The Still Lives of Henry Wingate - teacher at the TMC Summer Program

Henry Wingate is an internationally known artist in the Western naturalistic tradition. Based in Virginia, he excels particularly at portraits (he is has a waiting list of commissions) and still lives. I have written in the past about how his portraits reflect the baroque form. Here are some examples of his still lives. Henry is also a a gifted teacher who will once again direct students in the naturalistic drawing class this summer at the Thomas More College's Way of Beauty Atelier this summer. The two-week drawing course will not only teach the traditional academic method (which has its roots in the methods developed by Leonardo Da Vinci) but will supported by regular talks by myself and Henry about the tradition, which is a form fully integrated with the Catholic worldview as well as traditional compositional design and proportion.

Illumination of the Prayer of Dona Ximena in the Poem of El Cid by Alana Kelley, student at Thomas More College

An original work of art in the Spanish Romanesque style of the Morgan Beatus Manuscript. My colleague at Thomas More College Dr Christopher Blum called me into his office the other day. He was keen to ask my opinion on a piece of art work handed in by student, Alana Kelley for his medieval literature class. He showed me the manuscript shown left.   I immediately recognized this as the Spanish, Romanesque style as exemplified in the 10^th century Morgan Beatus manuscript. She has created an original work of art in this style to illustrate the Spanish classic poem of El Cid. There are some examples of the Spanish illuminations below.

Alana is a gifted artist who has now attended two icon painting classes of mine at the college and devoted a semester of Saturdays learning academic drawing at the Ingbretson Studio. What is particularly gratifying for me is how intelligently she has made use of the techniques she had learnt and produced something that is in harmony with literature she is studying. In regard to this particular piece it was all without any input from me at all – it was submitted at part of a medieval literature class, not an art class.

Dr Blum told me: ‘It was in response to an assignment that invited the students to create an original work of art modeled upon or inspired by the medieval texts that we studied.  As well as Alana’s painting there were a number of conventional essays submitted, but also four lengthy poems, three plays, two paintings, two illustrated books, two recitations (from memory, of course) of medieval verse, one performance of medieval songs, and an original piano sonata inspired by the First Crusade's Liberation of Jerusalem. What most impressed me about the whole class's response to the assignment is that they plainly understood that the cultural achievements of the past are not museum pieces meant to be dead on a wall, but living works, continually inspiring our own reflection upon the good, the true, and the beautiful.

‘As to Alana's painting: I was especially delighted in her choice of theme, because the prayer of Dona Ximena in the Poem of El Cid is, to my mind, one of the most stirring examples of the way in which the Christian faith shaped the imagination of our medieval ancestors.  The prayer places the human drama in the context of the whole of salvation history and the divine order of the universe, and Miss Kelley's manuscript, by making the text of the prayer a kind of link or middle between the celestial and the earthly realms, reflects the deep Christian identity of the anonymous Castilian poet who left us the Cantar de Mio Cid.’

Looking at it with my artist’s eye, what struck me is how Alana has adopted the compositional style of the Beatus and used orthogonal division of the space. The practicalities of the class meant that she had to work in acrylic, but she investigated additives that would allow her to paint glazes (a dark transparent layer over a lighter) in order to get the effects that I had shown her using egg tempera in the icon painting class. By using successive glazes she has introduced subtle variety and interest into areas that would otherwise by flat monochrome; and by varying the local contrast, for example around the script and around the figures, she has ensured that the eye is drawn to the most important aspects of the composition. The patterned border is typical of Romanesque work and not seen in Eastern icons so often but, again, wholly appropriate for this work.

Alan Kelley's illumination, above, and, below, examples of Romanesque illuminations from the period

EWTN Documentary about the Making of JPII Play

EWTN are to screen a documentary about Leonie Caldecott’s new play about John Paul II, The Quality of Mercy. Performed over three nights preceding the beatification (on Divine Mercy Sunday) at the Oxford University Catholic Chaplaincy, the play - which also incorporated music and dance - was written in less than four months. It was directed by Tessa Caldecott, Leonie's daughter, with choreography by Anna Maria Mendell (a former Thomas More College student) and music by Benedict Nichols. Stratford Caldecott, who with Leonie directs Thomas More College's Oxford Centre for Faith and Culture described it to me as follows:

'It is part theatre of the Word and part ballet of the Word, a multi-levelled theo-drama about youth and age, despair and hope, the crisis of modernity, the vocations to marriage and to celibacy. It wove together the poetry of John Paul II and the techniques of his Rhapsodic Theatre with Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice and passages from Scripture beautifully adapted by Dr Carl Schmidt of Balliol College, Oxford. It exposed the spiritual warfare taking place in the lives of young people and their families in the modernworld. It contained the late Pope’s teaching on Mercy, and on his Theology of the Body. These themes were held together by a strong story about a group of youngsters on a hike to the shrine of Manoppello in the Abruzzi, during the last days of John Paul’s life, accompanied by a mysterious stranger who leads each of them to a deeper understanding of themselves and of God’s love. This was a work that took seriously what John Paul had said in his Letter to Artists (1999): “unless faith becomes culture, it has not been really welcomed, fully lived, humanly rethought.” It even found a place for the theology of Hans Urs von Balthasar, the late Pope's favourite theologian. The relationship of Faith, Hope, and Love to the Logos was played out by a kind of Greek chorus, revealing the theological dimension of everyday life and the immense significance of the most seemingly trivial relationships.'

This is the second play by Divine Comedy Productions. The first A Theresian Mystery Play, performed last year at the Oxford Oratory, was about St Therese of Lisieux.

The EWTN documentary about the making of the play, The Quality of Mercy, will be shown in the US on 7th May, 10pm Eastern time, 7 pm Pacific, and in Europeon 3rd May, at 8 pm London time.

There are various interviews and articles about the play on the Forum page of the Second Spring web-site.

Stratford and Leonie Caldecott are the British editors of the journal of faith and culture Second Spring; are the directors of Thomas More College of Liberal Arts' Center for Faith and Culture; and of the annual Oxford Studies Program for TMC's undergraduates.

A scene from the play set on Holy Thursday, Charity offers 'Charlie' the chalice of Gethsemane.

Faces by Matthew James Collins

Demonstrating the contrast been portraiture and the baroque style of sacred art. I have written in the past about the different approaches to portraiture and sacred art in the Western naturalistic form of the baroque (in the article: Is Some Modern Sacred Art too Naturalistic?) . I this I discussed the fact that many examples of sacred art are painted as though they are portraits and end up looking like a staged tableau in which the boy or girl nextdoor is dressed up in old fashioned clothing. Consider the work of someone I met when I was studying the academic method in Florence, Matthew James Collins. I know of know one else who knows more about the art of the baroque and High Renaissance periods. Matt is an American who still lives and works in Italy. His portfolio ishere (look at his sculpture and landscapes of the Italian countryside too) I was looking at this portfolio a few days ago and several paintings of faces caught my eye. First this portrait left. It has all the right elements: it is painted in some areas loosely, and in some with more detail and tighter control, but always with precision. The variation in focus and colour content reflect the Christian understanding of the human person: those areas that we look at most, especially the eyes and the mouth, and which reveal emotion and thought and aspects of the soul, are those we look at the most when we look at someone. These are the parts that contain the most detail and the most natural colouring.

If you look at the right side of the face, the part that in this portrait is more distant than the other. To make this read properly, the artist must make everything on this side of the face slightly smaller than the left; and the right edge must be blurred enough to give a sense of a turning edge, but still sharp enough to retain the right sense of contrast with the background. This is terrifically difficult to get right - even Titian and Rembrandt (for the most part absolute Masters) got it wrong occasionally. In this portrait Matt has captured it. Notice how even the glint on each eye varies to reflect the slight perspective - the right eye is more distant and the glint is smaller and less bright. These tiny specks of white can make or break a portrait.

Part of the essence of the baroque style is a strong emphasis on tonal description and the reduction of natural colour in all but the main focal points of the painting. Even if you master this, which is hard enough, then there is very often a problem in that the shadow areas look flat and dull. Matt has introduced some energy into the shadow by using a different of colours in any one area that are, broadly speaking, tonally equivalent (ie if you took a black and white photo there would be very little contrast) but of slightly different colours. This gives life and variety to the composition.

Notice also how he varies the background tone in order to enhance local contrast, so next to some dark edges of the head the background is slightly lighter and the opposite for light edges. However, he does so while avoiding a distracting, exaggerated patchiness and maintaining a unified impression.

It is an exceptional portrait, in my opinion. But the focus on the individual that we see here and is necessary in portraits would not be appropriate for sacred art. And this is the difficulty for many artists today who are trained primarily as portrait painters.

Contrast it with the first head study shown below. All the essentials elements are here too and handled just as well. However, this is not a portrait. It is one of a series of studies that Matt is doing to develop his skill in allegorical or explicitly sacred art. Matt has deliberately chosen to lessen the portrait elements of the face. This is the same device used by the baroque masters of the 17th century to paint the faces of saints. It causes to focus less on the individual, and more on those general characteristics that are common to all of us but are exemplified in an exceptional way in saints. Again this is difficult to do: it is a question of a shift of emphasis, rather than featuring one aspect to the exclusion of the other). Think of any of the paintings of St Francis of Assisi by the Spanish baroque painter Zurburan. The psychological aspects are communicated through posture and gesture as much as facial expressions but if this is overdone, the result is sentimentality, or even melodrama. This emphasis on the general can be seen, for example, one of the most famous pieces of sacred art produced in the 17th century, by Velazquez. The face of Christ is in shadow and is clearly very different from a portrait (I have put a detail of the face from this painting at the bottom.)

The reason that I bring this to your notice is that here we have an artist is unusual in that he understands this subtle distinction between the two styles.

Matt does not have a large portfolio of sacred art to point to at the moment. He is a working artist with a young family portraiture and landscape are his staples. He mentioned to me ruefully, that even when people do commission sacred art, they want the 19th century style and so most of his sacred art has more of this negative aspect than he would choose to paint if he was not painting for sale.

I would encourage people who are looking to commission works of sacred art in the naturalistic style to ask explicitly for this 17th-century style. I have talked to him at length about this distinction and I know that it is something that he has been developing on his own work even since he first tackled the work show below (Christ Carrying the Cross) which was shown at an exhibition put on by the Foundation for the Sacred Arts.

I have included below also his Triumph of Hermes. I am not drawn to the genre of the classical myth/allegorical paintings and would not choose this to hang on my wall. I it here because it is a narrative scene that does, I feel, avoid that boy-nextdoor-all-dressed-up-in-old-fashioned-clothing syndrome.Works shown below, first: head study; third: Christ Carrying the Cross; fourth: The Triumph of Hermes. All are by Matthew James Collins. The final images are of the crucifixion by Velazquez.

Japanese Gardens

Here are some photographs of Japanese gardens, recently sent to me (by Shawn Tribe my colleague at the New Liturgical Movement). I do not remember what we were discussing (no doubt something seriously liturgical!) when as a complete non-sequitur he started sending a string of photos to me with a 'How do you like these?'. He said he had just found them and thought they were beautiful and that was his only justification for sending them. I do not know anything about the Japanese philosophy of gardening and so haven't got much to offer beyond the photos themselves - I post these for sheer enjoyment. Looking at them though, there is so much more to these than the Zen raked-gravel-with-single-profound-boulder garden (typical of many of the 'Japanese' recreations in Western museums that I have seen). My uninformed speculation is that they reflect a desire to create idealised rural landscapes  - a sense of what nature ought to be. In this respect not dissimilar to the 18th century English landscaped gardens of designers such as Capability Brown.

The following passage is taken from a website produced by Columbia University, here. If it is a fair overview, then it what it describes is consistent with the Christian belief that the untamed wilderness is not the perfect standard of beauty (which is what so many modern Westerners seem to believe). Rather, that man,  through God's grace (for the Christian) can improve the wilderness and mould it into something closer to what it ought to be. Buildings, therefore, are not to be thought of as unnatural aberrations but (provided they are built well) as another aspect of properly ordered nature.

The Japanese garden embodies native values, their cultural beliefs and religious principles. This is why there is no one prototype for the Japanese garden, just as there is no one native philosophy or aesthetic. In this way, similar to other forms of Japanese art, landscape design is constantly evolving because of the influx of mainland, namely Chinese, influences as well as the changing aesthetic tastes and values of the patrons.

Edo Period	Heian Period	Ukiyo- e

The line between garden and its surrounding landscape is not distinct. The two embody each other in that every aspect of the landscape is in itself a garden. Also, when observing the garden, the visitor should not distinguish the garden from its architecture. Gardens incorporate natural and artificial elements and thus, fuse the elements of nature and architecture.

In order to appreciate and understand the Japanese garden, the viewer should consider nature as a picture frame into which the garden, or the man- made work of art, is inserted. It is in this way the garden also helps the visitor understand his surroundings.

I do not know the location of every picture. I give details for those that I do.

Himeji-jo Castle, Himeji, Kinki

Garden Staircase, Kyoto, Japan

Kinkakuji Temple, Kyoto, Japan

Ninnaji Temple, Kyoto

And, having been so rude about Western attempts to recreate Japanese gardens, here is one that proves me wrong! It is at the University of British Columbia.

Perhaps the maples shown in the last photo are not Japanese but Canadian. It reminds me of a story from when I was eleven. We had a beautiful ornamental Japanese maple in our garden at home. I used to ask my dad about it so often that as a joke he taught me the Latin name for it - acer palmatum dissectum atropurpureum. I can remember him laughing when I parroted the phrase back at him. About a week later I was in the garden of a family friend who by coincidence was watering a red-leafed Japanese maple that looked just like the one at home. 'Ah,' I said solemnly. 'I see you have an acer palmatum dissectum atropurpureum.' He looked at me in astonishment. What an insufferable little boy I must have been. (And before anyone says it, still am no doubt!)

Our Lady, Star of Evangelisation

Here is a authentic Catholic icon by Marek Czarnecki who is based in Connecticut in the United States. He is trained in the Russian style and he works firmly within the principles of the iconographic tradition. A look at his gallery indicates that he is able to portray Western saints without stepping outside the bounds of the tradition . He is by all accounts and excellent teacher as well. This was commissioned by the Franciscan friars at Steubenville to illustrate John Paul II's characterisation of Our Lady as the 'Star of Evangelisation'. The painter is drawing on Western artistic traditions as well as Eastern in doing this. The style of the eight-pointed star, which is created by drawing two squares, is a common theme in the Western, Romanesque iconographic form (though not exclusive to it) and is seen, for example, in the geometric patterned art at the 12th century Capella Palatina in Sicily. Eight-pointed stars symbolise, the 'eighth day' of creation, the incarnation, passion, death and resurrection of Our Lord. Sunday is simultaneously the first day of the next week and the eight day of the previous. The Octave of Easter, such a special time in the liturgical calendar, could be thought of perhaps, as eight consecutive days of eighth days.

Below: opus sectile work from the Capalla Palatina.

The Way of Beauty and the New Evangelisation

Why an education in beauty and the Liturgy of the Hours are important in the formation of lay people as part of the New Evangelisation. Thomas More College of Liberal Arts was treated to a lecture by a husband-and-wife team of theologians who both teach at St John's Seminary at Boston. David and Angela Franks run the newly established Masters of Theological Studies for the New Evangelization. Although based at the Seminary, this is aimed at lay formation and can be taken on a part-time basis. It is the first new programme of the Seminary's newly established, Theological Institute for the New Evangelisation (TINE). David and Angela inspired our students (and myself!) with the vision that the Church has for the role of lay people in evangelising the modern world, charactererised by John Paul II as the New Evangelisation. All this is invaluable in itself, but what surprised and interested me particularly was their assertion that an education in beauty is an essential element in the formation of the individual who is going to be carry out their mission of taking the Word to the world. Furthermore, they highlighted the importance of the Liturgy of the Hours in this education.

They described a process that is both active and reactive. The active role is one of living the life of faith, which is ultimately living the life of love that God intends for us. And we should do so, they said, without apologising for it!

There is a description in the Acts of the Apostles of the growth of the early Church in which people were attracted to the Christian life, we are told, 'because they loved each other'. When we lead a life of love then our lives will be beacons of light that will arouse curiosity in this secular society. Love is not so much a set of feelings but rather a set of actions motivated for the good of the other. That requires fortitude especially because it is precisely this that will cause us to stand out in the crowd and because, as David puts it, we live in an age when 'powerful forces are arrayed against true love'.

That light will be brightest when we are answering most completely the personal vocation that God has made to us (aside from following the commandments of the Church). The determination of this personal vocation is an important early step therefore. I was lucky in my own life in being given some inspired guidance in trying to discern what this might be. This has ended up in me doing what I am now at Thomas More College. I have described the process here. The programme at the St John's Seminary offers guidance also in this first step.

The second part is reactive. When people see a life of love it arouses curiosity and they ask questions. At this point we need to be able to answer them truthfully and prudently. Part of the programme at St John's is about equipping people with knowledge of the truth - we must know what the Church teaches, or at the very least, where to go to find out what the Church teaches.

But also, we must present this information in such a way that it continues to attract people. Force of logic will only take you so far. It is not just what you say, but how you say it. Prudence guides this. While knowing what to say and when can be trained in some ways directly, so much of this is about developing an intuitive sense of it. A key principle in operation here is beauty. When we do something attractively, we are doing it beautifully. This is why a training in beauty is so important, we were told. It develops that instantaneous intuitive sense of knowing what to do best.

After the talk there was a lively question and answer session and one student asked directly. What should we be aiming for in our spiritual lives in order to be able to achieve this? To my great delight, David answered without hesitation, that beyond the basic requirements of the sacramental life, he felt that the Liturgy of the Hours was a powerful and 'supremely effective' form of prayer.

David and Angela invite everyone who might be interested to take a look at the exciting opportunities for lay people offered by St John's Seminary. You can find out more by going to the www.sjs.edu and clicking on the 'TINE' logo.

For a growing series of articles about the Liturgy of the Hours as part of The Way of Beauty, see here.

Thomas More College of Liberal Arts offers a traditional education in beauty, incorporating the Liturgy of the Hours as one of the key components of the spiritual life of the college. The course, The Way of Beauty is part of its core curriculum with the intention of offering our students to best chance of coming out as ambassadors of the New Evangelisation.

In addition, our summer programme has short courses open to everyone to teach precisely this. Artists and musicians can learn it in conjunction with the skills of icon painting, academic drawing or Gregorian chant in our two-week programmes in July. Our weekend retreat in creativity and inspiration in August offers everyone else the chance to learn the traditional education in beauty - developed as part of the training of artists - but without having to learn the artistic skills. For more information about all of these courses see here.

Images Top and bottom: The Calling of St Matthew by Hendrick ter Brugghen, 1621; candles at the Birmingham Oratory, England; The Presentation of Jesus at the Temple (Candlemass) by Tintoretto, c1550

The Derision of Christ by Anthony Van Dyck

Here is an offering for Good Friday. Van Dyck painted this in 1620. It has all the classic baroque elements that reflect the Catholic worldview as discussed in previously in regard to, for example, Procaccini's Scourging of Christ.

Consider it in the context of the difference between portrait and sacred art  as discussed in another earlier article, here. Van Dyck is one of the greatest portrait artists ever, yet he is careful not paint any of these figures as portraits. In a portrait, the face is the most important aspect. Yet here, each face is either in profile or shadow. The psychological aspects are transmitted through gesture rather than dramatic or exaggerated facial expression. Notice how, for example, he directs our thoughts towards the person of Christ by putting his face in shadow. It is not that he wants us to ignore Our Lord's face, but rather, given our natural tendency always to focus more on the face of the person, if it is downplayed relative to the rest, it results in a more balanced appreciation of whole person and the general human characteristics with which we can identify.

If you want to learn first hand more about the baroque style, the one authentic naturalistic artistic tradition of the Church, then we run a summer program at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts in Merrimack, NH. You can spend two works learning by doing and learn the traditional academic method of the Old Masters - a systematic way of drawing that in two weeks will raise your drawing skills above those of any conventional modern mainstream art school in the country. The teacher is internationally known portrait painter Henry Wingate. A skilled teacher, Henry takes you from the level you are at. So this is suitable for experienced or inexperienced artists.

If you're not an artist, but want to know more about this anyway, come to the weekend course, at Thomas More College, which takes place in the first weekend of August.  We have called it  Traditional Paths to Creativity and Inspiration because it teaches all the things that artists need to know aside from their skills and so would be good for art lovers, or people wishing to enhance their creativity in whatever their work or passion happens to be.

As a meditation, here is a passage from the Office of Readings of Tuesday of Holy Week that struck a chord with me. The words are by St Basil and taken from the book On the Holy Spirit:

When mankind was estranged from him by disobedience, God our Saviour made a plan for raising us from our fall and restoring us to friendship with himself. According to this plan Christ came in the flesh, he showed us the gospel way of life, he suffered, died on the cross, was buried and rose from the dead. He did this so that we could be saved by imitation of him, and recover our original status as sons of God by adoption.

New Play About John Paul II to be Premiered in Oxford

My friend Stratford Caldecott has written to me recently about a new play that he is helping to put on in Oxford in England. Entitled  The Quality of Mercy, it is about John Paul II and is written by Leonie Caldecott. It is being performed at Oxford’s Catholic Chaplaincy on 26, 28, and 29 April. This is the second production from the Caldecotts' theatrical company, Divine Comedy Productions. The first, Divine Comedy: A Theresian Mystery Play, put on in the autumn of 2009, was sold out and helped prepare for the visit to Oxford of the relics of the ever-popular Saint Therese of Lisieux. This caused sufficient waves on this side of the Atlantic for EWTN to sent a film crew to Oxford to interview the Caldecott's about that and the upcoming production. The poster for the play, incidentally, is based on an drawing by Stratford and Leonie's daughter, Rose-Marie Caldecott. All the lines and shading (if you look at it closely) are made up of the words of John Paul II.

Stratford and Leonie Caldecott are the British editors of the journal of faith and culture Second Spring; are the directors of Thomas More College of Liberal Arts' Center for Faith and Culture; and of the annual Oxford Studies Program for TMC's undergraduates.

Stratford writes as follows:

"There is a great revival of Catholicism and Catholic culture going on in higher education in the United States right now. The resurgence of Thomas More College is just one example. Most people would agree that the revival began with Pope John Paul II, who is to be beatified at the beginning of May on the Feast of Divine Mercy. Here in Oxford we are marking the beatification with a dramatic tribute to the late Pope: a new musical play called The Quality of Mercy, written by Leonie Caldecott.

Karol Wojtyla is not being beatified because he was a pope, or even because he did so many remarkable things over his long life, which spanned both the Second World War and the rise and fall of Communism. He is being beatified because of the kind of man he was: one who gave his life over to God, and who reached out to others with love. 'They try to understand me from without,” he once said. “But I can only be understood from within.' It is this interior landscape that The Quality of Mercy seeks to portray.

The play takes place in the last week of John Paul II’s life, the week after Easter 2005, as a small group of young people gather in Rome for a pilgrimage to the shrine of Manoppello in the Abruzzi mountains, which contains a miraculous image of Christ’s face, right.  The priest they were expecting to accompany them doesn’t turn up, and instead they are guided through the mountains and forests by a mysterious stranger who calls himself Charlie. As they walk and talk with their companion, the pilgrims discover things about themselves and others that will transform their lives. But it is only in the wake of the Pope’s death that the picture will come fully into focus.

As a young man, Karol Wojtyla was heavily involved with theatre, since during the Nazi occupation Poles used the medium as a form of underground cultural resistance.  If he had not become a priest, Wojtyla would certainly have become an actor and director.  He wrote numerous plays of his own, and encouraged drama throughout his years as a priest and a bishop in Krakow. Our theatre company, Divine Comedy Productions, is inspired by his enthusiasm for theatre as a medium for the exploration of the human condition.

The Quality of Mercy uses a mixture of realistic dialogue, against a symbolic backdrop of choral and movement sequences which highlight the themes of the Passion and Resurrection, as well as other scriptural references. The play also features an original score by talented young composer Ben Nichols. The cast range from 11 to 25, and are attached to the Oxford Oratory, whose parish priest Fr Daniel Seward also performs in the play. Details with relevant links are here."

The photographs are scenes from the first production of the Divine Comedy company: in the Carmelite community, with her father and in a papal audience.

The Proportion of the Ark of the Covenant

And how it can be a principle of design of buildings. Most of my reading of scripture comes through the liturgy – that is the readings from both the Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours. I do my best to do some lectio divina each day (reading Shawn Tribe’s wonderful piece on the ‘Four Pillars’ of the new liturgical movement has given a recent boost to this effort) and even for this I draw on the liturgy, tending to use the readings from Mass for that day. What is amazing is how often the scripture or the commentary by the Church Fathers speaks to me about something that is on my mind. I have always thought that perhaps this is because the principles contained within scripture are applicable in every area of life and so any given passage is likely to contain lessons for my particular concern, if I am ready to look for them. Scripture is rooted in Truth, which is a single jewel, so to speak, but one that is seen that is seen as a multifaceted prism and one facet will be facing me square on no matter which direction I observe from. Enough of my musings of scripture – I am already out of my depth here. The point is of this article is not a profound lesson in life, but of one of a little help to my art. A passage from the Office of Readings for Friday of the 3^rd week of Lent caught my eye in regard to, of all things, principles of proportion in gothic cathedrals; which in turn become a consideration for me in the composition design of works of art. The passage was Exodus 37 and it described the dimensions with which the Ark of the Covenant were to be constructed by an extraordinarily talented man called Bezalel (who seemed to good at just about everything to do with fine art). In cubits these were: 2.5 x 1.5 x 1.5. Similar dimensions were proscribed for the mercy seat on which it was to stand. The same week I heard a description of measurements of gothic cathedrals in which the ratio of 5:3 appears very often (within the bounds of accuracy when measuring the dimensions of a cathedral).

Interestingly, this ratio (5:3) appears also in the description of the construction of the Noah’s ark. St Augustine directly links the dimensions of Noah’s ark to the perfect proportions of a man, exemplified he says, in Christ. This echoes the classical proportions of the perfect man as described by the Roman Vitruvius in his textbook for architects. Furthermore, Boethius, in his book De Arithmetica, lists a series of 10 perfect proportions that he says came from Pythagoras, Plato, Aristotle and ‘later thinkers’. The final proportion of the series, called the Fourth of Four contains right at the beginning this ratio. (The references for these can be found in an article Harmonious Proportion in the Christian Tradition, here.)

Does this mean that this is the reasoning the gothic architects had in mind when they used this proportion? Perhaps. I am not aware of a gothic architect’s manuscript in which the connection is made directly so am hesitant to say so definitively. But we do know that geometry and proportion were important to them and they did use tradition which in turn drew on scripture, arithmetic and observation of nature to govern the use of those proportions. This all amounts to pretty strong evidence that, at the very least, it might be so.

Some suggest that as this ratio approximates to that contained within the Golden Section, and that this was what the gothic masons were aiming for. Again, this might be the case although I have not read of any account dating from this period or before that indicates that this proportion had symbolic meaning at the time or was used by masons. I would be very happy to be directed to any that readers might be aware of.

And does this mean that we should use the ratio 5:3 now? All of this does suggest to me that we should give it a try. If we accept the idea that some proportions are objectively more beautiful than others (as all architects did up to the 20^th century), then this points to the idea that due proportion would include this ratio.

The final and most important test when deciding this is as follows: are things that are constructed to incorporate this dimension beautiful? That is down to each person to answer. I for one, when looking at those gothic cathedrals would say yes (whatever the symbolism in the mind of the architect was); and this is why is seek to use it in the design of my art. If I was an architect, I would incorporate it into my designs too.

Images: above, The Sacrifice of the Old Covenant, by Rubens; and below: Leornardo's rendition of the Vitruvian man; and details of Amiens cathedral.

Painting an Icon of a Contemporary Saint, written by Aidan Hart

I wrote a piece a while ago about the creation of an icon of a contemporary saint. I learnt about this from directly from my teacher Aidan Hart. I can remember once when I was visiting him he had created just such and icon - of New Martyr Elizabeth: a member of the Russian royal family who was murdered by the Bolsheviks. I thought I would ask Aidan to describe how he created this icon. What follows is his reply. Note how he is very clear that he is not aiming for a photographic-like likeness, but rather an image that infuses her physical characteristics with those elements of the iconographic form that will reveal more fully the true person. Aidan wrote as follows:

Icons depict people who are full of the Holy Spirit. These saints are radiant with the same divine glory seen by Peter, James and John when Christ was transfigured. Icons therefore depict a world seen not only with the eyes of the body, but with the eye of the spirit. They show us not just as a bush, but a burning bush.

This presents a challenge for iconographers called upon to paint a contemporary saint of whom photographs exist. On the one hand these saints are unique human persons, and their icons need to include at least some of their unique attributes.

On the other hand, icon painters are not called to paint naturalistic portraits. They are concerned not only with what the physical eyes see but also with what the spirit sees - the indwelling presence of Christ.

How then does an iconographer create an icon of a contemporary saint? They cannot ignore the saint's physical likeness as revealed in their photographs, nor can they simply reproduce it. They need somehow to affirm both visible and invisible realities.

What I briefly describe below is my own approach to this challenge, illustrated by a particular icon of New Martyr Elizabeth that I was commissioned to design and paint. St Elizabeth was martyred in 1918, and many photographs of her were readily available.

1. First I prayed. Saints are alive and well in Christ, and can help the iconographer to represent them worthily.

2. I then re-read Elizabeth's life, making notes about salient features of her character. Of these I selected what seemed to be the chief three: compassion, suffering, and deep inner composure. These were what I had to express more than anything else. While writing can expand on details, an image must distil the essence.

3. Beside these characteristics I jotted down possible ways of their being expressed in the icon. I find that this is best done by brainstorming - some ideas will be kept, many discarded.

4. I then sought out photographs and chose one or two that best expressed the saint's life.

5. The design work then began. The small panel size of the commission suggested a half length work, a bust. In the final design Elizabeth's right hand is raised in a gesture of both prayer and witness (the word martyr means witness). The other hand holds a cross, symbol of martyrdom. Elizabeth founded a hospital, and for cleanliness sake devised a white monastic habit for her nuns who served in the hospital. I therefore combined elements of this white habit with the more traditional black of the Orthodox nun. I included Elizabeth's abbatial cross, keeping the chain the same design but making the cross a little smaller.

6. Using iconographic techniques, I adapted the folds of her garments to suggest a more spiritual quality. Curves were made more angular, and highlighting was created by layering three distinct tones rather than using naturalistic modelling and blending. The face is the highest revelation of personhood, so the icon tradition simplifies garments to prevent them drawing attention away from the face.

7. Photographs revealed that Important features of St Elizabeth's face were a somewhat angular outline, deep eyes, and sorrowful eyebrows. I tried to incorporate these into the final design of the face, especially the angular outline which is emphasized by the close fitting veil.

8. While accommodating her likeness I did however change some facial proportions to emphasize her inner spiritual state. Such abstractions are a feature of the icon tradition. The organs of expression - lips and gestures for example - tend to be made smaller or refined. Why? Saints are full of divine power, so their words and deeds are very potent: they need not say or do a lot for a lot to happen. I therefore made Elizabeth's lips less wide and less full than in nature, and kept her gestures and facial expressions calm, without exaggeration.

9. By contrast, the organs of reception - eyes, ears, nose - are enlarged or elongated in icons. This is to show that a saint is one who contemplates divine mysteries, hears the word of God and does it, and smells the fragrance of paradise. I therefore emphasized St. Elizabeth's eyes and made her nose a bit narrower than life, which gives the effect of elongating it.

10. Our eyes give light - "the eye is the lamp of the soul" said Christ. But our eyes are also a window into our soul, the mouth of a cave with mysterious depths. Consequently the white of the eye is rarely white In icons. Its base is a dark shadow tone, which is then partially overlaid with a brown-grey made of raw umber and a little white. These deep tones evoke the mysterious depths of the human person, made in God's image. On top of these dark tones are painted two small crescents of nearly pure white. This white is the light of grace which shines out of the saint.

The icon is completed with the halo - a symbol of the indwelling Holy Spirit common to all saints - and the saint's name, a sacrament of the saint's uniqueness.

Aidan Hart is based in Shropshire in England and his website is http://www.aidanharticons.com/. He is an excellent teacher (which is why I kept on going back to him) and he is just putting the finishing touches to a book about the techniques of icon painting in egg tempera, fresco and secco, to be published later this year.

How an Artist can Seek Creativity and Inspiration

Nearly every artist I meet acknowledges a need for inspiration to guide creativity. The application of every stroke of charcoal or paint must be guided by a picture in the mind of the artist of what he is aiming to create. Sometimes the creation of the work of art involves a carefully thought out, obviously reasoned approach and sometimes it is or more intuitive and spontaneous. However, as long as the process is the realization of an idea and not just a random process without any thought of what the result will be (as with a chimpanzee throwing paint at a canvas) then the artists is employing his intellect and is making decisions about the form he creates. Artists need inspiration in both the formation of the original ideas; and in the decisions about how it will be best achieved. I have read a number of books claiming to have the secret to creativity and the inspiration of the imagination, a number of them best sellers. Steeped in high emotion and cod psychotherapy, I found them all unconvincing. I have met quite a few people who read them and thought they were wonderful. While it was clear that reading the book made them feel good, none seem to be able to point to visible results in their art (that I could discern at any rate). I was looking for something that actually seemed likely to contribute to my producing better art, rather than something that relieved my anxiety.

It seems to me now that the answer is so much simpler than most of these books suggest. This was to use the methods of the Old Masters of the past. All it requires of me is sufficient humility to follow the traditional forms of Western culture. A traditional art education will engender that humility by requiring me to follow the precise directions of the teacher, and by following in the footsteps of the Old Masters by regularly copying their work. (See here for me details on this aspect). No self-expression here! (This incidentally is a lot of the problem, that I could see, with many of the modern methods of trying to generate creativity. Although they might even acknowledge the need for an external source of inspiration, all the popular ones that I read in fact suggested techniques that engendered self-centred self examination that in fact did the opposite - very-loosely based, as far as I could work out on 20th-century psychotherapy methods.)

Regular prayer for inspiration is part of this, and I would say that the traditional prayer of the Church is the best. This comes back, once again to active participation in the liturgy in the fullest sense of the word. Participation in the liturgy, especially when it includes the liturgy of the hours (I have written a series of articles about the Liturgy of the Hours, here) is not only an education in beauty it is the greatest training in creativity and the most powerful prayer of inspiration and guidance.

I have spent much time with Eastern Christians. My initial contact came through learning to paint icons. One of the things that struck me about them was the way they prayed with visual imagery. It seemed to straightforward: they would stand and turn to look the icon in the face, addressing the person depicted directly. Also, they were inclined to sing their prayers in full voice. I might be with a family, for example, and before the meal, they all stood, faced the icon of Christ that was in the dining room and sang an ancient hymn. My reflections on this are in another article called Praying with Visual Imagery.

Upon further reflection, and coming back to this issue of creativity for artists, something that struck me is how unlikely it is that an artist who is not habitually praying with visual imagery is going to be able to produce art that nourishes prayer. If I am habitually making that connection between the prayer and the image, then I will instinctively produce art that nourishes my own prayer. If I am praying well, then that art will be beautiful and will, in turn, nourish the prayers of others. This practice of praying with visual imagery is developing my instincts for what is beautiful. It is also engaging my vision in the prayer, and conforming it to the liturgical practice. This is an act of humility therefore that opens the person as a whole to inspiration and guidance , with a particular focus on that faculty of the visual.

It has been said that historically, that all the great art movements began on the altar. Think of the baroque. It began in the 17^th century as the sacred art and architecture of the Catholic counter-Reformation, but this set the style for all art, architecture and music, sacred and profane in both Catholic and Protestant countries.

Therefore the prayer with visual imagery in the context of the liturgy, is a hugely important factor in developing our instincts as to what is beautiful and is the bedrock for the visual aspects of all culture. Just as the liturgy, with the Eucharist at its heart, is the source and summit of human life, so liturgical art is the source of inspiration for and the summit to which all other art participates and directs us to.

I try to do the same when I am participating in the Mass. Once a month we have the Melkite Liturgy at the college and the priest very obviously turns to face the large icons of Our Lady, or of Christ when addressing them in the liturgy. I do my best to take this lesson into my participation in the Roman Rite. Similarly, at the end of Mass on weekdays we say the Angelus, and we all turn and face the statue of Our Lady which is in our little chapel.

The Liturgy of the Hours is a place in which, as a layman, I can do much to adopt these practices. If I pray the Liturgy of the Hours at home, I can use an icon corner to orientate my prayer. When we pray the Liturgy of the Hours at Thomas More College, we finish with invocations special to the community including addressing Our Lady and the Sacred Heart of Jesus. We turn and face these images as we pray. At Vespers and Compline we set up the icon of Our Lady because each has a strong Marian content. At Vespers we say the Magnificat, the song of Our Lady every day and at Compline we always finish with a Marian antiphon.

Of course, the use of imagery is just one aspect of engaging the whole person in prayer – appropriate use of incense, chant and posture allows for the active conformity of the whole person to the prayer and so greater openness to inspiration in any human activity. So this prayer of the artists is really a prayer by which any can hope to discover their personal vocation and flourish in it.

What does inspiration feel like? We can be transported in ecstacy, as in the painting of St Francis by Caravaggio, below, or St Theresa of Avila, right; but more commonly, the inspiration of the artist is not felt at all. We know it is has been there not because of how we feel during the painting process, but rather by the quality of the work at the end of it. Even if the painting of it felt like hard work, God might have been guiding our decision making processes. And frankly, it's going to be hard to paint if you are fainting into the hands of an angel like St Francis did!

And one final point that was made to me in this regard. Inspiration is given by God and He inspires whomsoever He pleases. It is not something demanded or taken by the artist. These methods are ways that develop our ability to cooperate with Him. In the end, if it is not my vocation to be an artist then all prayer and training in the world will not make a great artist of me. However, we can take heart, it will develop everybody's ability to cooperate with the inspiration that He gives to all of us in order to carry out our personal vocations whatever they may be. So we may find that this training leads some of us to something that is, in these cases, even more fulfilling than art.

This is one of series of articles about prayer and creativity through the liturgy, the most powerful and effective form of prayer: the others are here.

Anyone wishing to learn the traditional methods of art and prayer mentioned in the article can come to the summer programme of the Way of Beauty Atelier at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts. We have traditional art and chant classes that teach the methods in conjunction with the practice of prayer. Alternatively there is a weekend retreat which teaches the principles of the prayer with the art classes. All programmes are open to people of all ages (not just high-school students).

The painting at the top is by Vermeer (17th century baroque). Other images described below each one.

The Melkite Liturgy at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts, Merrimack, NH. Chaplain, Fr Boucher turns to the icon of Christ at a point when he is addressing Him directly.

Pentecost (Jean Restout, French, 1732).

Can Man Read the Symbolic Book of Nature Today?

Or Should We Just Rely on Our Gothic Forebears? I recently wrote about the quincunx and its relationship to the traditional image of Christ in Majesty showing with symbolic representation of the four evangelists, here. Frenchman Emile Male described how the understanding of how these four figures related to the evangelists in the 13^th century (his book is called, The Gothic Image). Male is drawing on a commentary on Ezekiel by Rabanus Maurus, the 9^thcentury Benedictine monk and bishop of Mainz in Germany, which, he says became the authoritative text for the later gothic period. Reading this is helpful in understanding the roots of this symbolism, but rather like an earlier discussion of the pelican and the peacock, not without a few difficulties also. Male recounts it as follows:

‘The emblem of St Matthew is the man, because his gospel begins with the genealogical table of the ancestors of Jesus according to the flesh. The lion designates St Mark, for in the opening verses of his gospel he speaks of the voice crying in the wilderness. The ox – the sacrificial animal – symbolizes St Luke whose gospel opens with the sacrifice offered by Zacharias. The eagle, who alone among birds was reputed to look straight into the sun, is a symbol of St John who from the very first transports men to the very heart of divinity.

‘Again these same creatures are symbols of Christ for in them may be seen four great mysteries of the life of the Saviour. The man recalls the Incarnation. The ox, victim of the old Law calls to remembrance the Passion. The lion which in fabled science sleeps with its eyes open is the symbol of the Resurrection for, [quoting Maurus] “in virtue of his humanity He appears to sink into the sleep of death, by virtue of His divinity He was living and watching”. The eagle is the figure of the Ascension because for Christ rose as the eagle soars to the clouds.

‘There is a third meaning relating to human virtue: each Christian on his way to perfection must be at once man, ox, lion and eagle. He must be man because man is a reasonable animal; he must be ox because ox is the sacrificial victim; he must be lion because the lion is the most courageous of animals and the good man having renounced worldly things has nothing to fear for it is written of him “the righteous are as bold as the lion”. And he must be eagle because the eagle flies into the heights looking straight into the sun, type of the Christian who with direct gaze contemplates the things of eternity.’



There is some confusion here on my part, in that I had always thought that the first symbol was an angel, and not a man. Reading Ezekiel again, he describes the appearance of the first figure as 'human with wings' rather than as an angel. The ox and the lion are described as having wings as well, and these are still described in the tradition as ox and lion, so I have taken it that the first figure is human, or at least as human as any ox with wings is bovine. Scripture scholars please help!

Male then remarks upon the fact that two thirds of the triple-layered symbolism fell away as early as the Renaissance, as man became less inclined to interpret nature symbolically. Is this something to be regretted, I wonder?

My personal opinion is that the symbolic reading of the book of nature is important. I feel it highlights for us that God's dealings with his creatures have two aspects, one external and one internal: the natural and the supernatural; with the first pointing the second. Newman put it: 'Of necessity, Providence is secretly concurring and co-operating with that system which meets the eye.' (Nature and Supernature) The book of nature that can be read in the light of faith and understood as something that both emanates from and points to the Word. (A priest recently put it to me beautifully thus: ‘The Mass is a jewel in its setting, which is the liturgy of the hours; and the two together are a cluster of precious stones that themselves have a setting which is the cosmos.’)

The symbolism of which we speak in this particular example is firmly rooted in the tradition, and is biblically based and so we can happily use it. But if we accept the value of the richer, gothic interpretation – should we aim to restore it uncritically? Certainly, much of it we can adopt quite happily – and many of the observations of nature would be considered true today, or at least acceptable even if not literally true (even in today’s rationialist society people accept some ideas that might be difficult to establish scientifically (eg the courage of the lion).

However, what if some of the interpretation is based upon what was believed at the time to be scientific fact, and which is no longer held to be true or even accepted as myth? I am thinking here of the idea that the eagle looks directly into the sun, or that lions sleep with their eyes open. (My understanding is that neither is considered true today).

I would say that to include such aspects of the gothic symbolism in our picture would reduce the possibilities of it being broadly accepted, and so undermine the greater point we are trying to make. However, we don't need to abandon the idea altogether. We should not be afraid to develop and adapt them based upon things that we do know to be true. If gothic man could read the book of nature, why can’t we learn to do it too? In fact once we accept the principle, modern science might even enrich our symbolic reading of nature. Who would have thought, for example, see here,that in particle physics, the 'flavours' of the sub-atomic 'hadronic particles' would follow the pattern of the Pythagorean tetractys, which symbolises musical harmony and was described in Boethius's De Musica? To take another example, the four ‘elements’ of Aristotle – air, earth, fire, and water – do not correspond to the physical elements of modern physics and chemistry, but do symbolise very well what would be described today as the physical states of matter – solid, liquid, gas and energy (or perhaps plasma). The idea being communicated is the same.

Similarly, if indeed the eagle does not look directly into the sun, the symbolism of the eagle can easily be adapted into something that we do accept to be true today and is emphasizing the same point – it has extraordinary eyesight that operates in dim and bright light and could be seen as a symbol of one who is focused on the Light with an unerring and penetrating gaze.

Images: top, 9th century German ivory; second from top, tiles manufactured by the Pugin company in England in the 19th century; third from top, Christ in Majesty, illustration by David Clayton for Meet the Angels; and below the four evangelists by Rubens.

Pelican Brief – Should We Aim to Revive All Christian Symbols?

Is there a danger that trying to reestablish traditional Christian symbols in art would sow confusion rather that clarity? Lots of talks and articles about traditional Christian art I see discuss the symbolism of the iconographic content; for example, the meaning of the acacia bush (the immortality of the soul) or the peacock (again, immortality). This is useful if we have a printed (or perhaps for a few of you an original) Old Master in church or a prayer corner as it will enhance our prayer life when contemplating the image. But is this something that we ought to be aiming to reinstate the same symbolism in what we produce today? Should we seek to educate artists to include this symbolic language in their art? If symbols are meant to communicate and clarify, they should be readily understood by those who see them. This might have been the case when they were introduced – very likely they reflected aspects of the culture at the time – and afterwards when the tradition was still living and so knowledge of this was handed on. But for most it isn’t true now. How many would recognize the characteristics of an acacia bush, never mind what it symbolizes? If you ask someone today who has not been educated in traditional Christian symbolism in art what the peacock means, my guess is that they are more likely to suggest pride, referring to the expression, ‘as proud as peacock’. So the use of the peacock would not clarify, in fact it would do worse than mystify, it might actually mislead. (The reason for the use of the peacock as a symbol of immortality, as I understand it, is the ancient belief that its flesh was incorruptible). So to reestablish this sign language would be a huge task. We would not only have to educate the artists, but also educate everyone for whom the art was intended to read the symbolism. If this is the case, why bother at all, it doesn’t seem to helping very much, and in the end it will always exclude those who are not part of the cognoscenti . This is exactly the opposite of what is desired: for the greater number, it would not draw them into contemplation of the Truth, but push them out.

I think that the answer is that some symbols are worth persevering with, and some should be abandoned. First, it is part of our nature to ‘read’ invisible truths through what is visible. This does not only apply to painting. The whole of Creation is made by God as an outward ‘sign’ that points to something beyond itself to Him, the Creator. Blessed John Henry Newman put it in his sermon Nature and Supernature as follows: "The visible world is the instrument, yet the veil, of the world invisible – the veil, yet still partially the symbol and index; so that all that exists or happens visibly, conceals and yet suggests, and above all subserves, a system of persons, facts, and events beyond itself.” It is important to both to make use of this faculty that exists in us for just this purpose; and to develop it, increasing our instincts for reading the book of nature and in turn, our faith.

However, coming back to the context of art again, some discernment should be used, I suggest. I would not be in favour of creating an arbitrarily self-consistent symbolism. The symbol must be rooted in truth. The symbolism in the iconographic tradition is very good at following this principle. This is best illustrated by considering the example of the halo. This is very well known as the symbol of sanctity in sacred art. There are very good reasons for this. The golden disc is a stylized representation of a glow of uncreated, divine light, shining out of the person. Even if this were not already a widely known symbol, it would be worth educating people about the meaning of it, because in doing so something more is revealed. When however, the representation of a halo develops into a disc floating above the head of the saint, as in Cosme Tura’s St Jerome, or even a hoop, as in Annibale Caracci’s Dead Christ Mourned, (both shown) then it seems to me that the symbol has become detached from its root. Neither could be seen as a representation of uncreated light. These latter two forms, therefore, should be discouraged.

Similarly, those symbols that are rooted in the gospels or in the actual lives of the saints should be encouraged and the effort should be made, I think, to preserve or, if necessary, reestablish them. The tongs and coal of the prophet Isaias relate to the biblical accounts of his life. The inclusion of these, will generate a healthy curiosity in those who don’t know it, and so might direct them to investigate scripture. The picture shown below, incidentally, is one that I did as a demonstration piece for our recent summer school at Thomas More College in New Hampshire.

In contrast consider the peacock and the pelican. The peacock, as already mentioned, does not, we now know, have incorruptible flesh. The pelican is a symbol of the Eucharist based upon the erroneous belief in former times that pelicans feed their young with their own flesh. The immediate reaction is that these should not be used (I am not aware of any biblical reference to these two creatures that would justify it). However, I am torn by the fact that both of these are beautiful and striking images, even if based in myth.

Also, it might be argued, and this is particularly true for the pelican, that to use it is not resurrecting an obscure medieval symbol. It is an ancient symbol certainly - and St Thomas Aquinas's hymn to the Eucharist, Adore te devote called Christ the 'pelican of mercy'. But it lasted well beyond that. It was very widely understood even 50 years ago. Awareness of it is still common nowadays amongst those who are interested in liturgy and sacred art. Perhaps an argument could be made that even when the reason for the use of symbol is based in myth, if that is known and understood, and when that symbol recognition is still widespread enough to be considered part of the tradition, it should be retained. We should also remember that modern science is not infallible, and we moderns could be those who are mistaken about the pelican! My Googling research (admittedly even less reliable than modern science) revealed that the coat of arms of Cardinal George Pell has the image of the pelican. If this is so, I imagine he would have something to say about the issue also!

Compunction of the Heart - A Form of Meditation for Lent

From: The Rule of St Benedict, Chapter 49 ‘The Observance of Lent’ ‘We urge the entire community during these days of Lent to keep its manner of life most pure and to wash away in this holy season the negligences of other times. This we can do in a fitting manner by refusing to indulge in evil habits and by devoting ourselves to prayer with tears, to reading, to compunction of heart and self denial’ A small group from Thomas More College of Liberal Arts went for an evening Lenten retreat at the Benedictine Abbey in Still River, Massachusetts. As in our last visit (link here) we arrived for Vespers at 6pm, and then were the guests of the community for dinner. After dinner we had a talk from one of the brothers of the community and after individual reading or prayer we went to Compline before returning home. Just as before, it was a great experience for all of us.

To begin his talk the brother of the community who took care of us (most graciously too I might add) read the short chapter from the Rule of St Benedict on Lent. He told he was going to talk about a form of meditation called ‘compunction of the heart’. Before he described it he asked us who had heard of this. No hands went up. I have read the rule a number of times and so must have read the phrase each time, but it had never registered with me that it might be technique that I could practice. I must have just skipped over the words.

Here is my recollection and understanding of what he told us (any confusion present is likely mine, not his!): each time we go through the sacrament of reconciliation, the process of repentance, confession and forgiveness of sins moves us closer to God. The desire for reconciliation can be motivated both positively and negatively. The negative is the desire to be closer to God driven by a fear of the consequences of our sin and a need to escape the discontent of our guilt; and the positive is a genuine desire to be closer to God again for his own sake by healing the wound of separation. While the positive is better than the negative, either is better than none at all.

When we practice compunction of the heart, we recall our sins of the past and relive that motivation to be close to God but separated from the sin that caused it. We must be clear that sin has been confessed and forgiven, and so we are not to re- confess. However the recollection of that motivation to be with God and the desire to be Him can be used to spur us on to closer to him now.

We can do this anywhere – it is something that works well in snatched moments in a busy day.

Since this was our introduction to the idea, we were encouraged to read about it and find out more. We were warned also that if we tried it we should be sure that is was leading us to God. If it was a reliving of the sins of the past that was us to self-pity, we should probably stop and seek guidance. Also, he said, this is a something that is suited to a busy lay life because we really can do this anywhere. It works well for instance if we dwell on these thought for just a few snatched moments in a busy day.

So the next time I join the line for the supermarket checkout, who knows, perhaps some of those in front of me, apparently daydreaming while they wait are in fact practicing compunction of the heart.

Images: Ribera, (Spanish, 17th century) the Penitent St Peter; and the Penitent St Mary Magdalen

Below, people in a line for the bank teller, possible practising compunction of the heart.

And, below, relics of saints practising compunction of the heart.

The Relief Carving of Jonathan Pageau

Here is some relief carving by Jonathan Pageau, an artisan based in Canada. Jonathan is Orthodox and is working very much within the iconographic form, the principles of which he will not compromise, as one would expect. However when I chatted with him about his work, it struck me that as well the more familiar Eastern forms, he has an interest in traditional Western forms of iconographic art as well.He is happy therefore to consider the portrayal of some Western types that are not part of the usual Eastern canon. He works in wood and a soft soapstone from Kenya called Kisii stone.

I am fascinated by relief carving, and wrote an article previously about some the principles behind it here. I have limited experience of sculpting in clay, in which I created a full three dimensional form in a traditional naturalistic style. This was an additional class when I was studying primarily academic drawing and painting in Florence several years ago. At the level I was working at, I found it in many ways easier to pick up than painting. When painting, the artist has to process the information received via the eye from a 3-dimensional form in such a way that he produces a 2-dimensional image is absent in naturalistic sculpture. This conversion from 3-D to 2-D is not necessary in sculpture and the final image is 3-D also. So in this respect it is a simpler process.

I have not attempted relief sculpture but it always struck me as more complicated than naturalistic sculpture requiring a controlled conversion of 3-dimensional information - into a part 3-, part 2-dimensional image.

When I asked Jonathan about it, he described a process in which the 3-diminsional ideal is converted into a fully 2-dimensional image first – a drawing – and then this is converted back into the partially 3-dimensional form of the relief carving. So his first step is to draw the full line drawing, which must be just as detailed as if he were ultimately painting an icon rather than carving it. Next, this drawing is transferred onto the surface of the stone. He uses tracing paper to do this. Then he cuts around the main shapes to produce a vertical, stepped edge. After this the subtleties of shadow are introduced by introducing varying slopes on those edges and detail within the shapes. I asked him to send me some photos of work in progress to help give us an idea of the method. This he kindly did and these are shown below and right.

This means a relief sculptor using this method must be a good draughtsman. In contrast it is conceivable that someone could sculpt well in the naturalistic style, but is unable to draw well (and I have met one or two good sculptors who claimed that they couldn’t draw).

I have shown below completed works of a Russian Deisis, with Christ in glory (detail above), Our Lady and John the Forerunner ('Jean le Precuseur'); and of St George.

His website with more photographs and information is at http://pageaucarvings.com/ .

Work in progress

Discerning Vocation: How I Came to be Doing What I Want to Do

The_Calling_of_Saint_Matthew-Caravaggo_(1599-1600)

Many people ask me if I can give them advice on how to become an artist. One response to this is to describe the training I would recommend for those who are in a position to go out and get it. I have done this and you can see this outlined in an article here. However, this is only part of it (even if you accept my ideas and are in a position to pay for the training I recommend). It was more important for me first to discern what God wants me to do. I did not decide to become an artist until I was in my late twenties (I am now in my fifties in case you were wondering!).  That I have been able to do so is down to inspired careers advice. I was shown first how to discern my vocation; and second how to follow it. I am not an expert in vocational guidance, so I am simply offering my experience here for others to make use of as they like.

I am a Catholic convert (which is another story) but influential in my conversation was an older gentleman called David Birtwistle, who was a Catholic. (He died more than ten years ago now.) One day he asked me if I was happy in my work. I told him that I could be happier, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. He offered to help me find a fulfilling role in life.

Caravaggio_1601_Conversion-of-St-Paul

He asked me a question: ‘If you inherited so much money that you never again had to work for the money, what activity would you choose to do, nine to five, five days a week?’ One thing that he said he was certain about was that God wanted me to be happy. Provided that what I wanted to do wasn’t inherently bad (such as drug dealing!) then there was every reason to suppose that my answer to this question was what God want me to do.

While I thought this over, he made a couple of points. First, he was not asking me what job I wanted to do, or what career I wanted to follow. Even if no one else is in the world is employed to do what you choose, if it is what God wants for you there will be way that you will be able to support yourself. He told me to put all worries about how I would achieve this out of my mind for the moment. Such doubts might stop me from having the courage to articulate my true goal for fear of failure. Remember, he said, that if God’s wants you to be Prime Minister, it requires less than the ‘flick of His little finger’ to make it happen. I wanted to do more than one thing, he said I should just list them all, prioritise them and then aim first for the activity at the top of the list.

rembrandt-painter-in-studio

I was able to answer his question easily. I wanted to be an artist. As soon as I said it, I partly regretted it because the doubts that David warned me about came flooding in. Wasn’t I just setting myself up for a fall? I had already been to university and studied science to post-graduate level. How was I ever going to fund myself through art school? And even if I managed that, such a small proportion of people coming out of art school make a living from art. What hope did I have? I worried that I would end up in my mid-thirties a failed artist with no other prospects. David reassured me that this was not what would happen. This process did not involve ever being reckless or foolish, but would always need faith to stave off fear.

Next David suggested that I write down a detailed description of my ideal. He stressed the importance of crystallizing this vision in my mind sufficient to be able to write it down. This would help to ensure that I spotted opportunities when they were presented to me. Then, always keeping my sights on the final destination, I should plan only to take the first step. Only after I have taken the first step should I even think about the second. Again David reiterated that at no stage should I do anything so reckless that I may cause me to let down dependants or to be unable to pay the rent or put food on the table.

The first step, he explained, can be anything that takes me nearer to my final destination. If I wasn’t sure what to do, he told me to go and talk to working artists and to ask for their suggestions. There are usually two approaches to this: either you learn the skills and then work out how to get paid for them; or by doing something different you put yourself in the environment where people are doing what you want to do. For example, he suggested that I might get a job in an art school as an administrator. For me that first step turned out to be fairly simple. All the artists I spoke to told me to start by enrolling for an evening class in life drawing at the local art school.

peterandrew

My experience since has been that I have always had enough momentum to encourage me to keep going. To illustrate, here’s what happened in that first period:  the art teacher at Chelsea Art School evening class noticed that I liked to draw and suggested that I learn to paint with egg tempera. I tried to master it but struggled and after the class was finished I told someone about this. He happened to know someone who, he thought, worked with egg tempera. He gave me the name and I wrote to him asking for help. About a month later I received a letter from someone else altogether. It turned out that the person I had written to was not an artist at all, but had been passed on to someone who was called Aidan Hart. Aidan was an icon painter. It was Aidan who wrote to me and who invited me to come and spend the weekend with him to learn the basics. Up until this point I had never seen or even heard of icons. Aidan eventually became my teacher and advisor.

paul-road-to-damascus

There have been many chance meetings similar to this since. And over the course of years my ideas about what I wanted to do became more detailed or changed. Each time I modified the vision statement accordingly, and then looked out for a new next step – when I realized that there was no school to teach Catholics their own traditions, I decided that I would have to found that school myself and then enlist as its first student. Later it dawned on me that the easiest way to do thatwas to learn the skills myself from different people and then be the teacher.

I was also told that there were two reasons why  I wouldn’t achieve my dream: first, was that I didn’t try to achieve it; the second was that en route I would find myself doing something, that wasn’t on my list now and which I enjoyed so much that I would just stop looking further.

IF

David also stressed how important it was always to be grateful for what I have today. He said that unless I could cultivate gratitude for the gifts that God is giving me today, then I would be in a permanent state of dissatisfaction. In which case, even if I got what I wanted it wouldn’t satisfy me. This gratitude should start right now, he said, with the life you have today. Aside from living the sacramental life, he told me to write a daily list of things to be grateful for thank God daily for them. Eventhings weren’t going my way there were always things to be grateful for, and I should develop the habit of looking for them and giving praise to God for his gifts. He also stressed strongly that I should constantly look to help others along their way.

As time progressed I met others who seemed to be understand these things. So just in case I was being foolish I asked for their thoughts. First was an Oratorian priest. He asked me for my reasons for wanting to be an artist. He listened to my response and then said that he thought that God was calling me to be an artist. Some years later, I asked and monk who was an icon painter. He asked me the same question as the Oratorian and then gave the same answer.

ST Luke

What was interesting about all three people so far is that none of them asked what seemed to be the obvious question: ‘Are you any good at painting?’ I asked the monk/artist why he said that you can always learn the skills to paint, but in order to be really good at what you do you have to love it.

Some years later still, when I was studying in Florence, I went to see a priest there who was an expert in Renaissance art. It was for his knowledge of art that I wanted to speak to him, rather than spiritual direction. I wanted to know if my ideas regarding the principles for an art school were sound. He listened and like the others encouraged me in what I was doing.  Three years later, after yet another chance meeting, I was offered the chance to come to Thomas More College of Liberal Arts in New Hampshire, to do what precisely what I had described to the priest in Florence.

In my meeting with him the Florentine priest remarked in passing, even though I hadn’t asked him this, that he thought that it was my vocation to try to establish this school. He then said something else that I found very interesting. He warned me that I couldn’t be sure that I would ever get this school off the ground but he was certain that I should try. What he was certain about was that along the way my activities would attract people to the Faith (most likely in ways unknown to me). This is, he said, is what a vocation is really about. It seems, that it wasn't just St Peter who was called to be fisher of men...we all are!

Öèôðîâàÿ ðåïðîäóêöèÿ íàõîäèòñÿ â èíòåðíåò-ìóçåå gallerix.ru

JanStyka-SaintPeter

Art, from top: the Calling of St Matthew, Caravaggio; St Paul on the Road to Damascus, Caravaggio; Artist in Studio, Rembrandt; 6th century mosaic, Ravenna, Italy; St Paul on Road to Damascus, icon, artist unknown; St Paul on Road to Damascus, fresco, artist unknown; the Calling of St Luke, school of Caravaggio; The Calling of St Peter, Duccio; St Peter Preaching at Pentecost, Van Styck

The Pythagorean Prayer of the Cosmos

The powerful prayer for creativity and inspiration and joy, which is perfected in the Church (Others in series on Divine Office here) Since the ancient Greeks there has been the idea that the happy life is the result of a good life, and a good life is a beautiful life. In the 6^th century BC the philosopher Pythagoras (the same one who has a geometric theorem named after him) gathered around him a religious group of ‘Pythagoreans’ who sought to order their lives according to this principle of beauty and order. They drew their inspiration from their observations of the beauty of the cosmos. When viewed in the way of the Pythagoreans, making our actions and work beautiful becomes a guiding principle in life, just like morality. Morality tends to guide by placing boundaries on our activity – it tells us what not to do. This is necessary. Beauty, however, complements this by providing a positive principle of choice. When looking at the broad open field of choices that do not contravene moral law, it opens up new paths and gives us a principle to choose between options which may all appear to be morally neutral. How do we know what the beautiful choice is? The Greeks noted that the cosmos is both ordered and is beautiful. (The word ‘cosmos’ means in Greek simultaneously order and beauty.) This connection points us to the idea that when we find something beautiful, it is the order within it that is appealing to us. They also noticed, long before the development of modern science, that the rhythms and patterns of the cosmos could be described numerically; and this numerical ordering could become, at least in part, a principle for ordering life. Time and space can be ordered numerically, whether it’s the hours in the day, or the dimensions of a building. Pythagoras is described by Plato as being the discoverer of the numerical order behind beautiful musical harmony and his influence in this area continues to this day.

The Greeks were not the only ones. Long before Christ, the Jewish people ordered time in accordance with these principles: years, months, weeks, days and hours in conformity with the patterns of the cosmos, especially the sun and the moon. They were prompted to do by the revelation contained in Holy Scripture. For the Jewish people the cosmos was a heavenly signpost, created by God, to indicate also the rhythms and patterns and worship. The seven-day weekly cycle, the feast days and the seasonal cycles of their worship conformed to the phases of the moon and the rising and setting of sun. Within each day, there was a seven-fold prayer as well, with the addition of prayer during the night. This structure was the route to joy too. The Psalms especially stress that happiness is the result of following this path. ‘Blessed are the undefiled in the way, who walk in the law of the Lord.’ (Psalm 118:1)

Greek temple in Segesta, Sicily. Pythagoras lived in Sicily

This ancient pattern was adopted and accommodated into Christian worship (see The Path to Heaven is a Triple Helix). The Christian fathers, especially figures such as Augustine made this connection between the liturgy and the Pythagorean description of the cosmos (The Spirit of the Liturgy by Pope Benedict XVI describes this), to give a sense that that the cosmos was made beautiful to direct our praise to God and both this earthly liturgy and the cosmos are not only in harmony with each other, but each reflects the order of the invisible standard of the heavenly liturgy – the unending praise of God by the saints in heaven. The connection between heaven and earth was made substantial in the Church’s worship, through the Mass. The body and blood of Christ, present under the appearance of bread and wine at the centre of the Mass is the meeting point of all that exists, seen and unseen. In Him all the patterns of order and beauty are embodied, for He is Beauty itself. He is the Creator of the cosmos and it bears the thumbprint of the one who fashioned it. In the Mass we actually ingest Beauty.

Let us recall that image of the Mass as a jewel in the setting of the Liturgy of the Hours which is in turn a jewel set in the cosmos. Through this trail of beauty, the connection between the heavens and Heaven is made complete. The Pythagoreans inspired by beauty, prayed with the cosmos. The Jews, inspired by Scripture prayed the liturgy of the hours by praying the psalms at certain times of the day. Christianity is the deepest drawing together of these elements in the Eucharist, which is the source and summit of human life. Each leads us into the next, and each completes the former. This is the prayer that the Pythagoreans sought and, I’m guessing, would have loved to have known. It is the fullest source of beauty and joy.

Praying the Liturgy of the Hours and the Mass is the deepest education in beauty there is, it impresses upon our very souls the patterns of beauty – of the cosmos, of heaven, of Christ. It also opens us up to God’s inspiration just as He bestows it. We draw spiritual breath as He exhales, so to speak. This developed innate sense of the beautiful shapes and guides our imaginations. Because our prayer is engaging the whole person and engaging all the senses, it develops our ability to create beauty in our work, whatever we do, because we understand how it will appeal to others through their sensual perception.

Those who want to learn to do the Divine Office, you might approach a priest or religious (ie monk or nun) and ask them to show you. Alternatively, the Way of Beauty summer retreats at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts will teach you how to pray the Liturgy of the Hours and how you can realistically incorporated it into a busy working or family life

Images above: Pythagoras and an ancient synagogue in Capernaum. Below: the Romanesque Cathedral at Durham in the northeast of England.

The Unsurpassed Power and Effectiveness of the Prayer of Christ - Divine Office IV

The Liturgy is the most powerful and effective form of prayer. This is the fourth in a series on the Liturgy of the Hours. The others are here. The Liturgy (the Mass and Liturgy of the Hours) is not just powerful and effective. It is the most powerful and effective action of the Church on our behalf. Christ participated in it historically; and continues to do so eternally in heaven and on earth and we participate in His prayer through his mystical body, the Church. 

I have assumed that as a devout Jew, Christ participated in the Jewish liturgy, which followed a pattern of marking the hours, either three or seven times a day (and once at night) and praying the psalms (which is the basic form of the Liturgy of the Hours).  The bible speaks of this pre-Christian practice and its continuation in the Church that He founded (see here) ; and we know from historical records that this tradition has continued to the present day. A lovely example that illustrates this continuation of the thread of tradition is the psalm tune or 'tone' called the Tonus Perigrinus. This came from the ancient tradition of the synagogue, was passed on to the Christian liturgy and became one of the standard chants of Gregorian chant. It has become one of the standard chants of Anglican chant too (listen here).

When we pray with the Church, we pray as part of the mystical body of Christ who is our priestly advocate to the Father. Liturgy (the Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours) is the worship of the Father, through the Son, in the Spirit. It is the means by which we enter into a profound relationship with God and enter directly into the dynamic mystery of love of the three persons of the Trinity. In doing so we become divine, yes divine. This is the source of power and effectiveness, and joy. This union with God is why God created us, and God became man to allow this to happen:

'The Word became flesh to make us "partakers of the divine nature": "For this is why the Word became man, and the Son of God became the Son of man: so that man, by entering into communion with the Word and thus receiving divine sonship, might become a son of God." "For the Son of God became man so that we might become God." "The only-begotten Son of God, wanting to make us sharers in his divinity, assumed our nature, so that he, made man, might make men gods."⁸¹ (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 460, quoting 2 Pt 1:4; St. Irenaeus in the second century AD; and St Athanasius in the 4th century AD; and Jn 1:14)

‘Christ Jesus, high priest of the new and eternal covenant, taking human nature, introduced into this earthly exile that hymn which is sung throughout all ages in the halls of heaven. He joins the entire community of mankind to Himself, associating it with His own singing of this canticle of divine praise. For he continues His priestly work through the agency of His Church, which is ceaselessly engaged in praising the Lord and interceding for the salvation of the whole world. She does this, not only by celebrating the eucharist, but also in other ways, especially by praying the divine office.’ (Sacrosanctum Consilium, 83; written in 1963)

If we are participating in the divine nature (albeit at this stage only temporarily and by degrees for us as individuals) it is no wonder that this prayer is powerful.

'Accordingly, every liturgical celebration, as an activity of Christ the priest and of his body, which is the Church, is a sacred action of a pre-eminent kind. No other action of the Church equals its title to power or its degree of effectiveness.' (Sacrosanctum Consilium, 7, [my emphasis])

Those who want to learn to do the Divine Office, you might approach a priest or religious (ie monk or nun) and ask them to show you. Alternatively, the Way of Beauty summer retreats at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts will teach you how to pray the Liturgy of the Hours and how you can realistically incorporated it into a busy working or family life

Images from top: anonymous, Christ Pantocrator, Monreale, Sicily, 12th century; anonymous, 'Mercy Seat' Trinity with four evangelists, English alabaster, early 15th century; Duccio, detail, showing the Agony in the Garden of the Maesta, 14th century;

Images below text: Bartolomeo Cavarozzi (1590 - 1625), Supper at Emmaus. The artist was an Italian who lived in Spain; Rembrandt, Supper at Emmaus

The Quincunx - a Geometric Representation of Christ in Majesty

One of my hopes for the cultural renewal is the revival of a Christian form of geometric patterned art. With this in mind I have done my best to study past work, and try to discern the principles that underlie its creation. I wrote about resources that help in this respect in a previous article, here. If tasked with the design of an ornate sanctuary floor now, for example, how might one go about it? One approach, which was used by the Cosmati craftsmen of the middle ages was to have a large design for to fill the whole shape and then to infill with a variety of different geometric patterns. The Cosmatesque style is named after the Cosmati family which, over several generations, developed this distinctive style of work. If they were covering a large area, such as a whole church floor, they worked on three scales. For the grand form they tended to compartmentalize into rectilinear shapes. Then the sub-form would be a geometric design consisting of faceted polygons or interconnected circles. The final stage would be an infill of with very small repeated regular geometric shapes such as squares, triangles of hexagons (which are the three forms that can put together without creating gaps).

Cathedral of Sessa Aurunca, 13th century

One of the sub-forms is called the ‘quincunx’. This the generic name for the arrangement of five equivalent shapes that has four arranged symmetrically around the fifth which is centrally place (it is also a game-winning word in Scrabble so it'll pay to remember this, if for no other reason). The five dots on dice, for example, are in a quincunx shape. I understand the name comes from the Latin for five-twelfths, a coin of this fraction value of the currency had this name and often had this arrangement of dots on it.

In the context of geometric patterned art, it is the shape of four smaller circles spinning of larger secondary one was not limited to the Cosmati craftsmen. It is seen in both Eastern and Western Churches and across many centuries. I am going to setting my class at Thomas More College the task of designing and drawing a sanctuary floor based upon this design later this term.

In some respects the quincunx can be thought of as the geometrical equivalent of the traditional image of Christ in Majesty. Around the central image of the enthroned Christ we see four figures representing the four evangelists carrying the Word to the four corners of the world. One of the reasons that the Church settled on four gospels was to emphasis this symbolism (see St Irenaeus writing in the 2nd century AD in Against Heresies). The quincunx also symbolizes Creation, as the number four represents the cosmos. The symbolism is of, again the four corners of the world - Christ spoke of the 'four winds'; and the four ‘elements’ of the ancients from which all matter is comprised. These elements are fire, water, earth and air. In modern science the work element has come to mean something more specific than this. However, this does not invalidate this symbolism, to my mind, for they still symbolise very well, I feel the phases or states by which modern science categorises matter – solid, liquid, gas and energy (or alternatively plasma).

In his book on the Westminster pavement, which is the one example of Cosmati work in England, Richard Foster suggests that the inscriptions indicate that rather that signifying Creation, the quincunx signifies the final end. That is, rather than emanating from God, all is returning to God.

An 8th century German manuscript showing Christ in Majesty

A 13th century French  ivory carving, in the Musee de Cluny

A sub-form of interconnected circles other than a quincunx, at S Maria in Trastever, Rome