Alberti’s Window

I bet I’m the only person who woke up early this morning and began thinking about the doors of the Hildesheim Cathedral.  Oh man, I’m such a nerd!  I have been thinking about these doors because of an interesting article that I read over the weekend (which I’ll probably explain in another post, but I wanted to jot down a couple of my own thoughts first). The doors of the Hildesheim Cathedral (also called the “Bernward Doors,”) date from 1015 (see a detail of the doors on the left, and click here to see a complete image of the doors).  The left section of the doors includes scenes from the Old Testament, and the right section of the door includes scenes from the New Testament.

The Old Testament scenes appear chronologically from top-to-bottom, whereas the New Testament scenes appear chronologically from bottom-to-top.  I think this layout is especially interesting to consider in terms of how the viewer’s physical eyes and head would move when looking at the panels chronologically: the viewer starts by looking up at the Creation of Eve, and the viewer’s eyes and head would move downwards (to physically “fall”) as the story of The Fall is revealed.  The composition of first Old Testament scene, the Creation of Eve, even encourages the viewer to look downwards – God the Father and Adam’s bodies are composed of downward pointing angles (click on the image above to look at the top panel in better detail).

When reaching the end of the Old Testament section (the bottom of the left side of the door), the viewer moves his eyes over to the beginning of the New Testament section (the bottom of the right side of the door).  The first New Testament scene shows the Annunciation.  It’s interesting to note that the viewer’s eyes stay downwards at the beginning of the New Testament panels, particularly in terms of the redemption and the Fall (since Man is still in his fallen state before Christ’s birth and sacrifice).  However, the viewer’s eyes and head move (or angle) upward as the narrative progresses, continually rising until Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection are completed.  The last panel of the doors depict the Ascension of Christ into heaven.  At this point, the viewer is again looking upward, in the same position that he/she assumed when first looking at the Creation of Eve.  I think that the viewer is even encouraged to continue looking upward, towards heaven, in this Ascension scene.  Christ’s body swoops and arcs upward, encouraging the viewer to literally look towards heavenly heights, beyond the physical boundaries of the door (see top panel in this image).

I love when artists consider the physical participation of the viewer when creating a work of art.  The Hildesheim viewer’s physical process of “falling” and “rising” with the biblical narrative is really cool.  It’s almost like a medieval visitor to the cathedral could travel a mini-pilgrimage by just “moving” through these panels.

I was first introduced to the Tree of Jesse imagery by this window in Chartres Cathedral (c.1145-1155, shown left). This imagery was popular because it contained both Old Testament and New Testament themes, since Christ was part of Jesse’s lineage. At the bottom of the window, Jesse is reclining on a bed, with a tree stem growing out of his loins. (I have to admit, the tree stem growing out of Jesse is my favorite part of this imagery. I like how artists have depicted the scripture Isaiah 11:1 literally, even though sometimes I think the trunk is, uh, a little too suggestive of Jesse’s virility.)

The trunk and branches of the tree rise along a central axis of the window. Within the branches are four royal kings, each king filling a square central panel. These kings are not identified by specific attributes, but traditionally David appears as the first king “stemming” from Jesse, followed by Solomon. In this window, it is not certain who the other two kings specifically represent, but they obviously reference the rest of the royal line between Solomon and the Virgin Mary, who is depicted following the four kings. At the top of the tree is Christ, who is depicted after the Virgin.*

The Tree of Jesse has appeared in religious art for centuries, and it is found in all types of mediums. This window from Chartres Cathedral is very similar to the Tree of Jesse window in Saint-Denis (c. 1145), which isn’t surprising, since the windows were made about the same time. I especially like this window, because one of the frames contains a depiction of Abbot Suger presenting the Tree of Jesse window (19th century restoration, detail shown right). It’s a Tree of Jesse within a Tree of Jesse!

Are you familiar with other Tree of Jesse depictions? Do you have a favorite?

*Some of this paragraph was taken from information that I wrote for an academic database. I don’t know if that database will ever get published online, but if it does, just know that I actually did write the content for this post.

According to ancient legend, the flesh of the peacock is incapable of decay. Yep, that’s right. It was thought that a peacock’s body would never rot. It would be really cool if this was true, but it isn’t. This myth was propagated by early writers (see here for an interesting example in Augustine’s City of God).¹ As a result of this myth, the peacock has been associated with immortality in Christian art. Furthermore, because male peacocks shed and regrow their plumage each year, the peacock also is associated with resurrection.

Peacocks have appeared in Christian art for centuries. Some of the earthen lamps used by early Christians were decorated with peacocks.² One of the earliest paintings of a”Christian” peacock decorates the ceiling painting in the catacomb of Priscilla* (3rd century AD, Rome, Italy; the peacock is located in the lunette above the “Life of Priscilla” scene). Since catacombs were the tombs for early Christians, it is appropriate that a depiction of a peacock be included here, due to this assocation with resurrection and immortality. I think it is especially interesting that the peacock is located near a depiction of Christ, since Christ is also associated with resurrection and immortality (Christ is shown as the Good Shepherd in the central, circular frame).

Thousands of years later, in the Renaissance, Fra Angelio and Fra Filippo Lippi still included the peacock in their religious art (this is a detail from the Adoration of the Magi, c. 1440/1460). Perched on the stable above the Christ child, the peacock watches the wise men bring gifts to the baby. As a complement to the gold, frankincense, and myrrh, the peacock symbolizes the gift of immortality that is offered by Christianity.³

I know that peacocks have both positive and negative associations in other contexts and cultures. In America, it could be argued that peacocks are most commonly associated with vanity. I think it’s fun to look at peacocks in a different light, as a symbol of immortality.

1 To see some other examples of early writings (and a great image of a peacock from a medieval bestiary, see here).

2 “Roman Catacombs,” in The Catholic Encyclopedia (2009), accessed 18 May 2009. Found online here.

3 A complete view of the painting (and more information about it) can be found here.

*Catacomb of Priscilla image courtesy batigolix on Flickr.

I recently read George MacDonald’s novel Lilith, which caused me to think about the Jewish legend of Lilith, Adam’s first wife. Legend holds that Lilith was God’s first, unsuccessful attempt at creating a female companion for Adam. This dreadful attempt resulted in a female demon who attempts to corrupt the human race through lust.

One of the best sources for the Lilith story is a medieval text called Alphabet of Ben-Sira (c. 10th century AD). According to this text, Lilith was made from the earth at the same time as Adam. Lilith was an independent woman. Since she and Adam were created the same way, Lilith refused to acknowledge Adam’s superiority (was she the first feminist? ha!). Eventually she left Eden to consort with demons that live in the Red Sea. When making a second female companion for Adam, God made Eve out of Adam’s rib so there would be no question of superiority.¹ Some sources also refer to Lilith as a half-woman, half-serpent. Filled with jealousy for Eve, Lilith reportedly took on the form of a serpent in order to provoke the Fall of Man (as recorded in Genesis).² You can read a little more about the Lilith legend and history here.

The story of Lilith has inspired artists for many centuries. In the Middle Ages, many artists included a half-female serpent in depictions of the Temptation of Adam and Eve.³ One Renaissance example of the half-serpent Lilith is by Michelangelo, found on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. In the late 19th century, Dante Gabriel Rossetti wrote a poem about Lilith and also painted a scene of the seductress combing her golden hair (Lady Lilith, painted 1868-69, shown to the left). Scholars agree that this painting was inspired by the description of Lilith in Goethe’s Faust (Walpurgisnacht scene).²

The most interesting article I’ve read about Lilith is by Virginia Tuttle. She argues that Hieronymous Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights (1505-1510, left panel of altarpiece shown below) actually includes a depiction of Adam and Lilith, not Adam and Eve. I have always wondered why there are demonic beasts in the foreground of this Garden of Eden scene (it doesn’t seem too paradisaical, does it? Although, one can’t take Bosch too seriously; this whole altarpiece is a little absurd.). However, if one considers this woman to be Lilith instead of Eve, the presence of demonic beasts makes sense.

Tuttle also convincingly argues that this left panel scene does not conform to the iconography of traditional Creation of Eve scenes. Traditionally, Adam is shown asleep or lying on his side, so that Eve easily can be created out of his rib. In other triptychs, Bosch follows this traditional iconographic format (see details in his Last Judgment triptych and Haywain triptych). However, in the Garden of Earthly Delights, Tuttle argues that it appears Lilith has been “raised up from the earth, as if she were created independently and immediately following Adam’s creation.”² I think this is a convincing argument and I recommend that people read Tuttle’s article (it can be found in JSTOR). My only reservation about this argument is that it doesn’t seem to be widely accepted. This article was written almost twenty years ago, but recent art history texts continue to label this panel as Creation of Eve. Does anyone know of (or have) criticisms for this argument?

What do other people think?

1 To read a synopsis Lilith story in the Alphabet of Ben-Sira, see Virginia Tuttle, “Lilith in Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights,” Simiolus 15, no. 2 (1985): 123.-24.

2 Jeffrey M. Hoffeld, “Adam’s Two Wives,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, New Series 26, no. 10 (June 1968): 434.

3 For Medieval examples, see Ibid., 430-40.
4 Virginia M. Allen, “‘One Strangling Golden Hair’: Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s Lady Lilith,” The Art Bulletin 66, no. 2 (June 1984): 286.

5 Tuttle, 123.