres wields a sickle and sits on clouds among sheaves of wheat. The figures surrounding Ceres — the crayfish, the lion, and the nude blond woman — represent the zodiacal symbols of summer (Cancer, Leo, and Virgo). The name of Ceres comes back in the word “cereal”.
Athena (Minerva)
Goddess of War and Wisdom. The Roman equivalent is Minerva. Her symbols are the owl and the body armour including a helmet. Athena is born out of Zeus’ head.
Rembrandt van Rijn (1606 – 1669), “Minerva” (1635), 138x117cm, The Leiden Collection, New York.
Athena (Greek Ἀθηνᾶ, Latin Minerva), was the daughter of Zeus, born out of his head and already at birth dressed in full armour. Athena’s strength rivaled that of any of the other gods. She refused to take any lovers, remaining determinedly a virgin. She took her place on Mount Olympus as the goddess of justice, strategic warfare, wisdom, rational thought, and arts and crafts. In the Rembrandt painting, Minerva can be seen in her study, looking up from her large folio. Her regal appearance is enhanced by the laurel wreath crowning her head. In the background are more books and parts of her body armour, a golden helmet, a spear and a large shield.
Artemis (Diana)
Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt. The Roman equivalent is Diana. Symbols are the moon, bow and arrow. She is a daughter of Zeus and Apollo is her twin brother.
Pietro Antonio Rotari (1707 – 1762), “Diana” (c.1740), 109x77cm, Private Collection, latest at Sotheby’s.
Artemis (Greek Ἄρτεμις, Latin Diana) and her twin brother Apollo were children of Zeus. The twins became important Olympians, though they were as different as night and day. Artemis was quiet, dark and solemn, the goddess of the moon, forests, archery, and the hunt. Like Athena, Artemis had no desire to marry. She was the patron goddess of feminine fertility, chastity, and childbirth, and was also heavily associated with wild animals. On the painting she is easily recognised by the crescent moon worn as a tiara, the bow and arrow on her back and a hunting dog at her feet.
Apollo
God of the Sun, Light and Music. His attributes are the lyre, sun and laurel wreath. Apollo is a son of Zeus and Artemis is his twin sister.
Rosalba Carriera (1675 – 1757), “Apollo” (c.1743), 67x52cm, Pastel on Paper, The State Hermitage Museum, St Petersburg.
Artemis’s twin brother Apollo (Greek Ἀπόλλων and the same name in Latin) was the god of the sun, light, music, prophecy, medicine, and knowledge, and thus the exact opposite of Demeter. Zeus may have been the senior of the deities, but among the most important and popular with the Greeks and Romans, and later with artists, is Apollo. He is a beardless young man, and the epitome of male beauty. His most common attribute is the lyre, his constant companion for both music and poetry. Apollo was considered the most handsome of the gods. He was cheerful and bright, enjoyed singing, dancing, and drinking, and was immensely popular among both gods and mortals. He also took after his father in the chasing of mortal women and from time to time a boy. On the painting Apollo is depicted as a male beauty, with his lyre and a laurel wreath on his head.
Ares (Mars)
God of Violent War. The Roman equivalent is Mars. Spear, shield and armour are his symbols. Zeus is Ares’ father.
The attributes of Ares (Greek Ἄρης, Latin Mars) are any part of arms and armour of a warrior, like a helmet and shield. Where Athena oversaw strategy, tactics, and defensive warfare, Ares revealed in the violence and bloodshed that war produced. Often depicted asleep, as on our painting here, which makes him more sympathetic. The God of War asleep becomes the Good of Peace. His name is still used in “martial arts”.
Hephaestus (Vulcan)
God of Fire and Blacksmith of the Gods. The Roman equivalent is Vulcan. To be recognised by fire and the hammer. He married Aphrodite.
Hephaestus (Greek Ἥφαιστος, Latin Vulcan) learned the blacksmith’s trade, built himself a workshop, and became the god of fire and metallurgy. His forges produce the fire of volcanoes. Hephaestus was horribly ugly – at least by the standards of gods and goddesses – but he managed to marry the beautiful Aphrodite, goddess of love. His attributes derive from his role, and include the hammer and anvil as used in the working of metals. These tools can be seen on this painting, with fire in the background. The word “volcano” refers to the Roman name of Hephaestus, Vulcan.
Aphrodite (Venus)
Goddess of Love, Beaty and Sexuality. The Roman equivalent is Venus. She can be recognised a dove and beauty aspects like jeweller and flowers. Aphrodite married Hephaestos.
Aphrodite (Greek Ἀφροδίτη, Latin Venus) as the most beautiful woman, was married to the most ugly of the gods, Hephaestus. She enjoyed a number of flings with mortal humans, including an affair with the beautiful young guy Adonis. Aphrodite (mostly as Venus) has proved hugely popular in Western art, all too often as an excuse for painting a classical female nude and in the case of her affair with Adonis, also with a beautiful man. This tradition of depicting Aphrodite largely or completely unclothed dates from classical times, already on some of the wall paintings found in the ruins of Pompeii. The Boucher painting, formally called “The Toilette of Venus” was executed for the bathroom of Madame de Pompadour, the powerful mistress of Louis XV. Boucher devised a summary of the key features: Venus as female beauty, and an unfurling of luxurious furniture, fabric, flowers, and pearls. The name of the goddess still lives on in the words “aphrodisiac” and “venereal”.
Hermes (Mercury)
God of travel, commerce and communication, Messenger of the Gods. The Roman equivalent is Mercury. Attributes are winged sandals, hat with wings, and the caduceus, a rod with two entwined serpents. His father is Zeus.
Peter Paul Rubens (workshop), “Mercury” (c.1637), 180x69cm, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Hermes (Greek Ἑρμῆς, Latin Mercury) is the god who spends as much time among mortals as he does on Olympus: he’s the divine messenger and emissary. Attributes associated with that role include winged sandals, a distinctive staff with a pair of serpents around it, known as a caduceus, and a hat or helmet which bears wings too. The pair of entwined serpents along the caduceus indicates his swiftness as a messenger. This is where the word “mercurial” comes from. There’s also a touch of mischief about Hermes, which has resulted in him being referred to as the divine trickster. He’s thus seen as the protector of all messengers, travellers, thieves, merchants and orators. On the Prado painting we can see the wings around his feet and on his head, and the two snakes around the rod; and of course the male beauty of Hermes himself.
Dionysus (Bacchus)
God of Wine. The Roman equivalent is Bacchus. As God of Wine he can of course be recognised by the grapevine and a cup. Dionysus is the youngest son of Zeus.
Michelangelo Merisi, known as Caravaggio (1571 – 1610), “Bacchus” (c.1598), 95x85cm, Le Gallerie degli Uffizi, Florence.
As the god of grape harvest, wine and its making and consumption, Dionysus (Greek Διόνυσος, Latin Bacchus) was an easy favourite among Olympians and mortals alike. Dionysus was the only Olympian to be born of a mortal mother, and perhaps that was part of the reason why he spent so much time among mortal men, traveling widely and gifting them with wine. Like on the Caravaggio painting here, he is almost always associated with wine and drunkenness. His most distinctive attributes are grapes, wine leaves and of course a glass of wine. His name lives on in the word “bacchanal”.
Today March 19th is the day dedicated to Saint Joseph. Who is he? Joseph is one of the three members of the Holy Family, together with the Virgin Mary and her child Jesus.He is a carpenter from Nazareth and a widower, who married the Virgin Marry at that time already pregnant with Jesus. The virgin birth of Jesus is the Christian doctrine that Jesus was conceived and born by his mother Mary through the power of the Holy Spirit and without sexual intercourse. Joseph is therefore Jesus’s foster-father. In most paintings with the Holy Family, Joseph has a minor role and just in the background. Only from the 15th century artists gave more attention to Joseph and made him visible as head of the Holy Family. When the bible speaks about Jesus’s brothers and sisters, those are children of Joseph from a previous marriage.Saint Joseph is the patron saint of family life, fathers, unborn children and carpenters and in Western Christianity his celebration day is March 19th. And in Italy, this special day of Saint Joseph (San Giuseppe in Italian) is also Father’s Day. Joseph might be a lesser celebrity in the biblical world, but as “father” he is a figure that means so much in everyone’s life. Even when he is a foster-father.
Robert Campin (1378 – 1444), “Saint Joseph” (right-hand panel of the “Annunciation Triptych – Merode Altarpiece”) (c. 1430), 65x27cm, Oil on Panel, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
This is the right-hand panel of a triptych. The old man Joseph, who is engaged to the Virgin Mary, works in his carpenter shop. The mousetraps he made, on the bench and in the shopwindow opening onto the street, are symbols of the crucifixion of Jesus which will only happen 33 years later. Jesus on the cross is considered the devil’s mousetrap.
Robert Campin (1378 – 1444), “Annunciation Triptych – Merode Altarpiece” (c. 1430), 65x118cm, Oil on Panel, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Looking at the triptych as a whole, the middle panel shows the moment when the Virgen Mary gets the message from the angel Gabriel that she will be pregnant with Jesus. It’s even the moment of the divine impregnation itself. On the right panel Joseph in his workshop, busy making the mousetraps and no idea what is happening to Mary at this very moment. On the left the donors of this triptych.
French 15th century, “The Expectant Madonna with Saint Joseph” (c.1435), 71x35cm, Tempura on Panel, National Gallery of Art (Samuel H. Kress Collection), Washington DC.
When Joseph was engaged to Mary he found out she became pregnant, and certainly not by him! Joseph was very much doubting if he should indeed marry her. As he considered splitting up, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream. “Joseph” the angel said, “do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. For the child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit.” As is written in the bible, see Matthew 1: 18-20. On the picture above you can see Mary, pregnant with Jesus, and Joseph as an old man doubting about what happened. This is not a very common image to see in paintings and it’s obviously a mysterious element in the whole story and even a bit embarrassing for Joseph. The message from the angel to Joseph is then solving this element to everyone’s satisfaction, including Joseph’s. From the 15th century the Holy Family (Maria, Jesus and Joseph) as a subject became way more popular and that helped to raise Joseph in public esteem. Joseph is from then on represented more sympathetically and more prominently.
George de la Tour (1593 – 1652), “Saint Joseph the Carpenter” (1642), 137x102cm, Oil on Canvas, Louvre, Paris.
This painting by George de la Tour (1642, from the Louvre) cannot be missed in any story about Joseph. As patron saint of carpenters, Joseph is working on a beam, helped by his foster son Jesus. The arrangement of pieces of wood on the floor evokes a cross and prefigures the crucifixion of Jesus. The young Jesus with the candlelight shining on his face makes already a reference to becoming the “Light of the World”. George de la Tour shows that even Jesus lived a simple and innocent earthly life, but he included divinity’s presence by way of the light of the candle.
Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (1617 – 1682), “The Holy Family” (1650), 144x188cm, Oil on Canvas, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Here we see the Holy family with a playing Jesus and two caring parents in a domestic scene. It shows home life but also work, symbolized by Saint Joseph’s carpenter tools on the right. The almost leading role of Joseph, the foster father, corresponds to the increased worship of Joseph as a father figure within the Holy Family. Over the centuries the image of Joseph developed from a grumpy old man to a caring – and younger – father.
Sir John Everett Millais (1829 – 1896), “Christ in the House of His Parents – The Carpenter’s Shop” (1850), 86x140cm, Oil on Canvas, Tate Gallery, London.
This is a painting from the Pre-Raphaelite painter Millais, showing a scene from the boyhood of Jesus and placed in Joseph’s carpenter workshop. It’s full of symbolic messages. Jesus, as a boy, has wounded himself at a nail and is being comforted by his parents Mary and Joseph. Blood is dripping from his hand on his foot. Both spots of blood are foreshadowing the crucifixion. On the right we see the young Saint John the Baptist with a bowl of water, as reference to the baptizing of Jesus Christ. At the back on the wall is a carpenter’s triangle, referring to the Holy Trinity of God, the Holy Spirit, and Jesus son of God. And the dove, symbolizing the Holy Spirit, is sitting on the ladder.
The pre-Raphaelites wanted to strip-away all traditions of painting since Raphael. Millais removed all beauty and placed the scene in an ordinary carpenter workshop, with common people as the Holy Family. The picture prompted many negative reviews. The Times described it as ‘revolting’ and objected to the way in which the artist had dared to depict the Holy Family as ordinary, lowly people in a humble carpenter’s shop. Charles Dickens was one of the most vehement critics, describing the young Christ as ‘a hideous, wry-necked, blubbering, red-headed boy, in a bed gown’. The painting can be seen in the Tate Gallery, London, where it’s now considered one of their masterpieces.
Bartolomé Esteban Murillo (1617 – 1682), “The Heavenly and Earthly Trinities – The Pedroso Murillo” (c. 1680), 293x207cm, Oil on Canvas, National Gallery, London.
This painting illustrates the belief that Jesus was both human and divine, by placing him in the middle of the two “Trinities”. The vertical line is the Holy Trinity, with God the Father, the Holy Ghost (the dove), and Jesus as the Son of God. Jesus looks up towards heaven, but affectionately holds hands with his human parents, Mary and Joseph. The three together, as the horizontal line, make up the Earthly Trinity. Mary’s loving gaze and gracefully upturned palm are directed towards her young son. Joseph looks out of the picture towards us, inviting us to adore Jesus. Murillo transforms a complex theological principle into a very human and accessible image. With Jospeh as the connecting figure between us humans and the divine world of God.
March is the month named after Mars, in Roman mythology the God of War. He is also an agricultural guardian. The month March, opening the year of farming, is considered the start of the year for the Roman calendar, which had only ten months. With March being the first, September is number seven, October number eight and November and December nineth and tenth. But who is Mars? Although being the god of war, he is also a god of peace (when sleeping!), an epitome of male beauty, and the secret beau of Venus, Goddess of Love. Let’s look at a few paintings with Mars and also some together with Venus. The last painting is revealing the real scandal!
Hendrick ter Brugghen (1588 – 1629), “Mars Asleep” (1629), 107x93cm and 152x140cm with frame, Oil on Panel, Centraal Museum, Utrecht.
This is not a common soldier. This is Mars, God of War, in a 17th Century human form. The harness on the painting is a very rich and precious piece of work made in Italy. It was owned by Hendrick ter Brugghen and kept in his studio. Exactly the same harness and helmet ended up on other paintings by Ter Brugghen and by his colleagues from Utrecht. Around 1648, the end of the Eighty Years’ War and a final end to Spain’s rule over the Netherlands, the painting was placed in its current frame. The weapons and tools of war on the frame are chained together and cannot be used any longer. Mars fell asleep; he now represents peace. In the true Dutch tradition when Mars, God of War, falls asleep, Mercury, God of Trade, will get active again. A political painting in its time.
Diego Rodríguez de Silva y Velázquez (1599 – 1660), “Mars” (1638), 179x95cm, Oil on Canvas, Museo del Prado, Madrid.
Here is Velázquez majestic painting of Mars. Mars is lazily seating on a soft, unmade bed. The bedclothes belong to a luxurious bed much more suited to amorous struggle than to battles and war. Mars is only wearing his helmet; his shield and armour lie at the ground. This picture is a defeat of arms by love which conquers all. The painting was made for the Spanish royal hunting pavilion on the outskirts of Madrid, in a century when Spain was in continuous wars. An amorous Mars seems certainly more sympathetic than a war-god in full armour.
Sandro Botticelli (1445 – 1510), “Venus and Mars” (1485), 69x173cm, Oil and Tempera on Panel, National Gallery, London.
This Italian Renaissance painting by Botticelli shows Venus, the Roman goddess of love, and Mars, god of war, surrounded by playful and naughty satyrs. Venus watches Mars asleep – and snoring – and she contemplates her victory: love has conquered war. Although it’s unfaithful love, as Venus was in fact married to Vulcan, god of fire and an unattractive blacksmith. The little satyr guys are playing with Mars’s armour: one put the too big helmet on his head and another crawled inside his breastplate. Even one blows a conch shell in his ear to wake Mars, but of course unsuccessfully. The couple have been making love, and Mars obeyed to the male habit of falling asleep after sex. Most likely the painting was commissioned to celebrate the marriage of a wealthy Florentine couple, and was meant to decorate the bedroom with that witty representation of sensual pleasure. There is another thought about Mars’s state of undress. It was thought that looking at an image of a beautiful man would help to conceive a boy – the most desirable heir in those days.
Louis Jean François Lagrenée (1725 – 1805), “Mars and Venus, Allegory of Peace” (1770), 65x54cm, Oil on Canvas, Getty Museum, Los Angeles.
The French rococo painter Louis Jean François Lagrenée shows us Mars, throwing back the curtains to reveal a sleeping Venus. Mars is captivated by her beauty; his shield and sword lie on the ground. A pair of white doves are building a nest in Mars’s helmet. A 18th Century example of “make love not war”. Mars gives peace a chance.
Joachim Wtewael (1566 – 1638), “Mars and Venus Surprised by Vulcan” (1601), 21x16cm, Oil on Copper on Panel, Mauritshuis, The Hague.
This painting depicts the adultery of Venus and Mars. Venus’ husband Vulcan – god of fire and standing with his back to us on the left – has caught the couple in the act. When Vulcan heard that Venus and Mars had an affair, he – as a skilled blacksmith – made an invisible bronze net to catch them in their love bed. The metal net was so delicate that the two beautiful gods did not know that they had been captured until it was too late. Vulcan invited all the gods from Mount Olympus to come and laugh at the trapped lovers. A detail: Mercury, god of trade, is getting jealous and said he is willing to replace Mars. He can be seen above the bed and Cupido is already sending an arrow in Mercury’s direction. The still-life in the foreground is Mars’s armour, Vulcan’s hammer and Venus her red slippers, an old-fashioned symbol of adultery.
Because of the erotic subject matter, the painting’s early owners will have concealed the painting behind a curtain. For a longtime this painting was kept in depot by The Mauritshuis “to protect an immature public against itself”. Only from 1987 this small painting is shown to the public in its full splendor; painted on copper, which is excellent for expressing fine details. It’s an erotic picture, very attractive for the viewers. But it’s certainly also a showcase for the skills of the Joachim Wtewael. And above all an embarrassment for Venus and Mars!
Gerard ter Borch (1617 – 1681), “The Letter” (c.1663), 82x68cm, oil on canvas, Royal Collection Trust, London.
Gerard ter Borch, 1617 – 1681, was a highly skilled Dutch Golden Age painter, who influenced his fellow Dutch colleagues Metsu, Dou and certainly also Vermeer. Ter Borch painted men and women, mistress and servant, soldiers and civilians, in the sanctum of guard room and home and hinting at their love lives. As this is the pre-email and pre-chat era, messages were sent by letters. The love letter was the appropriate start of dating. Letters are a returning subject in Ter Borch’s paintings. And a lot is left to the imagination of the viewer. Look at the painting from the Royal Collection, London. What is the lady reading from that letter? And is the dog, symbol of fidelity and now sleeping, a hint?
Gerard ter Borch (1617 – 1681), “Officer Writing a letter, with a Trumpeter” (1658), 57x44cm, oil on canvas, Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Gerard ter Borch situates this scene in a guard room. The ace-of-hearts card on the floor suggests that the letter being written is an amorous one. The pieces of the clay pipe scattered around the card may refer to frustrations the letter-writer is having in expressing his romantic feelings. And the Trumpeter, a soldier-messenger, is waiting to deliver the letter. And he looks at us viewers to make us part of the story.
Gerard ter Borch (1617 – 1681), “Curiosity” (1660), 76x62cm, oil on canvas, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.
Three women appear in a luxuriously appointed interior. On the table is a letter with a broken seal and the answer back is in the making. The girl peers over the shoulder of the writer and tries to read what’s being written. The standing woman appears pensive or lovelorn. In the 17the Century letter writing was a common feature of courtship. Perhaps the woman at the table is helping her friend craft a response to a suitor?
Gerard ter Borch (1617 – 1681), “An Officer Dictating a Letter” (c.1656), 75x51cm, oil on canvas, National Gallery, London.
A young officer is dictating a letter to a man with the quill, probably a soldier on duty who could write and read. Their comrade, a trumpeter soldier and messenger, will deliver the letter. His faintly amused expression and the way he catches the eye of the viewer creates a conspiratorial air: is there love in that letter?
Gerard ter Borch (1617 – 1681), “Woman Writing a Letter” (c.1655), 38x28cm, oil on panel, Mauritshuis, The Hague.
A woman is writing a letter and we can only imagine for ourselves if its love she is thinking and writing about. Maybe the large pearl she wears has a meaning; it can be interpreted as a symbol of virginity. This painting with such minimal scene, certainly was an example for other artists, like Vermeer.
Gerard ter Borch (1617 – 1681), “The Messenger” known as “The Unwelcome News” (1653), 67x59cm, oil on panel, Mauritshuis, The Hague.
Here, we see a soldier receiving a letter from a messenger. The door on the left is still open and the messenger has his hat in his hand. He came rushing in, to hand over that letter. That is for sure not a love letter, but most likely a call to the front, away from the girl who leans against him so lovingly.
Gerard ter Borch’s works are comparatively rare; about eighty have been catalogued. Ter Borch died in Deventer, The Netherlands, on this day December 8, 1681.
The end of the traditional asparagus season is June 24th, which is the day of the Christian celebration of the nativity of John the Baptist. Asparagus, the “White Gold”, is nowadays available much longer, but traditionally it’s a real season-vegetable. In ancient Greece, asparagus was considered a plant with sacred and aphrodisiac virtues. Starting in the 16th century, asparagus was served in the royal courts of Europe and in the 17th century it was cultivated in France for Louis XIV who was, apparently, very fond of it. Only in the 18th century did the asparagus make its appearance on the local marketplace.
Adriaen Coorte (1660 – 1707), “Asparagus and red currants on a stone ledge” (c.1695), 34x24cm, Oil on Paper on Board, Auctioned Christies 2012, Private Collection.
Coorte produced small and modest still lifes. On this painting the asparagus, together with some red currants, contrast much with the larger sumptuous still live paintings that were fashionable in those days. Coorte painted on paper which was glued on board, opposed to the large oil on canvas or oil on panel pieces produced by his painter colleagues. Perhaps Coorte was more an amateur painter who had no studio space available and worked from home.
Jacob Foppens van Es (1596 – 1666), “Still Life with Fish, Asparagus, Artichokes, Cheese and Other Delicacies” (c.1631), 82x138cm, Oil on Canvas, Auctioned Sotheby’s 2011, Private Collection.
This grand still life by Jacob Foppens van Es is a painting where all the products are neatly displayed next to each other on a tabletop, as was the common way of displaying in the early days of still life painting. The two bundles of asparagus give it a bit of a frivolous touch. He belongs to the first generation of still life painters. Only later the arrangements become more artificially put together and food was painted together with flowers, animals, shells and various objects.
Jan Fijt (1611 – 1661), “Vase of Flowers and Two Bunches of Asparagus” (c.1650), 64x75cm, Oil on Canvas, Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid.
Jan Fyt, a painter from Flanders, travelled quite a bit and worked in Paris, Venice, and Rome. This still life is painted towards the end of his career when he was back in Antwerp and it’s in a remarkable style with free and loose brushstrokes. Almost with an impressionist touch.
Edouard Manet (1832–1883), “Bunch of Asparagus” (1880), 46x55cm, Oil on Canvas, Wallraf–Richartz Museum, Cologne, Germany.
Manet, a French painter and key figure in the transition from realism to impressionism, painted this rather big still live with asparagus in a free style, and shows with pleasure the beauty of such simple things like these asparagus on a marble table. It was painted for the French art collector Charles Ephrussi, who gave Manet 1000 francs for it, although Manet only asked for 800 as a purchase price. Manet then painted another much smaller piece with just one asparagus on the same marble tabletop. He sent that as a gift to Charles Ephrussi with a note: “There was one missing from your bunch”. Manet’s bunch of asparagus can be seen in Cologne, the one lonely asparagus is still in Paris.
Louise Moillon (1610 – 1696), “Still Life with a Basket of Fruit and a Bunch of Asparagus” (1630), 53x71cm, Oil on Panel, Art Institute Chicago.
Louise Moillon is considered one of the best still life painters of her times. About forty paintings remain, which were mostly bought by royalty and nobility. At the age of thirty she married and stopped painting. Louise Moillon’s Basket of Fruit and a Bunch of Asparagus is a composition of all seasons: cherries, grapes, plums and asparagus. All seasonal products, but on this still life painting they live together in a timeless harmony.
The Herring Season 2020 starts tomorrow June 12th and from that day on, the “Hollandse Nieuwe” (New Dutch Herring) can be eaten everywhere, mostly as a street-food snack with finely sliced onion and pickles. A whole herring is consumed raw and often eaten by lifting the herring by its tail, tilt your head back, and then eat the herring by lowering it into your mouth.
The painting above is a monochrome still life by Pieter Claesz. It’s a serene composition, symbolizing our “daily bread”. But in fact, this was for centuries a common breakfast meal indeed: a glass of beer, a herring and a piece of bread. On the painting hereunder, known as “The Cat’s Breakfast”, we see a woman of humble origin sharing the herring from her breakfast with a cat.
Gabriel Metsu (1629 – 1667), “Woman Eating, also known as The Cat’s Breakfast” (c.1662), 34x27cm, Oil on Panel, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
These herrings are caught in the North Sea between May and August, before the breeding season starts. Herrings at this time are unusually fat and rich in oils. The herrings are preserved at sea, by removing the gills and placing it in a salty brine, traditionally in oak casks.
The Dutch started fishing and trading herring more than 1,000 years ago. Much of Holland’s wealth and sea trade can be attributed to this fish. Part of the 17th Century Dutch Golden Age is funded with the profits of the herring fishing industry. From the Amsterdam Rijksmuseum is this beautiful small panel by Gotfried Schalcken, depicting a woman selling herrings. And Christian Couwenbergh portrayed himself by holding up a freshly preserved herring.
Christiaan van Couwenbergh (1604 – 1667), “Selfportrait with Herring” (1655), 78x59cm, Oil on Canvas, Rheinisches Landesmuseum, Bonn.
In this panel by Gerard Dou, an old woman and a young boy seem to be discussing the herring she holds in her right hand. It’s the fisher boy who delivered the oakwood cask with the freshly caught and preserved herrings, and it’s the old lady as shop owner who will start selling the fish.
Gerard Dou (1613 – 1675), “Herring Seller and Boy” (c.1664), 44x35cm, Oil on Panel, The Leiden Collection.
Thomas de Keyser (c. 1596–1667) was a Dutch painter, stone merchant and architect. His father was the famous Amsterdam architect and sculptor, Hendrick de Keyser (1565 – 1621). Thomas was buried on this day June 7th, 1667, in the family vault in the Zuiderkerk (Southern Church) in Amsterdam.
Thomas de Keyser excelled as a portrait painter and was the preeminent portraitist of Amsterdam’s burgeoning merchant class until the 1630s, when Rembrandt eclipsed him in popularity. From then on, Thomas’ style of painting became out of fashion and he received less commissions. This forced him in 1640 to return to the stone trading family business. His father was also the municipal stonemason of the city of Amsterdam.
The men on the 1627 painting above were the board and syndics of the Amsterdam guild of gold- and silversmiths. They controlled the quality of the raw material and of the finished products of the guild members. These group portraits were ordered by board members of the guilds and displayed in the guild’s hall, showing off success and authority. Thomas de Keyser put them together in a less static and almost informal manner, a composition that later will be followed by Rembrandt. The syndic on the right is Jacob Everts Wolff. He has a silver belt in his hand and seems to make an eloquent speaking gesture of persuasion, as if to say, “Trust us.” On the left is the dean of the guild, Loef Vredericx, of whom an individual portrait can be seen hereunder.
Thomas de Keyser (c.1596 – 1667), “Portrait of Loef Vredericx as an Ensign” (1626), 93x69cm, Oil on Panel, Mauritshuis, The Hague.
This is the portrait of Loef Vredericx, from the Mauritshuis in the Hague. In his daily life Loef was silversmith and dean of the guild. But here he is portrayed in the honourable position of Ensign of the Amsterdam civic militia. Although a full-length portrait, the size is relatively small and will have fitted better in the Amsterdam house of Loef Vredericx. Reducing the scale of such portraits to make them suitable for their patrons’ urban homes is one of Tomas de Keyser’s innovations within Dutch portraiture.
Thomas de Keyser (c.1596 – 1667), “Portrait of a Silversmith, probably Christian van Vianen” (1630), 64x54cm, Oil on Oak Panel, Auctioned at Sotheby’s 2015, current whereabouts unknown.
This is full-length portrait of another silversmith. Thomas de Keyser transformed Dutch portraiture from a static, formal approach towards a more informal and personal representation of the sitter, bridging portraiture and domestic genre scenes. It’s as if we interrupted this young silversmith while he was studying the design of the salt cellar. The identity of this silversmith has been debated ever since. It could be Christian van Vianen, who was the most innovative and celebrated silversmith in The Netherlands in those days. The large ornamental salt cellar on the table has a close resemblance to similar designs by Christian van Vianen.
Thomas de Keyser (c.1596 – 1667), “Officers and other Civic Guardsmen of the IIIrd District of Amsterdam, under the Command of Captain Allaert Cloeck and Lieutenant Lucas Jacobsz Rotgans” (1632), 220x351cm, Oil on Canvas, Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam.
This is a group portrait of very large size, more than 2 x 3 meters. It’s a portrait of the Officers and Civic Guardsmen of the IIIrd District of Amsterdam, under the Command of Captain Allaert Cloeck and Lieutenant Lucas Jacobsz Rotgans. Joining these guards was a privilege for the rich well-connected members of the Amsterdam merchant families. Although they were indeed a police force and had to safeguard their part of the city, being a member had a high social and networking purpose. And you had to be rich to join, as it’s on a voluntary basis and you had to pay for your own uniform and weapons. And occasionally paying for a group portrait!
