Fra Angelico's Theology of Light

I thought I would do a short series (I intend three at this stage) of articles focussing on paintings by the gothic artists, looking at two of my favourites Fra Angelico and Duccio. Fra Angelico, the 15th century Florentine artist is normally considered late gothic in style. Duccio, from Siena, worked earlier, in the late 13th and early 14th centuries. Duccio's work represents the more iconographic based style and Fra Angelic the more naturalistic. Looking at these two exemplars of early and late gothic art gives us a good sense of what characterises this tradition. This is not just for the purpose of an art history discussion. I think that there is much to benefit from artists today who are trying to spark the ‘new epiphany of beauty’ by looking at the gothic tradition. First, it is one of the three authentic Catholic liturgical traditions cited by Pope Benedict XVI in The Spirit of the Liturgy. Also, I often find in conversation that his work appeals to people who have a similar understanding of the Faith, the liturgy and Catholic culture as I do. It seems that for many, Fra Angelico in particular has the balance of naturalism and idealism that nourishes the prayer of modern man. John Paul II gave him a special mention in his Letter to Artists. I think therefore that perhaps this could be a good starting point for artists to study and from which a distinctive art of Vatican II could develop in the future (just as the baroque, which developed from the base of the stylistic developments of the High Renaissance, might be considered the art of the counter-Reformation and of the Council of Trent). Only time will tell if I am right in this regard, of course.

The gothic style arose from a different understanding of man's perception of the natural world through his senses. The ideas that drove it developed from about 1000AD onwards with the rediscovery of the philosophy of Aritotle and the subsequent incorporation of his ideas into Christian thinking by figures such as St Thomas. The love of nature of Franciscan spirituality was also influential in popularizing the ideas. I have written more about this here.

As I wrote in a commentary on his Annunciation, Fra Angelico working late in the period is very interesting to study for his selective use of the features of the well observed naturalism such as perspective, shadow and figures in profile; and his retention at other times of those features of iconographic art.

If we look his Resurrection a fresco from one of the cells in the monastery of San Marco in Florence, we see Christ rising in an almond shaped mandorla, the traditional symbol of His glory, carrying the red and white Resurrection penant. The background is shadowy and dark and we see the tomb drawn with naturalistic perspective. The angel is in profile, which would never be seen in an iconographic painting, though shining with uncreated light which one would expect in iconographic art.

There is one stylistic feature that Fra Angelico uses that interests me greatly. This is his habit of putting the face of Christ in shadow. On first sight this is strange, since he shows the rest of the person of Christ shining with light and the face of the angel, a great, but nevertheless lesser being is totally in light. When I first noticed this I wondered why? A Dominican friar in England told me his interpretation of this: Fra Angelico is showing a light that is brighter still. In fact it is so bright that it blinds us - it is too much for us, fallen human beings who are observing Him, to bear. I find this explanation convincing, especially because we see in in other paintings by Fra Angelico, for example the Transfiguration and the Sermon on the Mount have the same feature.

Serving the Common Good in Rural New Hampshire

Thomas More College students clear an 18th century cart track Following on from last week’s article, here is an example in New Hampshire of a landowner who is putting his land in the service of the common good. He is Fr Roger Boucher, a chaplain at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts. Fr Boucher lives on his hermitage which is situated on a farm, several miles north of Concord, New Hampshire. Students from the summer program of the Catholic Leadership Institute helped expose an 18^th century cart track, still marked by the stone walls along its sides although overgrown with trees and scrub. The eventual aim is to make the route open to members of the public in an arrangement based upon trust.

You can read more about this very successful and inspiring program here.

The TMC summer program, which took place predominantly on the campus in Merrimack, NH, taught the important idea of leadership through service, underpinned by the principles of Catholic social teaching. Daily lectures from Thomas More College faculty and visiting speakers gave participants a firm understanding of key ideas such as just war theory, common good, the human person, solidarity, authentic teachings on the family, and other Catholic insights on basic economic and political issues that will confront them throughout their lives.

As well as the lectures, there was a strong hand-on element included in the three-week programme: “Each week included opportunities for participants to enact the corporal works of mercy,” said Dr. William Fahey, the college President told me.  “’To serve, rather than be served’ has long encapsulated the essence of Christian leadership.  By volunteering at homeless shelters, food pantries, and other charities, students were encouraged to consider these acts as an essential part of Catholic living.” Students volunteered at several organizations, including the Nashua Soup Kitchen and Shelter, Friends of the Unborn Crisis Pregnancy Center, a refugee center in Manchester, NH, and other charities.

Fr Boucher's farm is situated a few miles north of Concord, in New Hampshire. He addressed the students at the college first, talking on the principles of leadership in the armed services, drawing on his many years as a Navy chaplain (he had the rank of Commander). Then, having inspired them to serve, a few days later he welcomed the students to his home…and put them to work! They all enthusiastically rolled up their sleeves and spent a sweaty and hardworking but satisfying day on the farm in the cause of the common good. The result of their sterling service was a clear pathway of several hundred yards running through the trees.

Here are some photographs. The first below is of Fr Boucher, addressing the 'troops' some days before. The next ones are of the farm: students with the track, before and after. Finally, yours truly surveying the work!

Prayer Cards and Prints from St Joseph's Flamigny

I would like to bring to your attention work from the Abbey of St Joseph de Clairval in Flamigny in deepest Dijon, France. Their workshop produces prints of prayer cards and devotional art of modern works in the style of French early gothic 13^th-century illuminated manuscripts. When I first decided I wanted to paint for the Church it was to the gothic that I was first attracted. I was not aware at that stage of anyone producing modern works in the gothic style so went first to the iconographic. Perhaps if I had known about these, I might have found myself in France rather than New Hampshire. You see these and others at their website, here.

The Assumption is shown left.The Annunciation

The Visitation

The Crowning of Mary

20 Mysteries of the Rosary

Seven Sorrows of St Joseph

The Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary

The Luminous Mysteries of the Rosary

Mary, Mother of Mercy!

How Golden is the Golden Section?

Whenever I talk about proportion and harmony in art and architecture, many assume that I am referring to the proportion known as the Golden Section (often indicated by the Greek letter Φ). When I started to investigate these things, I assumed that the Golden Section was important too. However, to my surprise, my investigations lead me to believe that although it was known to past societies and cultures, it was not as important as we assume today. In fact, the idea that it was used by the ancient Greeks, the medievals or masters of the High Renaissance is, as far as I can work out, largely a myth. I have described in detail in my course, the Way of Beauty at www.Pontifex.University and in my book of the same name, how important symbolic number, proportion and harmony (expressed numerically or geometrically) was for artists and architects in the Christian tradition and how they were seen as a manifestation of the cosmic liturgy. But, surprisingly, it seems that the Golden Section, Φ, isn’t part of that tradition. It is proportion based upon the mathematics of music that was much more important. Most of the books that I read justify their argument with a diagram, like the one shown left. In this diagram a grid is placed over a copy of Leonardo's self portrait drawing. The grid, to my knowledge, is not taken from information given by Leonardo himself in regard to this drawing, but is a modern superimposition. To me it looks like an array different rectangles, no doubt all relating to to Φ is some way, but otherwise arbitrarily chosen until their combination coincides with the main features of the drawing...and not very well at that. The eyes, the mouth, the tip of the nose, the chin (which is hidden) do not coincide with the lines drawn. This  misfit is typical. When you look at it, given the margin of error that required to make it fit, you could justify just about any proportion you chose to apply.

My feeling is that today's overemphasis of the historical importance of Φ results from a modern, neo-pagan worldview in which the natural world is seen as the ideal of beauty. This is in contrast with the tradition Christian view that the world, although good and beautiful, is fallen and points us to something greater. The Christian interest has always focused more on what the created world ought to be, rather than what it is; and to what it points us to, that is the ultimate standard of Beauty, God.

I have found no historical evidence where contemporary sources say that Φ was used in the design of any building before the 20th century. It was known to the ancient Greeks, but I don't see anywhere that they considered a proportion of great beauty. I have seen plenty of analyses of old buildings by modern commentators which claim that their analysis of the dimensions of the building support the hypothesis, but the margins of error are so great that these claims are not credible to me. Moreover, there are other traditional proportions, for example those referred to by Boethius, Plato, and Augustine which would fit more closely and we do have evidence that they were used in the design of buildings from the pre-Christian era up to the early 20th century.

If we assume that I am right and that the use of Φ in the past has been exaggerated in modern accounts of art history. Does this mean that it shouldn’t be used today? In my opinion, not at all! However, if we do decide to use it, it should be done so with discernment. We need to consider what precisely we feel that it symbolizes and how it relates to the rest of the Christian tradition of harmonious proportion. If we consider it, for example, as a symbol of a fallen, imperfect world, then it should not be used in isolation, but should always be used in conjunction with other proportions that allow it, to use a musical terminology, to resolve to a more perfect harmony. The ultimate test of its value, however, is not the theory that justifies it, it is the beauty of the buildings that employ it.

I have described the reasons why I am so skeptical about the use of the Golden Section much greater detail in the chapter Golden or Fallen? in my book, the Way of Beauty.

My mind is not closed on the matter - if someone can produce an account from an architect of any historical period who describes how he used this proportion in his design, then of course I will change my mind!

Aidan Hart's Icons in Fresco

When I was in my early thirties (quite late to be making these decisions) I made an earnest decision to try to learn icon painting. I telephoned the only icon painter I knew, someone whom I had met once about five years earlier. Since I had met him, Br Aidan had spent a number of years on Mt Athos and on returning to England had founded a hermitage, that of SS Anthony and Cuthbert in Shropshire, England. I asked him to teach me icon painting. It was interesting that in response he was interested in my reasons for wishing to paint, rather than my natural ability. He asked me first why I was interested in icons. I had converted to Catholicism just a couple of years earlier and I explained that I wanted to learn to paint to serve the Church. Then (and I can’t remember precisely how he phrased the next question) he asked me what, if anything was possible, I would like to do with my art. I told him that I wanted to be able to paint something like the Sistine Chapel that really gave glory to God on a grand scale. He didn’t laugh (which is what I was half expecting). I remember him saying, ‘This sounds good.’ Then he paused and said: ‘I’m frescoing the chapel at the hermitage at the moment. Would you like to come and stay with me and help me?’ This was extraordinarily generous of him. So off I went to stay with him for a week and this was my introduction to frescoing. I was shown how to mix the plaster, how to apply it, and then how to paint onto the partially hardened plaster. He had built a wooden container about 2ft square and 2” deep to contain an area of plaster. As an exercise, I painted on this a copy of a Minoan fresco from Crete. After this introduction to the medium, I assisted him with the chapel itself, mostly lifting and grunt work. The most valuable lesion was watching Aidan doing the painting. Aidan was much better at painting than me, but also, as a result of being a hard-working hermit and farmer, he was also in much better shape than me. My recollection is that I was not particularly helpful and did most of the grunting, while he did most of the lifting. Nevertheless, by the end of the week he did allow me to assist in some minor detailing on the chapel wall and painted some faux drapery. He had a tiny chapel, perhaps 15ft square, which he frescoed from floor to ceiling. The iconostasis separated a sanctuary about 4ft wide from the body of the chapel. Once it was finished, to see a church painted from floor to ceiling took the breath away. Fresco is a medium that is not seen very often today. A summary of the method can be seen on Aidan’s website here, along with more of his work. There are some considerations that ought to be considered. First, the pigment is painted onto wet plaster which can be worked on for about a day after application. This means that there is always visible join between one day’s work and the next. The easiest way to stop this being too much of a distraction is to consider how much you can do in a day and allow the plaster line to coincide with a line in the final composition. It also means that in order to cover large areas (even those areas in this chapel would be very large paintings if put onto panel or canvas) the artist needs to be able to work expertly and fast. Aidan is both expert and fast, but even it is noticeable that he rations the time-consuming modeled areas to those that really need it, the faces. In the areas of drapery, for example, he relies far more on flat colour and line to describe form than he would in for example, his panel icons. This is fine for icon painting, which relies on line strongly to describe form. In more naturalistic styles, the ability to summarise form into simple shapes of tone with minimal blending is necessary to cover at speed those areas that are not the primary focus of interest. This is immensely difficult. This is why one can never cease marvel at the skill of, for example, Michelangelo or Raphael in their work in the Vatican. Also, deep shadow is difficult to portray in fresco. In this respect it is rather like egg tempera. Dark colours are possible, as we can see in Aidan's work, but they tend to look flat, rather like soot sitting on the surface, rather than creating an illusion of deep space in the way that a transparent glaze of dark oil paint does. This is not a problem for the iconographic form which deliberately seeks to destroy the illusion of space. It also makes it very good for decorative or patterned work which relies on flat areas of colour and tone that contrast with each other. In those forms that rely on deep shadow, the problem is more difficult. The naturalistic painters particularly those working in the styles of the High Renaissance and the baroque had to adapt by learning to work in a higher register of colour as effectively a half of the spectrum of tone is denied to them. This involves great skill. I wrote a couple of weeks ago about the work of Tiepolo, which has a distinctive light, airy feel. The high register colours he uses in his oil paintings look to me like oil versions of those that you see in fresco. Tiepolo was an expert in both media. I cannot prove this, but it has occurred to me that perhaps the restrictions placed by fresco open up the route to the developments he made in his oils. All the frescoes shown are by Aidan Hart at www.aidanharticons.com

Fra Angelico and the Gothic

When I first decided that I’d like to try to paint in the service of the Church I decided I wanted to paint like Fra Angelic (or perhaps Duccio). I suppose you might as well aim high! Fra Angelico, who worked in the 15th century, had the balance of naturalism and idealism that appealed to me. It seemed just right for prayer. It’s just an anecdotal observation, but when I meet people who have the same outlook in regard to the liturgy and orthodoxy in the Church, it seems that invariably they feel the same about him; and John Paul II described him in his Letter to Artists as one whose painting is ‘an eloquent example of aesthetic contemplation sublimated in faith’. Unfortunately, the late-gothic style of Fra Angelico is not a living tradition and I couldn’t find anyone who painted that way who could teach me. I decided that as it appeared to sit stylistically between the Romanesque (which is an iconographic form) and the baroque and these were forms that are taught today, to some degree, I would learn both and try to work out how to combine the two. I am still working on that now!

What is it that characterizes gothic figurative art? We start to see a change in figurative art around 1200AD. The departure from the iconographic prototype occurred due to a different sense of the reliability of human experience. Information received through the senses was seen much more as a possible means of the grasping of truth. Tied in with this is the belief that the world we live in, although fallen and imperfect, is nevertheless good, ordered and beautiful. So there may be evil and suffering in the world, and it may not be as good and beautiful as it ought to be, but it is nevertheless God’s creation and still good and beautiful.

This change caused both the rise of naturalism in art and the development of science fostered by the Church. I have read of two main reasons for this. One is the incorporation of the philosophy of re-discovered works of Aristotle (who trusted the senses more than his teacher, Plato) into Christian thinking, by figures such as Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas. This provided the intellectual basis for the development. Second is the spirituality of St Francis of Assisi. He loved nature as the work of God and as Franciscan ideas spread so did an enthusiasm for, and curiosity about, nature.

Let’s look at a very famous fresco by Fra Angelico of the Annunciation on the walls of a cell at San Marco in Florence. He consciously employs some of the developments of the new naturalism: there is cast shadow, there is single-point perspective creating a sense of depth in the covered cloister; the archangel is in profile. But there are also stylistic aspects that we are accustomed to seeing in iconography: the figures are painted in the middle distance, the edges of each shape are all sharply defined and the colour is evenly applied (unlike the baroque which has selectively blurred or sharp edges and selective use of colour or monochrome, usually sepia, rendering).

If we examine the further, we can see that the light source that is casting shadow is from the left. If cast light were the only source, the face of the Archangel would be dark, yet it is bright. Fra Angelico is showing the face of the Archangel glowing with the uncreated light of holiness, which is what we are used to seeing in the Byzantine iconographic form.

I was giving a lecture once about this painting and a student asked me about the shadow. He pointed out that Our Lady is a saint, he could see that her face wasn’t in shadow and there was strong halo, representing he uncreated light coming from her. But also pointed out that there is a strong cast shadow on the wall behind her. Wouldn’t you expect her radiance to obliterate that, he asked? I agreed with him, you would. But I couldn’t say why Fra Anglelico had painted it like this. I speculated that perhaps it was due to the fact that there were two light sources from the left – the natural light and the uncreated light from the angel and that the combined intensity of light would cause the shadow against the wall. I had to admit even as I said it that my answer sounded contrived. Nevertheless, it did seem deliberate. Another Annunciation, shown below, has the same shadows.

He suggested an answer: Fra Angelico was a Dominican, and not a Franciscan. At this time the question of her Immaculate Conception had not been decided and the Dominicans did not accept the Immaculate Conception and were in dispute with the Franciscans over the issue. Perhaps Fra Angelico was making a theological point to the Franciscans, he suggested by dimming her light ever-so slightly. This was an ingenious suggestion, and I couldn’t say that it wasn’t what Fra Angelico had in mind. I certainly preferred it to my answer!

Later, someone in another class, a priest, gave the most convincing reason so far. Luke 1 tells us that the words of the angel Gabriel were:, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.”

What makes Oxford University Great?

Beauty, Grace and Superabundance in Education When I was studying in painting and drawing in Florence I started to wonder why we haven’t yet seen a modern Master. We all knew that we weren’t up to the standards of the past great Masters, such as Velazquez or Reni. Judge for yourself, I have attached photos of my own work. I must admit I am quite pleased with them and it is an amazing improvement in only one year of training and as such a tribute to the quality of the teaching in the school. But I know I’m no Velazquez.

My story aside, why don’t we see better artists coming through? Many in Florence felt that some of the training methods had been lost. Others suggested that we didn’t train for long enough and didn't start early enough in life. There might be some truth in this but I don’t think these are the main reasons. When I thought about it, something intrigued me: Velazquez surpassed the skills of his teacher (a man called Francesco Pacheco). I had always thought of education as a process of a teacher passing on knowledge and advice to a pupil on the basis of experience and their own education. If this was so, I realized, education would necessarily mean a diminution of knowledge from one generation to the next. No one can pass on everything they know so they are always necessarily passing on directly less than they were given. One would expect Pacheco to be better than Velazquez. Why was the reverse true?

The answer, it seems to me, is grace. Some might say not grace, genius. But then the question as to what genius is arises and I think that points to the same answer. A genius has a special gift from God and the ability to direct it well under the guidance of inspiration. Every education, whatever is being taught, therefore, should be designed so as to maximize inspiration from God during the process.  Velazquez’s training took place in a Christian society that understood how an artistic training could engender openness to inspiration and the humility to cooperate with it when it comes. First, specific to art, the baroque tradition was understood to be Christian (although not called ‘baroque’ yet), so the artists understood how to use the visual vocabulary they were being taught. I was taught the stylistic elements justified by an appeal to the tradition and good taste, not to theology. So we knew what the masters did, but not why. Second, the environment is made as beautiful as possible in accordance with tradition harmony and proportion, which is a physical manifestation of the rhythms of the prayer of the Church, the liturgy. And third, they prayed for inspiration in accordance with these rhythms.

I found out later that all education during this period and prior to the Enlightenment followed certain patterns. Exactly the same principles of beauty and prayer were the basis of the education in Oxford and Cambridge. The educational community of each college prayed the daily rhythms of the liturgy of the hours throughout the day. Furthermore, at Oxford and Cambridge this continued even after the Reformation and, perhaps surprisingly, continues to this day. The Anglican office of Evensong is sung regularly at the colleges of the university and the grace that this bring into the establishment for the benefit of the students should not be underestimated. It has often struck me as strange that these two universities should still be rated so highly in the world when they are relatively small by modern standards, and in a country that is no longer as influential as it once was. They punch well above their weight. Part of the answer is the sheer beauty of the buildings of the university. People want to go and live there, and so they attract better teachers and better students. But it is also, I would say that they maintain the form of a liturgical rhythm in their academic year, built around Christmas and Easter; and in the daily structures by having the liturgy of the hours in Anglican form. What we are seeing is the ordering of time and space according to heavenly principles for the benefit of the students (though I doubt more than a handful at Oxford are aware of this). They stand out today because these structures were abolished in continental Europe with the Napoleonic occupation and modern American universities, on the whole followed the continental model of university when they were established.

It should be said that of course God can inspire whomsoever he pleases and is not limited by the sacraments. There is no accounting for who might be able to cooperate with grace in this regard, even if they seem to resist it in all areas of life. For this reason, there is always the possibility of a wonderful artist, for example, popping up out of nowhere, even today. But as a principle of education that will give us more than the occasional genius it makes sense to create an institution that makes it easier for the student, rather than more difficult, to cooperate with grace.

The principle that is being invoked is one of superabundance – the creation of something good out of nothing. It was described by Pope Benedict in his latest encyclical, Caritas in Veritate. Just as it is possible to harness it to make a better education in a university, it can be used in any institution. In his encyclical, the Pope was talking about business and the creation of wealth. He was giving us a clue to a life of great abundance, yet few from what I could tell seemed to see it as I did. I refer to this in more detail in the same article referenced above.

We have done our best to invoke these principles at Thomas More College. Not just in our art classes for the undergraduates and the summer program, but also in the life of the students. We communicate the value of the full liturgical experience to every aspect of their lives. Lauds and Vespers take place daily during the term and students are encouraged to participate. It is important that there is no sense of obligation in this regard, outside what is necessary to the teaching of it. It must be something that is freely participated in, in order to have value. Our experience is that a core few come as often as they can, some others come regularly but not daily and of course some never come. However, I am sure that the fact that it is happening is helping the whole community, even those who don’t participate. This is fine. I unknowingly benefited from this at Oxford where I was a student for four years, never once even entering the chapel the whole time I was there. But perhaps this is in part what drew me to a later conversion. Certainly on leaving Oxford where I felt part of a community in a way I never felt before, I felt a sense of desolation that increased and only left me once I converted. Then it was replaced by the full source of joy, something even greater, rooted in the Church.

The photographs, incidentally, are of Oxford. At the top we have the grand Magdalen College, and the two at the bottom are of the smaller but charming front quad of my college, St Edmund Hall.

Giovanni Battista Tiepolo and the Immaculate Conception

The baroque style exemplified

It might be said of Venetian painter Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (1696-1770) that he is one of the last great painters of sacred art who painted in the baroque tradition (when he died, in Spain, he was swimming against the neo-classical current). Tiepolo is a master who added his own developments to the form of the baroque as it developed in the 17th century, but without compromising on the principles of the tradition. This makes him worthy of attention today.

The mark of a living tradition is that it able to reapply its principles without compromising on those aspects that define it; when it does this it always speaks to and of its time. This is different from pastiche, which is a rigid copying of style. (Although frankly I think pastiche is underrated – I’d take decent pastiche of the 17th century baroque over modernism every time.)

This style of the Immaculate Conception was developed in Spain. Francisco Pacheco (1564-1644) who was the teacher of Spanish baroque masters Alonso Cano and Velazquez (he was also Velazquez’s father-in-law), described the iconography of the Immaculate Conception in his influential book, The Art of Painting (Arte de la Pintura) published posthumously in 1649. (By the way, I have only ever seen small excerpts of this book in English and have not been able to get hold of a translation of the full document. Can anyone help here at all?)

With reference to the Immaculate Conception, Pacheco wrote: "The version that I follow is the one that is closest to the holy revelation of the Evangelist [John writing in Revelation] and approved by the Catholic Church on the authority of the sacred and holy interpreters...In this loveliest of mysteries Our Lady should be painted as a beautiful young girl, 12 or 13 years old, in the flower of her youth...And thus she is praised by the husband: tota pulchra es amica mea, a text that is always written in this painting. She should be painted wearing a white tunic and a blue mantle...She is surrounded by the sun, an oval sun of white and ochre, which sweetly blends into the sky. Rays of light emanate from her head, around which is a ring of twelve stars. An imperial crown adorns her head, without, however, hiding the stars. Under her feet is the moon."

He also specified that her hands are to be folded on her bosom or joined in prayer. The sun is to be expressed by a flood of light around her. The moon under her feet is to have the horns pointing downwards, because illuminated from above. Round her are to hover cherubim bearing roses, palms, and lilies; the head of the bruised and vanquished dragon is to be under her feet. She ought to have the cord of St. Francis as a girdle, ‘because in this guise she appeared to Beatriz de Silva’, a noble Franciscan nun, who was favored by a celestial vision of the Madonna in her beatitude.

All these accessories are not absolutely and rigidly required and the 17th century Spanish artist, Murillo, who is perhaps the painter most known for the Conception, strayed from Pacheco without being considered the less orthodox for it. An example is shown right. His moon, for example, is sometimes full, or when a crescent, the horns point upwards instead of downwards. I prefer Tiepolo's Immaculate Conception to this or any of Murillo's that I have seen.

The rose symbolizes Our Lady, and the white colour, as with that of the lily, symbolizes the purity of the Virgin. Palms, deriving from Palm Sunday, symbolize spiritual victory and triumph over death (often used with martyrs). In this case it is emphasizing Mary’s crucial role in the victory achieved by her Son. The dove, of course, symbolizes the Holy Ghost.

In this example, Tiepolo varies the focus and where he mutes the colour he uses tonal variation to describe form, in characteristic baroque mode. Look, for example, at the mantle. This is intended to be seen in our mind’s eye as uniformly blue in accordance with Pacheco’s specifications. However, only part of it in his painting of it is actually blue. Much is rendered tonally in brown ochre and sepia.

Tiepolo is noted for giving his paintings a lightness and airiness that did not exist in those works by artists who worked in the previous century. He has achieved this by using colours in a higher register than many of his 17th-century counterparts would have done – more pale blue, bright yellow and orange for example. Also he deftly varied the colour that he used for the purely tonal description. As mentioned in connection with the mantle, he uses sepia and brown ochre. Elsewhere he uses yellow ochre. Contrast this with, for example, Rembrandt’s St Bartholomew: all his tonal description is in a dark sepia, which creates a sense of heavy shadow wherever it is used. Tiepolo used quite a range of colours as well. For example in his John the Baptist Preaching, we see him modelling tonal areas in blue-greys and green-greys. all this helps to lend a mood in a Tiepolo that is more joyful and less somber than a Rembrandt.

Rembrandt - St Bartholomew

Tiepolo - John the Baptist Preaching

The Work (and Blog) of Matthew Collins

Matt Collins is an American, originally from Chicago, who was my teacher when I studied portrait painting in Florence. Aside from the daily critiques of my work, he was always very happy to answer questions about the baroque style and direct me to further reading. He has been therefore, very influential in giving me what understanding that I have of this great Christian tradition. I had lost contact with him after I left Florence, until I was asked to be on the advisory board of the Foundation for Sacred Arts. When I looked at the works the Foundation had presented at a recently staged exhibition, there was one submission that caught my eye as being consistent with the baroque tradition. It was painted by Matt and it is the one shown here.

He no longer lives in Florence, still lives and works in Italy. He paints, sculpts and does traditional etching with great skill. In addition to this I do not know anyone who knows more about the teaching methods and techniques of the High Renaissance and baroque periods than Matt, so I would enthusiastic direct all readers to it his recently created blog, here.

Some regular visitors to my blog may recognize his name. He has contributed detailed comments about technique and teaching methods to several of my articles, all of which add greatly to what I have written. His first blog posting is particularly interesting. It is about printmaking and he includes several examples he has produced himself which I have reproduced here.

Using Boethian Proportion for Better Web Design

The Via Pulchritudinis or Way of Beauty has application in anything that can be designed and one expert website designer, Adam Solove,  has started to incorporate these traditional ideas into what he does. He has written about the project here. He says that the results are better and simpler to implement than the design methods he was shown as a student: something called a Swiss grid; or the Golden Mean, which is the ratio observed in nature so often. Adam has replaced this with one of the Boethian series referred to in my article on Harmony and Proportion, called the Fourth of Four. As he points out, this is the same as the famous Fibonacci series, named after the Italian mathematician Fibonacci, who is credited with introducing the series into Western mathematics in 1202...but Boethius's De Arithmetica,  in which it appears also, dates from the 6th century AD and so predates Fibonacci by several hundred years. And Boethius tells us that he got the series from works by the ancient Greeks before him.

I am very excited by what Adam is doing and encourage readers to go to his blog, here, to read more about what he is doing. I can't show you a photo of his first example as it is for a website that won't be launched for some time yet. In what I saw he devised his page so that it was 8 units across and then divided used relative lengths of 5 and 3 up and down the page. This is the broad layout. Then he subdivided these blocks into 3, 2, 1 relative lengths for smaller inserts, subsections and so on.

The Fourth of Four, like the Fibonacci series, tends towards the Golden Mean proportion as the number of terms increases. It is interesting that the modern interest is on the end of the series, that is, the Golden Mean. The ancients were uninterested in this aspect it seems, but chose instead to focus on the beginning of the series. The Church Fathers such as St Augustine identified the proportions given at the beginning of the series (3:5:8) with the perfect proportions for the ideal man, who is Christ and who embodies the harmony of the cosmos.

It is a personal view, but I question whether the Golden Mean is in fact worthy of the appellation 'Golden'. It was only in the Renaissance that it was called 'Golden' and my research suggests that the level of its use before the the 20th century has been exaggerated. It was only ever used consciously used by artists occasionally and in the Renaissance when the term Golden was coined. (This is despite all those diagrams in art books with grids placed over photographs of the of Parthenon or the pyramids in Egypt). But that's a discussion for another day.

Why is there this different focus one wonders? I would account for it by considering the difference between traditional Christian and the modern secular worldview of nature and man's place in it. Modern man looks at what nature is and considers it perfect (as long as man hasn't messed around with it). The Church Fathers on the other hand observed nature but sought to perfect it by considering what it ought to be. They considered the world in which we live to be  beautiful, yes, but nevertheless imperfect due to the Fall. Therefore, they sought to emulate perfect nature rather than fallen, imperfect nature. Employing the Golden Mean, which is the modern obession, is to emulate fallen nature. (I have written about this here.)

So for the ancients the Ideal proportions at the beginning of the Fourth of Four are not employed as an approximation to the Golden Mean. It is the other way round. What we now call the Golden Mean  (the ancients never called it this) if it represents anything it is the Fall and is better understood as a degraded version of the ideal proportion.

Adam has kindly offered to help me create our accompanying website, which I hope to get going in the next few weeks. This will be an ordered presentation of the whole Way of Beauty vision; and an archive of the written material both from the blog and of additional longer articles that I wish to post, which I will start referring to in the blog. We will work together on this project and make it open to fellow traveller on the via pulchritudinis.

The Music of George Sarah

Drum, bass 'n violins I would like to bring to your attention the music of composer George Sarah. George is a Catholic who lives in Los Angeles and since 1985 has regularly been commissioned by film and TV companies to compose scores for their programming. I won’t go through the names, but his portfolio is impressive. He works for household name shows, as his MySpace page reveals. I came across him when I first visited Los Angeles about 4 years ago. A Catholic friend had organized for me to teach an icon painting class at St Monica’s Church in West Hollywood. George just happened to hear about this and keen to help, arranged promotional interviews for community  radio and TV. You can see the TV show through the panel, right. The music for the opening sequence is one of George’s pieces. This was filmed before I was recruited by Thomas More College and moved to New Hampshire. He writes music for his separately released CDs (or whatever the latest mode of recording via computer is!) and performs his work in concert. His style has been described as electronic chamber music. He performs with a traditional string trio, but accompanies them on electronic keyboards and drum machines. It has a haunting quality and a modern feel but, and I think it is more than simply the choice of instruments, it has a sense of traditional form about it as well.

If we are to evangelise the culture, then it must be rooted in the Mass. For the Mass, it is important that we employ traditional forms that are united to the liturgy. However, once we go out of the church building it is legitimate, I think to develop them into other profane (ie non-sacred) forms that grab people and then direct them towards the Mass. We are required to develop a culture of beauty that both speaks to modern man and opens up the hearts of men to God’s grace. George is consciously seeking to do this by working within the world of popular music.

If asked he will talk freely and enthusiastically about his conversion, which he attributes to Mary; and his desire to draw people into the Church. However, within the context of his music it is through form rather than words that he seeks to do it. He aims for beauty that elevates the souls of men to God. He is self taught and composes by developing melodies on the keyboard and then building the harmony and counterpoint around it instinctively. To my mind George is doing something very important here. While I firmly believe that the most beautiful music is that which is united to the Mass, plainchant and polyphony, not all are attracted to it immediately. It is an adage in all evangelization that you have to meet people where they are and take them to somewhere better. George’s music heard by many who would never hear Palestrina and is quite different structurally, but I do feel that it is nudging their souls in the Palestrina’s direction.

Some argue that pop and good music are a contradiction in terms. Certainly, I would say, much pop music is detrimental to the soul (and intentionally so). But it is not true of all it. What opened me up to classical music (and who knows, the beauty of God and my eventual conversion some years later) was the music of a band in the 1970s who were writing rock music but consciously employing classical, rather than blues based forms. The early music of Genesis (we are talking pre1976 here, for example the track, The Firth of Fifth) was cutting edge and trendy at the time so as a teenage schoolboy I could contemplate listening to it. I would never, ever, have chosen to listen to ‘Christian rock’, which just made me cringe with embarrassment…and it still does.  Genesis did not write their music as an evangelical tool at all (none are Christians to my knowledge) but its use of traditional form, with intelligently applied rhythms pulled me in and sent me off in the right direction. I have spoken to a number of people since who have said the same. I doubt that 1970s rock will pull in many today, but the idea is still good, and this is what George is doing in a current idiom. It is interesting that he does not see his music as something that is used the context of the Mass. Firmly orthodox, he loves the Latin Mass and would always want to see the traditional forms of plainchant and polyphony.

George was recently commissioned to write an original score for performance at the Los Angeles Film Festival. He could choose whatever film he wished. He picked the 1920s silent film, The Passion of Joan of Arc. This is accepted in all circles as classic and so there was no hesitation in accepting his choice, even though it has Catholic themes. George just had to write the music and he could let the silent film do the talking! You can see and hear the show on August 7th this summer in LA, details here.

Matt Alderman, Illustrator!

Matt Alderman describes himself first as an architect (he trained at Notre Dame). He is a Catholic and a writes about sacred architecture for the New Liturgical Movement website. He also has his own blog about all matters Catholic and which is worth a visit, here. It is called the Shrine of the Holy Whapping (don’t ask me what the title means!). He talks about his art as though its just a hobby  on the side, but I find it interesting. He has, in my opinion, a natural sense of composition and his lines flow gracefully and rhythmically. He fills up the space without it being too cluttered. In this regard it reminds me of the English artist from the turn of the last century, Aubrey Beardsley. There is also something of another English artist, Arthur Rackham, about his work.

Although I can say with certainty I like his work, I find it difficult to pigeonhole. Clearly, the subject matter reflects his faith, featuring lots of saints (and he has Catholic figures such as Dante there too). But the style is not one that which I would normally associate with sacred art (very different from Beardsley, for example who evokes a turn of the century decadence). I couldn’t see Matts's work in a church as liturgical art, for instance, or even an icon corner in the home as a focus for quiet prayer. It doesn’t make we want to pray. But it does draw me in and make me curious about the personality of the person depicted. These seem to me to be just the qualities that are needed in illustrations, which accompany text. I wonder, Matt, do you get any requests in this regard?

I should explain that I am not downgrading his work by describing it thus. Much of the quality artwork of the last century has come from illustrators.  This point was made to me years ago when I was working as a lowly freelance sub-editor at the The Sunday Times in London. The art critic, Frank Whitford (who was a charming gentleman) always used to include reviews of illustrators’ art exhibitions in his weekly round-up. I can remember him reviewing a show of the work of E.H. Shepherd, for example, the creator of the images of the characters in the Winnie the Pooh books. I asked him why he included so many illustrator's shows. He said it was because illustrators were, in contrast to most artists nowadays, trained in the skills of drawing and painting and were directing their skills i conformity to an external purpose (rather than self-promotion). Consequently they very often produced the most interesting and original work around.

Above, from top: Dante; St Augustine.

Below, from top: St Catherine disputing with 50 pagans in Alexandria; St Peter Martyr; St John Kemble; Archangel Raphael.

Just What Do Catholics Believe About Icons?

Are icons really superior to other forms of sacred art?

The growth of interest of icons, identified with the Eastern Church, has helped to ignite a greater movement towards the re-establishment of authentic Christian art in our churches. This is good. Very good.

However, the same process that has lead to a greater appreciation of the importance of icons has created as well, it seems, a misplaced mystique about icons to the detriment of a genuine appreciation of our own traditions. Whenever I write about icons I get responses from people who are very often Roman Rite Catholics who tell me that Catholics can’t paint icons, only Russians or Greeks can do it (even though the fact is that it is as much part of the Western tradition as the Eastern). Some tell me that only religious can paint them despite the fact that I know accepted and thriving icon painters who are not monks or nuns. I am told that I should not say that an artist ‘paints’ icons, rather that he ‘writes’ them; even though my teacher, who is as Orthodox as they come and a respected authority in the Orthodox world, refers to this pedantic insistence on the word 'write' as ‘a bit precious’. (I am told that this happens because the word for write and paint is the same in Greek.) And, perhaps most importantly, people speak of icons as though the saint depicted is really present in the icon. So what does the Church really believe about icons? I have done my best to find out.

As I understand it, the orthodox view was articulated in the 7^th Ecumenical Council and with a later clarification by the Synod of Constantinople, which finally closed the iconoclastic period in AD843. This is celebrated today in the Eastern Church as the Feast of the Triumph of Orthodoxy. The Church Father who expresses this is St Theodore the Studite. Theodore was abbot of the Studios Monastery in Constantinople and he is revered in the Eastern Church as well as Western. (He is probably more known in the Eastern Church.) What is ironic is that the error of attributing to the icon a presence of the saint by iconophiles (those who were in favour of them) is one of the things that the iconoclasts objected to so strongly that it provoked them into seeking to eliminate the use of sacred images altogether. Theodore, like the iconoclasts, opposed this view; but he provided an alternative theology that justified the use of sacred images.

 According to Theodore:

1. The essence of the saint is not present in the icon. It is just wood, gold, paint etc. The connection to the saint is made in our minds, especially through the imagination, when we see the characteristic likeness portrayed. So if the icon is covered up, for example, by metal cladding, it has no sacramental value (unless the cladding has been panelbeaten into a likeness, in which case it is the cladding that evokes the saint for us). Theodore illustrates with the point that once the icon becomes damaged so that the likeness is destroyed, it is just thrown away.

2. Icons, when worthy of veneration, are  like sacramentals.  Their value is that they predispose us to grace, they are not themselves channels of grace. This distinguishes them from sacraments.

3. Theodore’s theology applies as much to any form of art in which the characteristic likeness appears. Therefore the view that what we now consider to be the iconographic style is a higher form than the other traditions of the Western church, such as the gothic and the baroque, cannot be justified. Theodore spoke of 'icons', but only in the broad sense of the meaning of the  in Greek, meaning ‘image’. He did not refer to specific styles or traditions beyond that. Accordingly, his theology, applies as much to gothic and baroque art (the other two traditions cited by Pope Benedict XVI as authentically liturgical in his book the Spirit of the Liturgy) as it does to the iconographic style; it can also be applied to statues as it does two-dimensional images.

Furthermore, it should be pointed out that there is no canonical or dogmatic statement or account by any Church Father, Eastern or Western that I know of that that says that the iconographic style, as we now refer to it, is inherently superior to any other. Like the discussion of Theodore, the debate in the early Church was about the validity of images in general.

It may be a surprise for some to discover the theology of the iconographic style is it is generally articulated today (and which does distinguish the iconographic style from other forms of sacred art) is a modern development and did not exist until the 20th century. This doesn't make it wrong, but it does make it new. We should be aware however, that it was developed by very anti-Catholic Russian Orthodox thinkers based in Paris (such as Ouspensky and Lossky). So while they did some great work in their assessment of their own tradition, they spoke in ignorance of other traditions. While their dismissal of other liturgical traditions may be fair from an Orthodox point of view (that is for the Orthodox to say) but has no basis in the teaching of the Catholic Church.

Eastern Rite Catholics might legitimately and reasonably say that the only form of sacred art that is appropriate for the Eastern Rite is the icon, and this might affect their choice of image for an icon corner in their homes. But it is just as legitimate for Roman Catholics look to their authentic liturgical traditions (which includes the iconographic) and consider them appropriate for the Roman Rite, and for use their own home.

To read an account of the theology of icons of Theodore the Studite, his works are still available. For an excellent summary of the whole debate regarding sacred art which includes an account of the theology of images develope by both Theodore and St John of Damascus, I recommend God's Human Face by Cardinal Cristophe Schoenborn, published by Ignatius Press.

The icon at the top is the Triumph of Orthodoxy.

The Russian Icon Museum, Clinton, Massachusetts

Russian icon style contrasted with Greek My icon painting class recently made a trip to the Russian Icon museum in Clinton, Massachussetts (perhaps 1 hour west of downtown Boston).  Certainly, this is the best collection that I have ever seen (I have not been to Russia or Greece). It is only recently established (2006) and displays the private collection of Massachusetts industrialist, Gordon Lankton. The collection includes more than 400 Russian icons and is one of the largest private collections outside Russia. What is particularly exciting for me whenever I go to the museum is the chance to see a number of very large icons from one of the glorious periods of Russian icon painting in the 16^th century. I shall talk about some examples from the museum in describing the Russian style.I shall talk about some examples from the museum in describing the Russian style.

The one that that I love is the Christ in Majesty which dates from 1580 and is about 5ft high (if you click the image on the right, it will enlarge).This is one of the Christ- 'Pantocrator' images, which means all powerful or omnipotent. Sitting on a carved throne he blesses with this right hand. He is surrounded by the oval mandorla and two curved squares forming an octagonal star. The Mandorla represents heaven and so with it Christ is placed outside the earthly realm of existence. The octagon represents the 'eighth day' of Creation, by which Christ instituted the new order. In the corners of one square are the four Evangelists taking the gospel to the four corners of the world. The cherubim around the throne, contained by the mandorla, and which represents the world's angels . These are rendered in monochrome (indigo, vermillion or green) by elegant tonal work in black and white over the base colour.

In some icons, the Russian style can appear simple at first glance. The figures are less modeled than, for example, the Greek or Byzantine style (the 14th century Annunciation shown left is in the Greek style). The Russian icons describe rely far more on line to describe form. The 'colouring in', is done by using multiple washes of transparent paint, rather like watercolor washes. The variations of color and tone that result are subtle. This is apparent in, for example, the icon of St Nicholas shown, below right, which dates from 1525.

The medium for each painting is egg tempera (where the pigment is bound in egg yolk) and once it is dry it is impermeable to water. It means that, in contrast to watercolour, for example, you can have almost any number of layers of paint. It is not unusual to have 15 washes. When painting transluscent layers of paint, one has the choice of painting a glaze (a dark transparent layer over lighter tone) or a scumbles (a light tone over dark). When used skillfully, the combinations of glazes and scumbles produce a brilliant jewel-like quality that glistens when light is shone directly onto the surface. As light is incident upon the surface, some is transmitted further into the icon and some reflected back at the viewer. This happens at the interface of each layer, so the light that strikes the eye of the observer is an aggregate of rays that have penetrated and been reflected off, say, 15 different layers. This effect of the light emerging from different depths within the surface is to give the sense of luminescence, ie that it is a primary light source. This rarely comes out in photographs and is strongest under flickering candle light. The control of these effects is quite a skill. Furthermore, if the artist is going to rely so heavily on the placement of line for the description of form, it means that while there is, relatively, quite a large margin for error in your washes of paint, the lines have to be very accurately placed. They must be applied with the control of a calligrapher, narrowing and widening rhythmically in accordance with the curvature of the plane that it describes. It is the subtle control of the flow and ebb of the line that gives the painting its grace and beauty. I have often thought that a good training for an iconographer might include some Chinese calligraphy. It was this thought that lead me to experiment with Chinese brushes when I paint icons, which I now use because I like their ability to produce a fine point and hold a large amount of paint without compromising control. (They also come a lot cheaper than the usual recommendation of Kolinsky sable watercolor brushes!)

Something else that I find fascinating in the museum are the modern, hand-painted reproductions (right down to the effects of age) of famous icons by Rublev and Dionysius, two legendary names amongst icon painters. They tell me that they are the only copies in existence, and they are certainly convincing. It is fascinating, for example, to see life-size (say 4ft, I forget precisely) Rublev’s Trinity. I wouldn’t normally rave about copies, but I think these are worth seeing if you can't get to Russian. I was able to see closehand (as in nose against the icon) one of the effects that Rublev uses so skillfully. This is his counter-intuitive use of tone to describe form. If one looks for example at the angel on the right in the Hospitality of Abraham, otherwise known as the Trinity, we can see green cloth draped over each knee. The highest point of the knee is sparkling with white highlights. The usual approach in iconography is to describe form by gradually darkening as you move away from the highpoints into the ‘valleys’ until you reach the deepest recesses, which are also the darkest in tone. So one might expect white running into pale yellow, which in turn blends into light green which blends finally into dark green or even blue. However, Rublev reverses the order in the mid-tones. The tone directly under the white is green, and the next tone, which should be darker still is pale yellow. Yet we still are able to read the form. The cloth still looks as though it is draped over the knee. It creates the effect of a light, translucent cloth almost floating over the form of the angel.See more information about the Russian Icon Museum at www.museumofrussianicons.org

Images below: the modern replica of Rublev's Trinity; a Greek Annunciation, 14th century (this one is not in the musuem it is shown for comparison).

Baptism of Christ, dated 1780

The Icons of Sr Petra Clare

When Pope Benedict XVI spoke recently to assembled artists (in the broadest sense of the term) in Rome, he was echoing John Paul II and Paul VI in calling for a new culture of beauty. Benedict emphasised strongly, perhaps even more strongly than his predecessors, the importance of the evangelization of the whole culture and how beauty is a principle that can inform all human activity – work and leisure as well as worship. When we work beautifully, we work gracefully ie with God’s grace, and we are travelling on the ‘via pulchritudinis’ - the Way of Beauty - which leads us ultimately to God and attracts others to Him.

If this broader evangelization of the culture is to happen, it must begin with orthodox, dignified and beautiful liturgy. It must, in my opinion be closely followed by the art, architecture and music that is united to it. This will set the form that becomes the model upon which all aspects of the culture are based, just as it did in the past.

At the moment, the re-establishment of iconography is slightly further ahead than that of naturalistic Western art (as a sacred art form) and our Eastern brethren are setting the pace in this respect. Like Western art, iconography (even in the East), had degenerated under the influence of the Enlightenment.  (For further discussion on this see the article about icons, here). Its resurgence began first in the Eastern Church in the mid 20th century, with figures such as the Greek artist Photius Kontoglou and the Russian émigré based in France, Gregory Kroug. Under their influence, the next generations of iconographers have come through. The Western Church has lagged behind slightly in this respect, perhaps 50 years (maybe hampered by the difficulties in its liturgy). However, just as we see light at the end of the liturgical tunnel now in the West with what I have heard people refer to as the ‘Benedictine Restoration’ (as in Pope Benedictine XVI), we do now see Catholic iconographers are beginning to emerge. One is Sr Petra Clare, who is a Benedictine nun based in a skete in the Scottish Highlands. It is a bus ride northwest of Inverness in a village called Cannich and it is a truly beautiful spot to visit if you get a chance. Here are some examples of her work. You also can see her website here. I first became aware of her work through visits to Pluscarden Abbey near Elgin in northern Scotland. She was commissioned by the abbey to paint two large icons, a John the Baptist (or John the Forerunner) and a St Andrew (seen here). They are facing the monks in the choir and visitors sitting in the transcepts have to strain their necks slightly to see them, but it’s worth the effort.

Sr Petra's style is probably closest to that of the Russian school. When I have written about her work in the past, some have questioned the validity of having an Eastern style in the Western liturgy. Shouldn't we, they say, use some of our own iconographic traditions? After all we have Carolingian, Ottonian, Celtic and Romanesque styles that all conform to the iconographic. My thoughts are that we have to start somewhere good, which Sr Petra does, and there has always been cross fertilisation in iconographic styles. Also, the Romanesque itself, was a style formed by contact with the East and when it began resembled greatly the Greek Eastern styles. Gradually, a distinct voice developed naturally. Also, I would say that Sr Petra is an experienced icon painter and without ever seeking to force it we can see her own style coming through. Who's to say that isn't Western?

Below: St Luke, left; and right, St Andrew. More of Sr Petra's work can be seen at www.sanctiangeli.org

Dispelling the 12-tone blues

Introducing the the music of Frederick Stocken. Frederick is a Catholic British composer whose credits include his Mass, the Missa Pacis, commissioned by the London Oratory, the best-selling Lament for Bosnia and a symphony commissioned for the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and premiered at the Royal Albert Hall in London. His serious but accessible musical style has deep roots in the tradition of European classical music. Other commissioned works include ballet, choral and piano music. I first met him several years ago when I went to the monthly meeting in London of the Catholic Cultural Group, run by Catholic writer, Joanna Bogle. She introduced us to Frederick, that evening’s speaker who, she said, believed that good music is beautiful music and the purpose of composing is to bring glory to God. This sounded fine, but in itself didn’t necessarily mean much. I had come across a number of composers who said the same things, but it was difficult to hear how their ideas were reflected in their music. However, it was quickly clear that as usual, Joanna was right and Frederick was not one of these moderns in a traditionalist’s frock coat. Rather he was radical traditionalist, who was genuinely departing from the tired modernist dogma. First of all he played a selection of recordings -- from his Mass, the Missa Pacis -- and I could hear the difference. It was appropriate to its setting and surprise, surprise, beautiful - you can hear for yourself if you go to his website www.frederickstocken.com. And his talk was to prove a turning point for me, because I realised that many of his ideas about music could be applied to art. He described how there is structure and form to music, which is the basis for its beauty, and how the development of this can be related to the Faith, just as its abandonment can be related to rejection of the Faith and the development of Modernism. He also emphasised how when we follow the traditional musical principles it does not stifle composition, but liberates it. The variety of music produced is far greater than that which has been produce since they were abandoned. This was the important point for me that applied in art too: traditional principles liberate the creative spirit.

To quote from his article in the journal of faith and culture, Second Spring: ‘I think I can even demonstrate the dependence of music on faith historically.  It always amazed me how such disparate musical styles as baroque, classical and romantic music (in fact the whole range of music from Josquin des Pres to Bruckner) has far more that unites it than separates it.  In this period of five hundred years, a period in which music retained faith in its musical laws, the supremacy of the so-called musical triad (otherwise known as the common chord) remained inviolate.  The key system was expanded though never changed, and the chordal relationships within keys remained constant.  In terms of basic musical structures, form and chordal procedure, a Josquin motet works in a surprisingly similar way to a Bruckner symphony.  This is astonishing.  But what happened to music as it entered the last century?  Those laws, based essentially on faith rather than proven by science, were rejected.  Is it mere coincidence that in the very year, 1907, that Schoenberg began ripping the intestines out of music in his first atonal compositions, Pope St Pius X was issuing his encyclical Pascendi Gregis against Modernism?  To the casual historical observer the activities of an atonal composer and a Pope shoring up the theological purity of the Catholic faith would seem entirely separate.  But with hindsight we can discern a relationship between the decline in Catholic, and indeed in all Christian, belief in the West and the collapse of music.  Many of those who rejected religious faith at that time still believed that the common-sense moral assumptions of their culture would remain in place, and they were proved wrong during the twentieth century.  In a similar way, the commonly accepted musical laws of Western culture could not survive the loss of the faith which provided a context in which they made sense.’

It was after hearing his talk that I wrote my first published article, also in Second Spring called The Way of Beauty in which I first set out my ideas of how we can look to tradition to guide us in the future. This is the article that contained the first presentation of the principles that became the basis of what later became the programme at Thomas More College and after which this site is named.