Placing the Extraordinary and the Ordinary in Context: Fr Thomas Kocik on the liturgical reform movement

Earlier this month, Fr Thomas Kocik of the New Liturgical Movement visited Thomas More College and gave a brilliant presentation of the liturgical movement since its beginnings in the 19th century. I recommend everyone to watch it.  

http://vimeo.com/30878796

Somehow condensing what had been a 14-part series in his diocesan magazine into just one hour, he managed to give us the detail of the theology that was driving it. He made it interesting and understandable; as he introduced each new piece of detail, he placed it clearly in the context of the overall aims of the movement thereby making sure that we could see how this contributed to the greater picture of the development of the movement. He did the same in describing the errors: both from the over zealous proponents and reactionary forces who saw themselves as preserving ancient tradition (but were often, it seemed, seeking to preserve a misguided innovation of the previous generation of reformers). This portrayal of extremes was epitomised by his description where on the one hand the reformers sought to emphasise liturgical piety to such an degree that all traditional devotional prayer was discouraged - this is one of the things that lead to the removal of statues and iconoclasm of the post-Sixties period; and on the other the promotion traditional devotions to the degree that they are placed ahead of a genuine liturgical piety in importance. He described in clear terms what the Second Vatican Council said in regard to liturgy and why it was necessary. He went on to say how many of the recommendations were only partially or wrongly implemented, pointing out also aspects that have appeared since the Council for which there appears to be no justification at all. He then presented the current forms of the Mass, Extraordinary and Ordinary into this context.

In offering hope for the future he describe how more recently, and under Pope Benedict XVI especially, we have started to see a move towards what the council was asking for. He emphasised the importance in this of the Oxford Declaration on Liturgy in 1996. This statement was made in the proceedings of a conference at Oxford under the patronage of the the Centre for Faith and Culture (now maintained by Thomas More College of Liberal Arts). The proceedings were edited by the Centre's director, Stratford Caldecott. In calling for a proper reflection of the what the Second Vatican Council had called for in the liturgy, the Oxford Declaration represented an influential turning point and was cited approvingly by the then Cardinal Ratzinger in 1998. It is worth mentioning that the work in this area continues to this day by the Centre and Thomas More College publishes and distributes in the US its journal for faith and culture called Second Spring (to which Fr Kocik contributes). Stratford Caldecott and his wife Leonie also run Thomas More College's annual student Oxford summer programme. With all of this detail, one might imagine that what was given to us could have been dry and difficult to follow for all but the cognoscienti, but this was not the case at all. The material was so well organised and clearly presented that it was always easy to follow. It was particularly gratifying to see so many of our students, many of whom were hearing this information for the first time, reacting so positively to what they heard. In the period of socialising afterwards they crowded around Fr Kocik to ask more questions.

The link through to the summary and video on the Thomas More College page is here.

What Colour are the Blue-Ridged Mountains of Virginia?

Do Laurel and Hardy have something to teach us about colour perspective? The words of garden designer Gertrude Jeckyll seem to confirm the words of the American comedians. Laurel and Hardy sang about the blue-ridged mountains. But were they seeing blue mountains or green mountains in Virginia?

When learning to paint landscapes I was taught the principles of colour perspective. In a natural landscape those parts that are in the distance look bluer. Artist use this to indicate distance. A good gardner understands, along with the landscape painter and the this too. Just as with a painter, the gardener is creating a beautiful scene and will consider the combinations of colour so that the whole scene is harmonious. When considering how distant flowers will combine with those that are closer, he must take into account the fact that everything looks bluer when it is further away.

There is a another way of making use of this. If I want to enhance the sense of space I can create artificial perspective. The gothic architect made the distant objects smaller in reality, so that it doubles the natural effect of perspect and made things seem even further away than they are. Consequently, gothic cathedrals seem to soar to heaven. The gardener can use large-leaf plants closeby and small-leaf plants in the distance, so creating the illusion that things are further away than they really are. Similarly he can put bluish green leaves and blue flowers in the distance and other colours in the foreground and it will reinforce this further. It is useful if you have a small garden but want to create a sense of greater space.

Even when we know this it is not always easy to see it. When we focus on a distant point, the mind modifies the information that the eye supplies it to create an image in our mind's eye that is affected by what we know, or think we know, to be true. So looking at distant hills that are blue tinged we don't believe that they are really blue, the brain knows that they are in the distance and we very often see it as green.

Gertrude Jeckyll was a garden designer who used her artistic training in the academic method in the choice of planting. She describes here how she convinced a skeptic of the fact that things in the distance really do look blue:

'As for the matter of colour, what is to be observed is simply without end. Those who have not training in the way to see colour nearly always decieve themselves into thinking that they see it as they know it is locally, whereas the trained eye sees colour in due relation as it truly appears to be. A remember driving with a friend of more than ordinary intelligence who stoutly maintained that he saw the distant wooded hill quite a green as the hedge. He knew it was green and could not see it otherwise till I stopped at a place where part of the face, but none of the sky bounded edge of the wooded distance showed through a tiny opening among the near green branches, when to his immense surprise he saw it was blue. A good way of showing the same thing is to tear a roundish hole in any large bright-green leaf, such as a Burdock and to hold it at half arm's length so that a distant part of the landscape is seen through the hole and the eye sees the whole surface of the leaf. As long as the sight takes in both it will see the true relative colour of the distance. I constantly do this myself, first looking at the distance without the leaf frame in order to see how nearly I can guess the truth of the far colour. Even in the width of one ploughed field, especially in autumn when the air is full of vapour, in the farther part of the field, the newly turned earth is bluish-purple, whereas it is rich brown at one's feet.'

So it seems that Laurel and Hardy could have been landscape painters, or gardeners - each had an artists eye!

Images: the Appalachians in Virginia; the garden scenes are of a small walled garden on Holy Island, in the Farne Islands of the coast of Northumberland in England. This designed, to some degree, to be seen from the bench seat visible below. The wall protects the garden from high winds. I struggled to find photographs of her planting that illustrate very strongly the principles I have been describing, but though the photos of this garden would be of interest to readers anyway!; the watercolours below are by John Singer Sargent and W. Heaton Cooper the 20th century English painter respectively.

Is There a Place for Modern Art in our Churches?

In a recent address Pope Benedict XVI praised the work of the 20^th century artist Marc Chagal. He described him as a great artist whose work drew inspiration from the Bible, here. At first sight this might seem surprising. In his book, the Spirit of the Liturgy, Benedict talks of the disconnection between the culture of faith and the wider culture which occurred after the Enlightenment. He cites three artistic traditions as authentically liturgical and all were developed prior to the Enlightenment, namely the iconographic, the gothic and the baroque at its best.

The bridge to this world of modern art was built by the Romantics, who established the idea that self-expression was the purpose of art. In this context it meant that the task of the artist was limited to the communication his personal views and feelings. Whether or not these views and feelings were based in truth was not important. Success was measured by how accurately or – to use the buzzword of the art world – ‘sincerely’ they were communicated.

If the Romantics built the bridge to modernism, then it was the Impressionists who crossed it and smashed it behind them. Though academically trained themselves, they taught their students to reject tradition (and by this they meant the Western tradition rooted in Christianity) as any basis for guidance. By doing this, they broke any connection with the past that remained. Sadly, they were so successful and influential that everyone listened to them. Up to this point all artists were given the academic training of the Christian tradition that had been developed for the academies of the 17^th century. By the 19^th century, the training had become detached from its Christian ethos but because the method was still essentially Christian (if misunderstood) the effect was effect on art was visible but subtle (we can distinguish between mid-19^th and mid-17^th century art for example). After the Impressionists, however, all the academies and ateliers of Europe closed down and artists received neither the skills nor the Christian ethos; the result is the rampant individualism that characterizes the modern era.

Marc Chagall’s work is very much a product of this 20^th century spirit of self-expression and individualism.

So this raises the question, how can Chagall, whose work conforms in many ways to form of the modern era, be called great by the Holy Father who elsewhere is so clear in stating that the modern mainstream culture is not Christian? Is there a contradiction?

I think not and here’s why. (I should state here that I am basing this purely on what I have read of the Holy Father’s words. I do not claim to have any special inside knowledge of his views.)

Firstly, if individualism is a principle governing the creative process, while it is likely to produce error, it does allow for the possibility of good art. Subjectivity doesn’t necessarily produce ugliness. It is always a possibility that an artist will exercise his freedom wisely and choose to follow what is true and beautiful. I have heard this described as a subjective objectivity…or was it an objective subjectivity (I forget now)? Anyway, whatever we call it, Chagall might be one of these. In order to be certain of this we will have to wait to see whether or not it will transcend its own time – one of the marks of works that contains the timeless principles of beauty. His work has not done this because we are still, essentially, in the modern era.

Secondly, sacred art can be good devotional art without being appropriate for the liturgy. The art that we choose to for our own private prayer is a personal choice based upon what we feel helps our own prayer life. We have to be more careful when selecting art for our churches, allowing for the fact that personal tastes vary. While for my home I would pick whatever appeals to me; for a church I would always choose that art for which there is the greatest consensus over the longest period of time. Accordingly I am much more inclined to put aside personal preference and allow tradition to be the greatest influence in the choices I make. For the liturgy, therefore, I would always choose that art which conforms to the three established liturgical traditions: the baroque, the gothic and the iconographic. I would not put Chagall in a church.

This does raise the question as to whether or not any new tradition could ever emerge? None of the established liturgical tradition dropped out of heaven fully formed. They developed over a period of time and in different times. There is no reason to believe that we won’t see more liturgical traditions developing in the future. Could it be that Chagall is a spark that ignites the fire of a new Christian liturgical tradition?

In my opinion, this is possible but very unlikely.

When Caravaggio produced his work at the end of the 16^th century it had such an effect on the art of the Rome that nearly all other artists modeled their work on it. However, the basis of this new style was not mysterious. He presented a visual vocabulary that was a fully worked out integration of form and theology. It was the culmination of much work done over a period of time (about 100 years) through a dialogue between artists and the Church’s theologians, philosophers, liturgists. It became the basis for a new tradition because the integration of form and content was articulated and understood, so other artists could learn those principles and apply them in their own work. It was possible to reflect that style, and develop it further, without blindly (so to speak) copying Caravaggio. They copied with understanding.

Chagall’s work is very much more highly individual in its stylization than that of Caravaggio; and it relies much more on an interpretation of ideas that is directed by intuition rather than reason. Unless we can discern the principles that underlie it and characterize them very clearly, we can copy his work, but it is going to be difficult to do so with sufficient understanding for it to be the basis of a new tradition.

There is another factor that mitigates against Chagal: we live in the age where the tradition is one of anti-tradition. Today’s artists spend most of their time trying to be different be from everyone else. So even if Chagall does represent the beginning of a fourth liturgical tradition and somebody worked out his system of iconography,  no tradition derived from it is is going to emerge as long as artists spend most of their time chasing ‘originality’ and consciously trying to differentiate themselves from other work.

Time will tell!

Images from top: White Crucifix; Adam and Eve Expelled from Paradise; Jacob's Dream; Song of Songs; Abraham and the Three Angels; Ruth.

 

The Thomas More College approach to Music in the Liturgy

The choir at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts is busy learning a repertoire for the Mass and the Liturgy. The aim is to have a repertoire that is small enough that each piece is heard often enough by those who are not in the choir that they can become familiar and sing along. At the same time it must be large enough that there is some variety in the music. In regard to the choice of pieces, we have in mind also the principle of noble simplicity. Again this is to facilitate active participation of the laity in the liturgy. Accordingly we try to choose music that that is appropriate, simple and beautiful. We choose predominantly chant and traditional liturgical hymns and polyphony, with the idea in mind that it should be simple enough so that most people can quickly learn to sing it and it is beautiful enought so that they are motivated to do so.

For Latin we choose traditional chant aiming for familiarity with chant Masses for weekdays, Sundays, Marian Feasts and Feastdays and Sundays during Lent and Advent. These are introduced gradually, so that there is a slowly growing core repertoire. We are very lucky to have Dr Tom Larson of the Schuler Singers coming to the college to teach us. He posts audio files of those things that we need to learn so that we can download them. I am now the proud owner of an ipod! So I download these files and sing them as I drive into work every morning. We are a choir learning at the beginning so we are not capable yet of anything beyon simple polyphonic pieces (never mind the rest of the congregation). But for most part, the assumption will be the polyphonic pieces are an invitation to meditation on the part of the congregation. Accordingly the degree of polyphonic content would always be chosen so that the degree of active singing participation is balanced with listenting so as to encourage even on these occasions an engaged contemplation of the liturgy (which is another aspect of active participation in the liturgy of course).

When seeking to get the music in the liturgy going at the college, especially chant in the liturgy of the hours, I took advice on what might be the best way to do it.  A useful piece of advice that was given to me by Fr Frank Philips of St John Cantius in Chicago. He suggested that we pitch the singing down so that it is always comfortable for men to sing. He said that the women will be more able (and more inclined!) to sing lower than the men will be able to sing higher. This was important to me, because I wanted the males students to develop the habit of singing their prayers without being self-conscious about it.

The hope in engaging the men in the college is to re-establish the idea that prayer is a masculine thing and so promote the idea that fathers can lead the family in prayer; and perhaps also encourage vocations to the priesthood. The audio files that Tom posts for us are pitched lower than many other chant resources I have come across and so are comfortable for most amateur male voices. This has encouraged a more vigourous masculine sound to the chant. Wherever possible we sing antiphonally, separating men and women. This allows each voice to flourish separately in a complementary rather than a competitive way.

For variation we sing some of the Propers and Latin hymns with an 'organum' - a very simple but beautiful harmony. If you listen to this version of Stabat Mater, you hear occasionally a simple harmony behind the chant. It always strikes me that is mimicking the echo that is there if you sing in a church that is built acoustically for chant, such as a gothic abbey. I am an oblate of Pluscarden Abbey in Scotland, which is a medieval building. When I am there the harmonising echo that resonates, complements the singing and always suggests to me the voices of the angels and saints in the heavenly liturgy which we know, objectively, are singing with us.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muJccdJJrwk

The occasional use of organum opens the imagination of the listeners to the implied harmonies that are present in the intervals of pure chant.

For the vernacular we look to the traditions of harmonised Anglican chant and also Eastern tones. Latin emphasises syllables in a very different way to English. Consequently, plainchant, which was developed over centuries to suit the rhythms and patterns of the Latin language is difficult to adapt to English. The Anglicans had a centuries old tradition of doing this and from it has developed a distinct tradition. I have interpreted Pope Benedict XVI's creation of the Anglican Ordinariate and his attendance at Choral Evensong when he visited last year as a sign that we have been encouraged to look at it as a resource for the vernacular. in the link below you can hear an Anglican adaptation of the Latin tonus peregrinus (which is itself an adaptation of a tone from the pre-Christian Jewish liturgy). While the harmonisation will require a choir, all the students are taught to sing the basic melody and they pick this up very quickly indeed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9f4_IhaSnVw

Because the Greek and Slavic languages have a punchier rhythms and stresses on the consonants, the music of the Eastern liturgy has, it seems to me, been adapted to English much more successfully. We have been using some of the harmonised tones in our own liturgy too.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WkqZbFQb0O0&feature=related

We have found that when these are rooted in the rhythm of speech and musically are in modal form, it is possible, with careful choice, to have a unified feel to the music of the liturgy while relying on these different sources.

Much of what we do is adapted to make it simple for many to join in. I hope gradually (assuming I can cope with the technology) to start posting examples of our choir singing these adaptations.

Readers may also like to know that the Schuler Singers are singing at the installation of the new Bishop of New Hampshire, Most Reverend Peter A. Libasci on December 8th, 2pm at St Joseph's Cathedral in Manchester, New Hampshire.

The Psalms and the Evangelisation of the Culture

I recently read The Liturgical Altar by Geoffrey Webb. Originally written in 1936 and republished just last year, this has been referred to a number of times by New Liturgical Movement writers. I was reading it, as one might expect, to try to find out more about the design of altars, but a short section at the end where he discusses general principles caught my eye.

He wrote: ‘Anyone familiar with what remains of the forms of liturgical art in England before the break in religion in the sixteenth century must be impressed with one characteristic feature in it. Its beauty appears to share with the wild flowers, and with all the natural order, that absence of toil and effort to which Our Lord Himself drew attention in the lilies of the field. Beauty is an essential attribute of God; and some visible reflection of it would seem to be an inevitable accompaniment of any true worship of God, whenever the spirit of the Liturgy is allowed to give a form to the arts. At certain periods in the Church’s history this visible beauty overflows into all the arts of everyday life. This is the case when the Church can so permeate a whole civilization that she is free to distribute other benefits over and above the one essential blessing of Faith. At such times, education, in the sense of formation of good taste and sound judgment, becomes the common property of the whole community; and the common things of daily use seem to share in the unself-conscious beauty of nature…Beauty, unless ruled by the Cross, generates the seeds of its own destruction.’

Geoffrey Webb is describing a time when the culture of faith and the wider culture reflect common values. This wider culture might be thought of as the everyday practices of living that reflect, and in turn reinforce, the values, priorities and beliefs of a society. He mentions the 12^thcentury, but the same could be said of all of the period up to the end of the gothic and then after the High Renaissance in the baroque period. The culture that came out of the Church’s counter-Reformation, the 17^th century baroque, was so powerful that it was adopted by the protestant countries of Europe as well.

If the link between the culture of faith and the wider culture is broken so that it reflects values other than those of the faith, you have an unstable situation. The two cannot sit side by side and without affecting each other. A Catholic social ghetto is not the answer, for even the most cloistered monk cannot help but be affected by the society in which he lives. In time cross-fertilisation will occur and the stronger will dominate and eventually overcome the weaker. Either faith will affect the culture and evangelise it; or the wider culture will infect culture of faith and then destroy faith itself.

The need to to repair the bridge between the wider culture and culture of faith in order to evangelize the culture, was impressed upon me just last year by visiting lecturer at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts, Fr. Rob Johansen (of the diocese of Kalamazoo, and currently working on his Licentiate in Liturgy at the Liturgical Institute at Munderlein.) He spoke eloquently of how the culture not only reflects, but also reinforces the 'values, priorities and beliefs' of society.

After the Englightenment, Pope Benedict tells us in the Spirit of the Liturgy, such a dislocation occurred and this break has remained ever since. The wider culture stepped away from the culture of faith. It became one that reflected and reinforced the values, priorities and beliefs of an Enlightenment influenced worldview. There were two responses he says: one was to try to create Catholic social ghettoes that shut out mainstream culture and both were inadequate. This created an attitude of ‘historicism’ which was an unthinking and sterile attempt to recreate an idealized past. Inevitably, this approach is doomed to failure because the culture of faith is not seeking to engage and overcome the wider culture, but to escape from it. The wider culture will hammer away at the church door until it finds a weakness in the defenses and floods in. This is precisely what happened, it seems to me, after Vatican II. The intention was to open the doors and the let the Faith out to evangelise the world, but in the end the opposite happened. To blame were the improper implementation of the Council (covered may times in this site); and the other tendency described by Pope Benedict in response to the dislocation of culture: that of attempting to compromise the culture of faith with the secular culture. Secular culture is strong in reflecting the practices, beliefs and values of what is bad (eg the Enlightenment). Trying to use this to promote what is good, just results in an impotence. In the context of art, trying to portray something good with the visual vocabulary of despair either creates, in my judgement, inappropriately ugly Christian art; or else in trying to remove the ugliness, leaves the artist with a visual tool set robbed of any power at all, which produces a weak, sentimentalism – kitsch. Neither does anything to stop the erosion of the values of the Faith and the progress of the secular worldview.

Inset into the text are examples of each. First a crucifixion from 1912 by Emile Nolde, which reflects the style of the mainstream art movement of the time. Second, left, we have a modern prayer card in which the artist, in my opinion, relies to heavily on sentiment. It is lacking an authentic Christian visual vocabulary that exists within, for example the baroque, and so is unable to communicate its message with vigour.

Writing in 1936, Geoffrey Webb says that his ideal of divine beauty is absent in both secular and liturgical art. Liturgical art has, he says, ‘lost the spontaneous and creative spirit, and that feeling for the beauty of nature which is so characteristic of the Psalms.’ In other words, the culture of faith has been infected by the wider culture. Contrast this with the power and vigour of the third painting inset into the text, Anthony Van Dyck's St Peter, from the baroque period, the 17th century.

What is the answer, how can we establish a vibrant culture of faith that engages with the wider secular culture without compromise and evangelises it? The answer, I believe, comes down to the way that each of us lives our daily lives. If our day-to-day activities reflect a Catholic culture then it will be stronger and more attractive than anything the secular world has to offer. This is the via pulchritudinis – The Way of Beauty - referred to recently by Pope Benedict and when we march ahead confidently on this path, we can all be the ambassadors of cultural renewal and the New Evangelisation. It is to ourselves we must look first.

What can we do so that our daily actions reflect that ‘unconscious beauty of nature’ governed by ‘the cross’ to quote Webb? The first step is the creation of an authentic culture of faith plus an education in beauty. The most powerful means of achieving both is the same. The most important educator in these respects is the liturgy. Cultural reform stems from liturgical reform.

The beauty that Webb is describing is the beauty of the cosmos. The rhythms and patterns of the cosmos reveal those of the heavenly liturgy, and the earthly liturgy, which mirrors it too, is a supernatural step into this place of heavenly beauty. In developing our intuitive sense of this, the Liturgy of the Hours is so important. The Mass is a jewel in its setting, which is the Liturgy of the Hours. The Liturgy as a whole is a jewel in its setting which is the cosmos. Man’s work is an adornment to the cosmos, which can, through God’s grace, raise it up to something greater. The Liturgy of the Hours is the connecting door that both reveals more fully the beauty of the cosmos so that our work can conform to it (it ‘sanctifies our work’); and deepens for us our active participation in the sacrifice of the Mass and the Trinitarian dynamic of love that is worship of the Father, through the Son, in the Spirit.

And as Webb points out, the psalms which are at the core of the Divine Office contain this cosmic beauty. They describe it and conform to it at every level. They even describe for us the context into which they should be placed when praying them by telling us how many times a day we should pray them (seven times and once at night). When we do this, we place the psalms in an external setting that conforms to that heavenly beauty which is the pattern of the liturgical days, weeks, seasons and year; and ordering our lives to this pattern impresses upon our hearts the essence of the beauty of the cosmos which reveals to us ‘the Glory of the Lord’. I have written a number of articles that explore in greater depth the connection between liturgy, proportion, number and beauty, here.

The Liturgical Altar by Geoffrey Webb, originally published in 1936, republished by Romanitas Press, Kansans City, MO, 2010

Above, first a baroque church, of St Paul's Antwerp and second, the Banqueting House in London. An example of how the form of the Catholic Counter-Reformation became that of the wider culture, even in protestant England. Below: the opposite case, the wider culture has influenced the culture of faith in this Catholic church built in the 1950s (pre Vatican II!).

New Liturgical Movement's Fr Thomas Kocik to Speak at Thomas More College this Friday

Fr Thomas Kocik, who writes for the New Liturgical Movement website on the Reform of the Reform (and has written a great book on this subject published by Ignatius Press, see here) will be speaking at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts in Merrimack, New Hampshire this Friday, October 14th, 7pm. Entitled Singing His Song, Fr Kocik will be presenting an overview of the Liturgical Movement originating with Dom Guéranger and culminating with Sacrosanctum Concilium – its aims, principles, and leading proponents (without getting too involved in detail).  He will discuss the good and bad fruits of the post-Vatican II liturgical reform, to provide the necessary background for the New Liturgical Movement now underway.

This will be the second visit that Fr Kocik has visited the college this year. In the spring he chaired our discussion on art and the liturgy, which was a lively and well attended event. His address at that event is here. His lecture, entitled Beauty and the Renewal of Catholic Culture spoke of the importance of liturgical renewal at the root of cultural renewal. A theme very close to my heart.

Fr Kocik is a priest in the diocese of Fall River, Mass.

Panel Beating Covers for Icons

Full Metal Jacket? I was recently asked a question about the metallic covers that go over icons: what is their purpose?A very gifted student of icon painting who came to the Way of Beauty Summer Atelier was considering learning panel beating in order to be able to make them. I was told that these covers (I gather it is sometimes referred to as ‘riza’ in the Russian tradition, or sometimes an 'oklad'), developed originally when votive offerings of objects made of precious metals and stones were left in gratitude for the prayers of the saint venerated. These would be melted down and be made into a cover that marked the saint out as someone whose prayers were particularly powerful. Also, icons are meant to be physically handled and kissed and so such an icon would be used more causing a greater chance of physical damage. An icon with a metallic cover would be more durable and withstand the bashing of regular use.

Personally I find most of these metallic covers unattractive. And for the purposes of prayer would rather see the painted image than what is in effect a relief carving in metal. I am always frustrated by the fact that some parts of the original image are hidden and find myself trying to work out what the image underneath looks like (if indeed it is really there!) rather than allowing my attention being taken to the real saint in heaven. That is very likely a reflection of my weakness and many I’m sure will have a different reaction however.

The key elements that make an icon an image worthy of veneration are that the characteristics of the person are captured and that the name is written on it. So when covering an icon, either some of those aspects that characterize the person, such as the face, must be left visible; or else the cover must be panel beaten into a image that bears those characteristics that were in the original icon but are now hidden. The cover then becomes an integral part of the icon. If the characteristics of the icon are not visible, then it is not an image worthy of veneration.

There is a danger even when properly made, it seems to me, that the use of these covers might cause some to infer, incorrectly, that the icon is holy in the wrong sort of way: one that considers it to be a grace-filled object.

We need, I think to go back to the great 9^th century Father of the Eastern Church, Theodore the Studite. He articulated the theology that finally cleared up the iconoclastic controversy of this period.

An icon does not, says Theodore, participate in the nature of the individual – that is, it does not contain any aspects of human nature or divine nature, it is just an image. Therefore the relationship between the image in the icon and the saint in heaven is established by our perception and apprehension of the likeness. That relationship cannot exist in a way that involves the icon, therefore, when we are not apprehending the likeness portrayed in the image. A crucial role in establishing this relationship between icon and saint is played by the imagination, which takes our thoughts from image to saint.

Consistent with this, Theodore states that once an icon is worn and has lost its ‘imprint’(charakter), it will without hesitation be thrown into the fire “like any useless piece of wood’. If Theodore considered the icon as such a grace-filled object, he would not dare to suggest that it be burnt.

Theodore sees the sacredness of the icon entirely in its character, its portraying depiction. In this sense, if a characteristic is not visible, it is not portrayed. Putting a metal cover on an icon that did not have the characteristics and name of the saint on it, would be the same as covering the icon surface with a couple of coats of house paint. If the image has been rendered invisible, it might as well not exist.

For those who are interested, I have written at length about Theodore and his impact on the iconoclastic controversy here.

Of the images I have shown, I much prefer the latter two, of the Mother of God and Our Lord and of St Nicholas, because all the painted figures is visible despite the metal covering.

Michaelmas - Rood Screen, Daisy and Academic Term

Here is a picture of St Michael from the rood screen at Ranworth church in East Anglia, England, for the Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel and Raphael, Archangels. I have posted other pictures of the church and screen below. I understand that the church is 14th century and the screen is 15th century.Also, just to set the tone, and to continue with a past theme of looking at the book of nature, I have included at the bottom some photos wild asters, which grow wild in New England where I live. I recognise them as Michaelmas daisies from the gardens of England and so remind me of home too. As far as I can tell, the reason they have this name is simply that they flower around the time of this Feast. Nevertheless it is a good way to reinforce the fact that all of creation is directing our praise to heaven, through its beauty, and the cycles and rhythms of nature are an earthly sign of those of the heavenly liturgy. Michaelmas has an additional significance for me as my high school and university in England, neither of which were Catholic or religious, still called the first term of the academic year Michaelmas Term (the other two being Hilary and Trinity, after St Hilary of Poitiers and Trinity Sunday). This is a remnant of the days when all of life was ordered around the rhythms and patterns of the liturgy. So even the calendar of non-religious institutions drews from and therefore pointed to the liturgy. We have just started the new academic year at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts, and in common with most of American colleges academic year we have a two semester system. I decided therefore to refer to first as the Michaelmas Semester; and the one after Christmas as the 'Hilary and Trinity Semester' in my Way of Beauty class in order to emphasise the point.

How to Be the Salt of the Earth! Learn from Mum and Dad

The family is the place that teaches us how even the mundane activities of everyday life such as handiwork, cooking, cleaning, repairing, gardening can be done beautifully, with grace. When our work is graceful, it becomes a powerful example that demonstrates to others how to sanctify all that we do. Our own knowledge of how to do this comes from inspiration, as with all activities, but also we are taught through the example of others, and traditionally the most powerful example is that of our parents. Through this we develop as young children the habit of graceful living that permeates all that we do in later life. This is such an important part of how we establish a culture of beauty in our society, and are formed to be the ambassadors of the New Evangelization, arousing curiosity and attracting people to the Faith through the grace and beauty of what we do. We live in a world in which many children do not see the example of this in their parents. Faced with this schism between the culture (in the broadest sense of the word) and the Faith, how do set about restoring the connection? The liturgical life of individuals and then families is vital. And important to this is the restoration of the idea of the father as head of the family, who leads prayer and is the advocate for the family to God. I have written about this here. We are told that the height of family prayer is the Liturgy of the Hours, which sanctifies our work.

The principle of tradition is the means by which we pass on these values. It is a respect for what is good and an openness to receive from the past what is good. Tradition can govern not only the life of prayer, but also the ordinary activities of life. The family is driving force for tradition. Parents pass on to their children how to do the ordinary things in life. If you want to change a society fundamentally, then the things to attack are the principle of tradition and the family as fundamental building block of society. This is what has happened in the West.

So much of this is not done any more. Liela Lawler who writes her charming blog Like Mother Like Daughter is tackling this head on. She discusses how to do the ordinary things in life that parents used to teach their children. Some are rediscovered and now being passed on again in the light of her experience, some were passed on to her. She  gives us the details that come from that personal experience which makes it practical, at times very amusing, and always interesting and readable. However, don't be beguiled by her light touch in the telling of the story. This is powerful stuff because it is rooted in the spiritual life. The articles cover anything that a family can do and just like a family, so just picking something out at random, we have Bees and Peas - Two DIYers Puttering Around; or Make Knitting Needles: a Tutorial.

She is always quick to emphasis the how the prayer life of the family in binds it together and is the means by which the ordinary and mundane activities can be an expression of the good, the true and the beautiful. She has just written a piece about the importance of ritual in family prayer that I would encourage everyone to read, whether or not you have family! Take a look at here posting,  Beginning a Simple Life of Prayer with the Children.

Leila always includes photographs of her family home illustrating perfectly what she is talking about. The photos on this piece are all hers.

 I finish with a quote from Compline, Sundays and Solemnities II. Deuteronomy 6:4-7: "Hear O Isreal: the Lord our God is one Lord; and you shall love the Lord your God with all your soul, and with all your might. And these words which I command you this day shall be upon your heart; and you shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise."

Choral Evensong and Symposium on Newman in Boston, October 9th

Featuring Peter Kreeft, Fr Peter Stravinskas and Dr William Fahey of Thomas More College of Liberal Arts. The Anglican Use Congregation of St. Athanasius and the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in Boston will be sponsoring a symposium on the feast of Blessed John Henry Newman on Sunday, October 9, 2011 at 3 p.m. at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross. There will be a series of well known speakers in the afternoon Peter Kreeft, Philip Crotty, Fr Peter Stravinskas and President of Thomas More College of Liberal Arts, William Fahey. There will be a reception and then Choral Evensong at 5pm. Choral Evensong is especially to be recommended for any who wish to see a model of beautiful and dignified liturgy in the vernacular.

We are incorporating Anglican chant into our liturgy at Thomas More College of Liberal Arts. Steve Cavanagh from the Anglican use congregation in Boston who is involved in the organisation of this event (and who runs a blog about the Anglican Use of the Roman Rite) visited Thomas More College over the summer. He taught us some of the fundamentals of this form of chant and gave us a fascinating talk about the development of Anglican chant (from the ancient Sarum psalter) and its preservation in the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge and the Royal Chapel at Windsor.

The speakers for the symposium are:

• Dr. Peter Kreeft on Newman as poet
• Dr. Philip Crotty on Newman as educator
• Dr. William Fahey on Newman as preacher
• Fr. Peter M. J. Stravinskas on Newman as convert.

The photo above is of the elevation of the chalice during Mass on the Feast of St. Joseph. Fr. Richard Bradford (of the Anglican Use Congregation of St Athanasius ), celebrant, assited by Fr. Peter Stravinskas and Deacon Michael Connolly. The photograph is taken from Steve Cavanagh's blog.

The Importance of Seeing Paintings in Context

I would like to draw readers' attention to a piece in The Catholic Herald written by Fr Anthony Symondson. He has reviewed the exhibition Devotion by Design which is at the National Gallery in London and which runs until October 2nd. The exhibition is unusual in that, commendably, altarpieces are displayed along with simulated altars so that visitors can get a feel for the setting in which they ought be placed. One of the pieces on display is Rogier van der Weyden's Exhumation of St Hubert, shown left. While the only way to get a full sense of the importance of context for such a piece is to see it in church while praying the liturgy, what the museum has done does at least indicate the intended purpose of the piece. It also makes the point that context of a painting is important and open our imaginations to what it might have been like originally. I am pleased to see a gallery thinking about this.

Good sacred art is painted so that it engages the person at precise moments in the liturgy and then directs their attention beyond the work of art to something greater – by for example making sure in the case of the reredos that there is sufficient contrast so that the host is visible when held aloft. This is something that artist should always be aware of. Even within a painting, one part in isolation looks different when viewed in relation to all the other parts. Artists are taught to consider the unified view. Once the form of a painting has been established – the basic shapes, tones and colours – then the so much of the final part of the process is subtle alteration using colour washes, glazes and scumbles so that each part speaks to the others in such way that the piece has unity.

Similarly, the artist must try to consider the wider context into which it is to be placed. Works look different when placed on dark or light backgrounds, or when there are other paintings around. Also and most importantly, the position relative to the liturgy must be considered.

Consider Caravaggio’s Calling of St Matthew. This is a great painting even when viewed in isolation, but the ideal position for this, I suggest, is in a side chapel on the left hand ie north side of the church, on an east wall so that at the point of elevation someone in the main body of the church could see both the painting, in the left hand side of their vision, and the elevated host. This would give the appearance that the source of light was the Blessed Sacrament itself - the Light calling St Matthew - thus reinforcing visually the fact that Christ is really present within it.

One of the wonders of nature for me is how each object can be beautiful and complete in itself, can also be a beautiful part of a wider landscape and, furthermore, contains within it beautiful parts in perfect relation to each other. We need only think of a rose: each petal within it is beautiful and placed so that together they form the flower; and then each bloom is placed in relation to the others, to the stems and leaves so that we have a beautiful rosebush.

When I take commissions I do my best to have this model in mind and consider carefully not just what the form of the painting itself, also where it will be placed and how it can be most beautiful in its final setting.

A Visit to a Garden in Connecticut Designed by Gertrude Jeckyll

The English garden designer who painted her ideas in plants, and thought like a 17th-century baroque artist.

I recently visited Glebe House, Woodbury, CT to see a small garden designed by the famous English garden designer and writer Gertrude Jeckyll.

Gertrude Jeckyll is an English garden designer whose long life spanned the turn of the last century. She often worked in conjunction with the architect Edwin Lutyens who was famous for his English country houses. Most of Jeckyll's gardens are in England but there were three in the US. This one has been restored, which for Jeckyll's gardens means planting as she planted as much as reproducing the shapes of the borders.

Jeckyll design principles are about harmony of colour and form through a proper understanding of beauty and a deep knowledge of her medium, plants. She studied art as a young woman and based her ideas of colour combinations upon what she learned and especially those of the artist William Turner. Luckily for us she also wrote beautifully about gardens and gardening. I am grateful to my friend Nancy Feeman who has been studying her work and her gardens for bringing Jeckyll's books to my notice.

I am just working my way through the first book, The Gardener's Essential Gertrude Jeckyll and it is a delight. She had a deep Christian faith and this is reflected in her approach to design which is that of the baroque painter, applied to gardening. So much so that her descriptions of the purpose of gardening (to bring glory to God and joy to mankind), the virtue of creating a beautiful garden to that end and the need for inspiration from the Creator in working towards it, remind me of passages that I have read from the book about baroque painting written by the great Spanish teacher of Velazquez in the 17th century, Francesco Pacheco. I would recommend every artist to read her. Especially those who wish to paint landscape.

Furthermore, her understanding of the relationships and hierarchy of God, man and nature is thoroughly Christian, and consistent with those that I wrote about in a previous article about gardening, here. I would suggest that Jeckyll should be read by all conservationists and ecologists as well in my opinion.

Glebe House is not a huge garden at all, and we saw in September when it was well past its peak. Nevertheless it was a pleasure to see (apart from the vicious biting insects!). There will be more about Gertrude Jeckyll in the coming months, but for now I will let her garden and her words speak for themselves:

‘The object of this book is to draw attention, however slightly and imperfectly, to the better ways of gardening, and to bring to bear upon the subject some consideration of that combination of common sense, sense of beauty and artistic knowledge that can make plain ground and growing things into a year-long succession of living pictures. Common sense I put first because it restrains from any sort of folly or sham or affectation. Sense of beauty is the gift from God, for which those who have received it in good measure can never be thankful enough. The nurturing of this gift through long years of study, observation and close application in any one of the ways in which fine art finds expression is the training of the artist’s brain, and heart and hand. The better a human mind is trained to the perception of beauty the more opportunities will it find of exercising this precious gift and the more directly will it be brought to bear upon even the very simplest matters of everyday life, and always to their bettering.’

'I am strongly for treating garden and wooded ground in a pictorial way, mainly with large effects, and in the second place with lesser beautiful incidents, and for so arranging plants and trees  and grassy spaces that they look happy and at home, and make no parade of conscious effort. I try for beauty and harmony everywhere, and especially for harmony of colour. A garden so treated gives the delightful feeling of repose, and refreshment, and purest enjoyment of beauty, that seems to my understanding to be the best fulfillment of its purpose; while to the diligent worker its happiness is like the offering of a hymn of praise.'

'And a garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches entire trust. “Paul planteth and Apollos watereth, but God giveth the increase.” [cf 1 Cor 3:6] The good gardener knows with absolute certainty that if he does his part, if he gives the labour, the love and every aid that his knowledge of his craft, experience of the conditions of his place, and exercise of his personal wit can work together to suggest, that so surely as he does this diligently and faithfully, so sure will God give the increase. Then with the honestly earned success comes the consciousness of encouragement to renewed effort, and, as it were, an echo of the gracious words, “Well done, good and faithfull servant.” [Mt 25:23]'

PS In case anyone is wondering, she is related to the Dr Jeckyll after whom Robert Louis Stephenson named the character in his book Dr Jeckyll and Mr Hyde. Dr Jeckyll was the good guy!

Floored by John Quincy Adams and his Wife's Quilt Patterns

Quilt Patterns Can be a Source of Inspiration for Patterned Art Today Earlier this year I visited the house in Massachusetts that was once lived in by the second President of the United States, John Adams and his son, the sixth President, John Quincy Adams.

I was interested to see the garden (described here) but having paid the entrance fee accepted the offer of a guided tour of the house. There is a separate library, built by the grandson, Charles Francis Adams. The tiled floor was interesting. It had a geometric design that look as though it was based upon Romanesque or gothic church floor designs. The floor looked was reminiscent of those I had seen in a Victorian churches and houses in England inspired by earlier gothic designs. As the tour guide described it had echoes of the medieval: he explained how there were deliberate deviations from strict repetition of the pattern, to highlight the fact that ‘only the work of God is perfect and the work of man is always imperfect’. This was straight out of a history textbook describing the working practices of monks illuminating manuscripts.

Where had the inspiration for this come from, I asked? I expected to be told that this was part of the American neo-gothic inspired first by figures such as Pugin in England. To my surprise I was told that the inspiration came from American quilt patterns. I had been told before (though hadn’t really bothered to investigate further) that what I was looking at was similar to many traditional quilt patterns. I don’t know much about the history of these quilt patterns, but it has occurred to me that just as with Islam, a protestant society that has iconoclastic instincts is going develops its artistic expression in geometric non-fugurative areas. So perhaps we have here another source inspiration for us in trying to reestablish geometric patterned art as part of the Catholic tradition. As with all these things, it should be done (with discernment - I wouldn't always retain the colour schemes used!) but there do seem to me to be possibilities here.

From the top: the Adams Stone Library, Massachusetts; the next five are quilt designs; and the final two are Pugin designed tiles based on gothic floor patterns.

St Barnabas, St Paul and St Thomas More on Cultivating Christian Joy, Even in Suffering: speaking to us through the Liturgy of Hours

 ‘Whatever experience comes your way, accept it as a blessing, in the certainty that nothing can happen without God’ Letter attributed to Barnabas, Ch 19 I am a convert. There are of course, many reasons that I became a Catholic, but an important one was the conviction that I would lead a happier life if I did. (I’m talking about this life, the here-and-now as much as the hereafter.)

One of the most influential figures in my conversion was a man called David who insisted that Christian joy  comes as a result of the personal choices we make and is open to anyone. He taught me also how to cultivate Christian joy. David, incidentally, is the same person who gave me the vocational guidance that I have referred to before, here, and which rests so much on an assumption that God wants us to be happy. I was prepared to listen to him because he genuinely seemed a joyful person to me; and this was despite the fact that he had a heart condition that meant he could not walk without a stick and had to rest to catch his breath every 50 yards. The example of joy in adversity was powerful.

I have been reminded of David and his lessons of over 20 years ago now recently through readings from the liturgy of the hours. The things that he said to me about the joy of the Catholic life seem to me to be echoed in three readings I noticed this summer. This reinforces the for me just how powerful the liturgy is in educating and forming the person.

There are a number of aspects to cultivating joy of course, but one powerful contributor was a simple meditation  called  ‘counting my blessings’. Each day, he suggested, I should write down the good things that have happened that day – a ‘Gratitude List’ - and then as part of my daily prayers, thank God for these gifts. He was insistent that actually writing them down was important.

When I first met him I was miserable and not grateful for very much at all. He wrote out my first Gratitude List for me, which at this stage consisted of things I ought to be grateful for rather than things that I actually felt grateful for. I remember him starting with the basic necessities: he asked me first if I had eaten that day, then he wrote down ‘food’; then he looked at me and noted that I was clothed, and wrote ‘clothes’ on the list. ‘Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?’ he asked me. When I answered yes he wrote to down, ‘Bed to sleep in’; and then he asked, is this outside or indoors? He wrote down ‘roof over my head’. Then he paused: ‘You have affirmed to me that each item on this list is true. So  here you have written proof that this morning when you asked God to look after you today, he answered your prayer.’ He also told me that these things’ put me ahead’ of a significant proportion of the world’s population who didn’t know where their next meal was to come from. ‘Therefore,’ he said, ‘You really don’t have any good reason for complaining about your lot.’

This was over 20 years ago and since then, pretty much daily, I have been writing a gratitude list. To this list of necessities, I always add half a dozen or so ‘luxuries’: the things that I have received that a more than what need. So any through this I thank God as well for any other positives in the day, major or minor. Pretty soon, perhaps after about a month or so, I noticed that I genuinely felt grateful for these things. But the benefits went further than that. The result for me has been to reinforce the faith in a loving God who is actively looking after me. There has never been a day when I haven’t been given all that I need.

This does seem to leave gaps though. It’s one thing to appreciate the good things, but another to accept the bad things and still be happy. I have had to deal with many of the setbacks and disappointments that one would expect in an ordinary life. They way I deal with these is to remember something else that David told me. That if we assume that a loving God is working in my life and wants me to be happy, then I should remember that all that happens is either willed by God directly, or if it is bad, is permitted by God for good reason. (God, who is all goodness cannot be the author of something that is bad.) This means that if I could see the bigger picture then I would be able to see what this greater good was but because I am not able to I can have faith that there is a greater good nevertheless. Perhaps it is a lesson learnt for the good of my soul, or it is directing me down a path that will reap greater rewards later. In order to help cultivate gratitude for these bad things, David used to put them on his gratitude list too and praise God for them, on the grounds that even these must be permitted by a God who had his best interests at heart. I have adopted his habit and have found this powerful in helping to intensify a faith in a loving God.

This last point was reinforced by two quotations in the Liturgy recently.

From Office of Readings, Wednesday Week 18 of the Year, Letter attributed to Barnabus, Ch 19: ‘Whatever experience comes your way, accept it as a blessing, in the certainty that nothing can happen without God.’

From Lauds, Wed, Week II, Romans 8:35, 37: 'Nothing can come between us and the love of Christ, even if we are troubled or worried, or being persecuted, or lacking food or clothes, or being threatened or even attacked. These are the trials through which we triumph, by the power of him who loved us.'

Despite the success of this tool in my own life, it still doesn’t go far enough, I think. In many ways I have led a privileged life and haven’t had to face extreme suffering. This little technique might be good for the everyday ups and downs of everyday life, but does this idea apply to those who suffer torture, or who went through the Nazi concentration camps. This is where the study of the lives of the saints paid dividends for me. I studied the writing of saints who had been through such things and was struck by the joy they talk about even in such adversity. It seems that God’s grace really can overcome anything. I should state at the same time, I am very far from ready to volunteer for such suffering. However, the more I read passages such as the one that follows, the more it reinforces the idea that whatever the situation there is sufficient grace, if I cooperate, for me to overcome it.

From Office of Readings, June 22nd, a letter written by St Thomas More to his daughter Margaret from prison: 'Although I know well, Margaret, that because of my past wickedness I deserve to be abandoned by God, I cannot but trust in his merciful goodness. His grace has strengthened me until now and made me content to lose goods, land, and life as well, rather than to swear against my conscience. God’s grace has given the king a gracious frame of mind toward me, so that as yet he has taken from me nothing but my liberty. In doing this His Majesty has done me such great good with respect to spiritual profit that I trust that among all the great benefits he has heaped so abundantly upon me I count my imprisonment the very greatest. I cannot, therefore, mistrust the grace of God. Either he shall keep the king in that gracious frame of mind to continue to do me no harm, or else, if it be his pleasure that for my other sins I suffer in this case as I shall not deserve, then his grace shall give me the strength to bear it patiently, and perhaps even gladly.

By the merits of his bitter passion joined to mine and far surpassing in merit for me all that I can suffer myself, his bounteous goodness shall release me from the pains of purgatory and shall increase my reward in heaven besides.

I will not mistrust him, Meg, though I shall feel myself weakening and on the verge of being overcome with fear. I shall remember how Saint Peter at a blast of wind began to sink because of his lack of faith, and I shall do as he did: call upon Christ and pray to him for help. And then I trust he shall place his holy hand on me and in the stormy seas hold me up from drowning.

And if he permits me to play Saint Peter further and to fall to the ground and to swear and forswear, may God our Lord in his tender mercy keep me from this, and let me lose if it so happen, and never win thereby! Still, if this should happen, afterward I trust that in his goodness he will look on me with pity as he did upon Saint Peter, and make me stand up again and confess the truth of my conscience afresh and endure here the shame and harm of my own fault.

And finally, Margaret, I know this well: that without my fault he will not let me be lost. I shall, therefore, with good hope commit myself wholly to him. And if he permits me to perish for my faults, then I shall serve as praise for his justice. But in good faith, Meg, I trust that his tender pity shall keep my poor soul safe and make me commend his mercy.

And, therefore, my own good daughter, do not let your mind be troubled over anything that shall happen to me in this world. Nothing can come but what God wills. And I am very sure that whatever that be, however bad it may seem, it shall indeed be the best.'

Images: Nicolaes Berchem, St Paul and St Barnabas Preaching at Lystra, 17th century. St Paul, ancient wall painting; St Barnabus, Rembrandt, 17th century; St Thomas More, polychrome statue at St Thomas More parish, Pottsdown, Pennsylvania. Below: Hans Holbein' drawing of the More

Russian Geometric Patterns from the 19th Century

Last year I featured some wall paintings of the Trinity at the Russian Orthodox Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, in Moscow, left. This is a modern reconstruction of a 19^th century church and all the art from that time has been faithfully reproduced too (I hadn’t appreciated this until an NLM reader pointed it out to me!). As well as some striking naturalistic and iconographic art, there is some beautiful geometric and patterned art as well which I show here. This reminds me in some ways of the decoration one might see in an English 19^th century neo-gothic church designed by Pugin. Anyway, I hope that this will inspire those who are responsible for the interior decoration of our churches to consider geometric designs as an option.

Where Do Liturgy, Devotional Prayer and Meditation all Fit Together?

Shawn Tribe of the New Liturgical Movement writes about the relationship between Exposition and the Liturgy, (here). 

One of the great things about being a Catholic is how rich the traditions of prayer and worship are and just how much is on offer to us for our benefit. However, in some ways this can be daunting too. As a convert who found the idea of devotion to saints and angels a bit strange at first, I wondered what I was getting myself into. Just as I was starting to get used to one I would meet someone else with a different devotion who would passionately try to persuade me to take it on too. This came together in a picture of a dazzling, to the point of being blinding, array of prayers, devotions and practices - the Infant of Prague, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Immaculate Heart of Mary, the Sacred Head of Jesus (championed by Teresa Higginson, who is buried at St Winifred's Church in my home town of Neston, Cheshire), the rosary, the Divine Mercy Chaplet, the Liturgy of the Hours, novenas prayed at the drop of a hat that spanned nine hours, or nine days, or nine weeks... it just seemed to go on and on. There simply weren't enough hours in the day to adopt all of this even if I wanted to. How do I decide which to pick and what is most important?

Fortunately, I was directed to Church teaching on this and the ordering principle is the liturgy. In this regard, Shawn Tribe of the New Liturgical Movement has written an excellent article about the place of Exposition in relation to the Liturgy which I urge readers to take a look at. He is discussing just one of these devotions, but the principles he articulates can be applied to them all.

When I asked this question first, years ago, I was directed first to the Church's teaching on the liturgy in the Catechism and Sacrosanctum Concilium. In regard to Marian devotion, I later discovered an encyclical called Marialis Cultus, For the Right Ordering and Development of the Devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary.

I took a number of points from these. First was to note that while a particular devotion might be characterised in people's minds by a particular devotional practice that is outside the liturgy - for example devotion to Mary and the rosary - this one practice might is usually not the only way of expressing devotion. Devotion to a saint, to cite an obvious example, can be expressed through the liturgy. The encyclical mentioned above, Marialis Cultus, talks at length about how the fullest devotion to Our Lady is expressed through observance of and participation in the feasts and seasons of the Church's liturgy.

Second is that traditional devotional prayers and practices although not liturgical are nevertheless good and desirable practices that always have their place in a well-balanced prayer life. I have been told that an error of some within the older liturgical movement of the first part of the 20th century was to try to get rid of these devotional practices in a desire to emphasize the importance of the liturgy. If so this was clearly a mistake. Certainly all the Catholics I have ever met whom I respect emphasise the importance of devotions in leading us to a proper liturgical piety. The Benedictines are devoted to the Opus Dei, the work of God, which is the praying of the liturgy. But the Rule of Benedict directs monks also to other practices such as lectio divina and compunction of the heart.

Third, while the sacred liturgy (that is the Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours) is higher than any of them and contains a fuller expression of what the devotions point to, one should not interpret the raising of the liturgy to its proper position as an desire to diminish the importance of devotional prayers; and finally that many of the different aspects of prayer life including the meditative and the contemplative are accessible through liturgical practice.

The Church is clear of where the primacy lies. From Sacrosanctum Concilium: "...devotions should be so drawn up that they harmonize with the liturgical seasons, accord with the sacred liturgy, are in some fashion derived from it, and lead the people to it, since, in fact, the liturgy by its very nature far surpasses any of them."

Take note: derived from it, lead people to it, surpassed by it.

And of course, now I am part of all this a Catholic for many years now, I am there with everyone else, enthusiastically offering my personal devotions to others with the sincerity that comes from having experienced something genuinely good. So please dear reader, I urge you to adopt.....but most of let it be ordered to the sacred liturgy.

Should Theology Govern the Process of Painting as well as the Product

  Some say if the wrong method is used, it's not a real icon even if it looks right. I was first introduced to the medium of egg tempera through a teacher at an evening class in London (this was not an icon painting class). The teacher had noticed that I liked to draw and always wanted to paint faithful to a preparatory drawing. He thought that because tempera dries quickly and with a hard edge, that I might take to the medium. He suggested that I go and look at the medieval art in the Sainsbury Wing of the National Gallery and the Courtauld Gallery to see if I liked the look of it. He told me to look out for an artist called Lorenzo Monaco. This was long before I was a Christian, but nevertheless I was astounded by the beauty of what I saw in his work and the others that I saw, such as Duccio, and wanted therefore use their medium.

The problem was that this tube tempera paint bought from the art shop was very difficult to handle and my work didn’t seem to have the same beautiful bright finish of Lorenzo’s. My teacher suggested a get a book called the Practice of Tempera Painting by Daniel V Thompson and published by Dover. This was first published in the 1930s and was an 20^th century description of the methods that had, in turn, been described in an Italian art text book from perhaps the early 14^th century (the exact date is not known as far as I am aware). The book is Il libro dell’arte by Cennino Cennini.

Thompson’s book is one the best textbooks on artistic method I have ever read. Written in clear prose he deals not only with the methods of making and using the paint, but also the preparation of panels, gilding, and outlines the theory of artistic techniques such as glazes and scumbles. I just followed everything he described and it transformed my work.

Some time later, when I started to learn to paint icons, I brought this book along to my first class and to my surprise was told that it wasn’t relevant. Cennino Cennini, I was informed, used methods that were inconsistent with the theology of the icon. In particular, Cennini described a method in which once the drawing is transferred to the panel requires the production of a monochrome underpainting in ink – effectively painting what my laptop call a ‘grayscale’ image of the icon. Once the monochrome underpainting was created, thin glazes of coloured paint would be applied to produce the final painting. My first icon painting teacher told me that this method had developed in the West as religious images became degenerate and it was different from the method that she was going to show me. The genuine icon painting method, she told me, involved putting a darkest layer of colour down first and then gradually adding layers of lighter colour until you finish with the highlights. This process embodied the theological point that the Light overcomes the darkness.

I was happy to be told how to paint icons, so willingly abandoned Thompson and Cennini and adopted this newly introduced, theologically driven method.

I didn’t say anything at the time, but I never really understood how the theology of method could be quite so important. Surely (assuming it didn't require anything actually immoral) you could use whatever method was best in order to produce the final image? If the final product was consistent with the theology, seemed to me, then so was the method. In other words, if you couldn’t tell once the icon was done what method had been used, why did it matter? Does it really invalidate the icon if a different method is used?

This reaction was reinforced when I read about the theology of the image developed by St Theodore the Studite, the great Eastern Father who settled the iconoclastic period in the 9th century. Theodore was clear, in my reading of him, that two things made an image worthy of veneration: one was the incorporation of the characteristics of the person, and the other was the writing of the name on the image. He attached no importance to the method used to produce such worthy images.

Fifteen years after my first icon lesson, I received a phone call from a good friend who was an Orthodox icon painter. He told me that he had just read a book A History of Icon Painting in which a number of scientific studies of very early icons were described. It turns out that the earliest icons used the Cennini method after all. The method that starts with a dark layer and then moves to light is, in fact, the more recent one. From now on, my friend said, he was going to use the Cennini method; not because it was older, but because he found that by using it he produced better icons in less time.

What about this theology of light from dark? As far as I can work out this is a modern construct applied after the fact by those who re-established the icon painting tradition in the 20^th century. I am not aware of any traditional canon that stipulates this light-out-of-dark method as being preferential (I am open to hear of any, of course).

All of this serves to reinforce a basic point: that the artist can use whatever method he likes (other things being equal) if it allows him to produce the highest quality work at the end of it. This means that the process that produces the best end result is conforming to the theology of the image as this is the end to which it is directed.

Long before I heard about this recent development, I had thought about going back to the method that uses the monochrome underpainting. I do use it selectively now (where I feel the form needs reinforcing) and sometimes use it in classes that I teach as it can be easier to use when people are just learning to use the paint for the first time (I show some examples of a series of demonstration pieces I made for such a class). However, I find that the method I prefer, ironically and unlike my Orthodox friend, especially for flesh painting in my own work is the Eastern method!

Images from top: the Coronation of the Virgin, the Flight from Egypt; and the Nativity, all by Lorenzo Monaco.

Below these are demonstration pieces that I made to show how the different stages of icon painting using the Cennino Cennini method. The image is the Mandylion.

From right: a line drawing, in pencil, is done on paper. This is transferred to the wooden, gessoed panel and the lines painted in; then a monochrome image is painted. After this, bottom, layers of translucent colour are placed over to create the final image.

 

A Recommended Book for Young Children

Here is a book introducing young children both to an aspect of the Faith and to the artistic traditions of the Church. It is not an unusual idea - there are other books for children making use of the works of Old Masters. However, this one caught my eye because it uses exclusively the art of one artist, Fra Angelico, which gives the project greater cohesion than many. Also, I love Fra Angelico, so anything that introduces his art to children is worth looking at in my opinion. Bethlehem Books, the publisher, says that this is 'a first board book in a set on the Blessed Trinity. The aim of The Saving Name of God the Son is to help guide the child listener and adult reader into the mystery of the Son of God, Jesus Christ'

There are ten described events, including The Resurrection, below, and with the front cover this makes 11 reproductions. There are very few words, perhaps two or three short sentences per picture, but they are taken from Scripture or the Catechism and it has been put together so that it runs smoothly, simply and understandably. Given the source of the text and the quality of the reproductions, I can imagine that it is likely to give the grown-ups doing the reading a resource for some pictorial lectio. At the back are comprehensive details about each picture (name, location of original etc) and the sources for the accompanying text, plus scriptural readings and sections of the Catechism that reinforce the theological point being made.

To get more information or order The Saving Name of God the Son, go to Bethlehem Books website,  here. Bethlehem Book publish this as part of their Holy Child teaching curriculum and present many ideas about how to use this book with different age groups to maximise the enjoyment and the quality of the educational experience, here.

There is an additional exercise that I would encourage. If parents encourage their older children to copy these beautiful images as best they can then it will impress the style of this wonderful artist upon their souls in some way and, who knows, it might stimulate a future Fra Angelico to realise his or her vocation!

Antonio Begarelli, A Forgotten Master: by Matthew James Collins

This is the first in an occasional series written especially for The Way of Beauty blog by my former teacher (when I was learning the academic method in Florence) Matthew James Collins. He will highlight lesser known but nevertheless great artists of the baroque and High Renaissance period. Matt is an excellent artist himself and knows more about the baroque and High Renaissance methods and artists than anyone else I know. An American he has now settled in southern Italy and his writing reflects his deep knowledge of that country and its art, as well as special insights into the artistic methods of the time. If you check out his blog you will see he has just written about his painting of Jesus Carrying the Cross which is well worth reading too. The history of art is full of benchmarks of Genius.  They are signposts used to indicate periods and style.  They encompass ideology and the zenith of human achievement.  Their names conjure dreams: Giotto, Michelangelo, Caravaggio, Bernini.  However, an overemphasis on their greatness risks to isolate them from their context

Art is a continuum where generations of artists and their accumulated knowledge that create an environment where Genius can blossom.  When we look more closely at the second masters, we find a lot of terrific artists. One of these is Antonio Begarelli.

When one thinks of life-size sculpture, the materials that come to mind are marble and bronze.  But it is important to remember that the humble terra-cotta has been an important medium for sculpture on the Italian peninsula since the time of the Greeks.  There are some really nice pieces in the collection of the Getty Villa in Malibu, such as these, right: Poet as Orpheus with Two Sirens, circa 350BC.

Begarelli was born in the Italian town of Modena in 1499.  Very little is known about  his childhood and absolutely nothing about his artistic formation.  Yet his work is absolutely wonderful.  His first major work was the Madonna di Piazza completed in 1522.

The next image is of his Madonna di Piazza, terracotta, h. 190cm.

In 1520 the city of Modena was planning to commission a sculpture of the Madonna for a niche located in the main piazza.  Begarelli, only 21 at the time, offered the above piece that was already completed.  Originally is was colored to look like marble. This was a common

Terracotta is a tricky medium and creating such large pieces is extremely difficult. The first step was to create an internal armature for the sculpture to be completed that would support the weight of the wet clay during the modeling process.  (as the clay is not able to support its own weight)  The sculpture was completed and allowed to dry until it was leather hard.  Afterwards it was sectioned off and removed from the armature and each piece hollowed out carefully to allow an even drying.  Once completely dry, all the pieces were strategically placed within a free flame kiln and cooked.  The pieces were then reassembled, joints stuccoed and imperfections corrected.

There are a lot of potential hazards along that path.  The industrialization of ceramic production has eliminated many of those risks.  Pre-19th century artists and craftsmen required a long apprenticeship to learn all the aspects of their particular trade.  Materials were not bought in an art supply shop, they were produced.  To make the clay different types were extracted from the ground, dried, and cleaned of impurities. Once reconstituted they were then kneaded together to differing proportions depending upon the required color and handling properties.

Kilns today are of either the gas or electric variety.  They are temperature controlled and whole process is programed and guided by a computer.  Before this innovation they were basically rooms heated up with fire.  The cooking process could last over 24 hours.  All this taken into account, it is quite amazing that Begarelli was able to produce such an accomplished work at such a young age.

His career took off from that point and he worked quite steadily until his death in 1565.  Since he did not travel much, to see his work properly one must travel to Modena.  Below are several images representative of his oeuvre.

Here are some more works by him:

San Giovanni Battista, terracotta, h. 38cm

Madonna col Bambino, terra-cotta, life-size

 

 Deposition of Christ from the Cross, terra-cotta, life size, Church of San Francesco, Modena

To learn a little more about Begarelli there is a Wikipedia entry,  here.

There is also a nice video on youtube that has some nice details of his work.  It can be found here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTsN7pt3BIE

How Do We Revive the Gothic?

When I was given the courage to follow my dream of being an artist (by some inspired vocational guidance 20 years ago) I wanted to paint like the Italian gothic artist Duccio. My reasons were based upon personal preference rather than a deep knowledge of Catholic liturgical art. It was just that I loved what I saw when I went to the National Gallery in London: it had enough naturalism to make it accessible, and enough idealism that gave it a sense of the sacred. It was later that I read The Spirit of the Liturgy in which the then Cardinal Ratzinger wrote of the gothic an authentic liturgical tradition. Once I had decided I wanted to paint like him, it raised the problem of how to learn to do so. I didn't want to create pastiche, but to learn in such a way that it might become my natural way of painting and so if required, I could paint new works of art in this style. The problem was that as far as I was aware, this was not a living tradition and there wasn’t any practising artist who could teach me.

I had a sense that historically, the gothic was a transitionary phase between the iconographic and the classical naturalism of the High Renaissance/Baroque (transmitted through the ‘academic method’ of the academies and ateliers). The methods of both of these traditions were still just about alive, I knew, if not always applied in the full glory of the past. So I decided to seek a training in both traditions and hoped that through this, somehow, I would be able to take elements from both and patch together my own gothic style.

This twin training was extremely valuable to me to this end, but not in the way I had imagined. Rather than learning stylistic elements from two traditions that I could combine to create a hybrid, I learnt how a tradition preserves and passes on its core principles and so was able to see how the gothic could be reestablished as a tradition in its own right, without reference to the other two if necessary.

Both the academic and iconographic methods emphasized the importance of two aspects in the training: first the observation from nature and second the copying, with understanding, of masters in that tradition. The balance of these two aspects was different in each tradition (with the emphasis on observation from nature much stronger, as one would expect, in the naturalistic tradition).

This aspect of understanding when copying is important. Aidan Hart, my teacher, always stressed this strongly. When we studied an icon, he would relate the form of the painting to both the natural form and the theology. Take the example of the eyes: he pointed out that the eyes in an icon have no glint. This is because a glint is reflected light, and this is absent in the icon because it portrays eschatological man who shines with uncreated light which is stronger than the reflected light.

Sometimes he would point out features that might seem at first glance to be an arbitrary stylization but were in fact related to natural form. For example, the dark line above the eye is the deepest point. Below it, the eyeball is curving forward out of the orbit and above it the skull coming out from the orbit towards the brow. (This line only appears in nature if we have deep set eyes.) To accentuate this as a shadow line it is often painted as a red or red-brown shadow line. A warm, reddish shadow is often used in the deepest shadow of flesh even when painting naturalistically (this is what I was taught to do when I was studying in portrait painting in Florence).

So from this lesson I learnt that if I want to learn any tradition, I must learn to draw skillfully from nature as well as copy masters. If I want to paint figures in the style of musclebound superheroes, I would sign up for life drawing classes and copy lots of pictures of Spiderman and Superman. Similarly, if I want to paint like Duccio I can copy his work, while considering how the style relates to the theology; and (as we know the gothic masons did from their surviving manuscripts) draw from nature.

The study of iconography taught me that a tradition can be reestablished as living tradition successfully, even if the line of tradition has been broken. The Enlightenment affected the culture in both East and West and this caused a break in the iconographic tradition. The iconography which we see today is a living tradition that was reestablished in the 20^th century through the devoted work of Greek and Russian iconographers and scholars. These pioneers analysed the tradition for its essential elements, and then sought to account for these by relating them to theology of eschatological man. (The work has not been done yet. It has been developing and changing even in the time that I have been exposed to icons over the last 20 years.)

A similar process is now going on in in the West, both in regard to re-establishing the Baroque and gothic traditions; and in taking a discerning look at the Orthodox interpretation of the iconographic tradition, which is at times limited by its focus on the Greek and Russian traditions to the exclusion of other iconographic forms, for example the Romanesque or the Celtic forms of iconography.

I am confident therefore of a flowering of Catholic culture, especially when one sees how it is underpinned by the liturgical renewal that is taking place under the guiding hand of the Holy Father.

Images from top: Madonna and Child, Duccio; detail of Christ Pantocrator, 6th century; detail from triple portrait of Charles I, Sir Anthony van Dyck, 17th century.

Below: first, a portrait by yours truly in which the eyes are not deep set and so the line above the lids is not visible. Nevertheless, I used a deep red-brown, as instructed, to give the shadow tone in this naturalistic style. Below those we have large scale, full images of those above.