Denis McNamara on architecture, part 6: columns

Here is the sixth in the series of short videos by Denis McNamara, Professor on the faculty of the Liturgical Institute, Mundelein; his book is Catholic Church Architecture and the Spirit of the Liturgy.

I found this one particularly fascinating.

Denis describes here how columns are a vital part of the design of the church building which is meant to be the sacramental image of the Church, the mystical body of Christ. Historically the building was so clearly identified as an image of the Church, that this is why it came to be called a 'church'.

The columns represent important people within the Church who, metaphorically, support it. Most importantly it would be the 12 apostles. Prior to the Christian era the columns represented the 12 tribes of Isreal in Jewish architecture. Even within the classical, pre-Christian tradition, columns were identified with people and different designs were ascribed to men, women and young girls. With the tradition present in both the Jewish and classical traditions that preceeded them, we can see why it made great sense, for the early Christians to incorporate the same symbolism into the design of their churches.

It is because they are symbolic images of people that there are particular aspects of design on the columns, again incorporated into the tradition, and they should not just be created as straight vertical lines that are pure structural support - as a modern architect might wish to do. It does not mean that every column should necessarily correspond precisely to the Doric, Corinthian and Ionic columns of classical architecture, but it does point to importance of columns of some form as symbolic images of people, as decoration that visibly performs a structural purpose.

The question one might have after considering this is, even if we acknowledge that properly formed columns are right for a church building, is do we need to have them in secular buildings as well? What about libraries, town halls, houses, theatres, and so on?

I would say again that the church should be the symbolic heart of the community. Therefore, just as all human activity is formed by and leads us to the worship of God, so the design of all buildings whatever their purpose should be derived from and point to what should be the focal point within the town plan, the church and so we ought to see columns in secular buildings too. All of this should be modified so that each building is appropriate to its particular purpose: a government building would have a design that is mre directly corresonding to a church, I would suggest, than a cow shed or a public convenience.

https://youtu.be/CIw_zw-QCJk

Titian the trailblazer - showing us how to balance naturalism and symbolism

Titian is one of the greats of Western art. He lived from about 1480 to 1576, in Venice, and was active almost right to the end of his life. He began painting in the period of the High Renaissance and when he died was in the latter part of the 16th century which was characterized by individual artistic styles collectively called 'mannerism'. Titian's style, though individual to him when he established it, was highly influential and much of what characterized the baroque tradition of the 17th century was derived from his work. In some ways he can be considered one of the pioneers of the baroque style that dominated in the 17th century. This is important because the baroque is the one artistic traditions that Pope Benedict describes, in his book, the Spirit of the Liturgy, as being an authentic liturgical tradition. Some people may be surprised, as I was, to discover that the High Renaissance (the style of Leonardo, Michelangelo and Raphael from about 1490 to 1525) is not considered fully and authentically liturgical (ie right for the Catholic liturgy). This is not to say that there are not individual works of art from these great artists that might be appropriate, but that it was not yet a coherent tradition in which a theology of form had been fully worked out, as was later to happen for the baroque. Pope Benedict argues that for the most part it was too strongly influenced by the pagan art of classical Greece and Rome and reveals the self-obsessed negative aspects of classical in a way that is not fully Christian.

As a young man Titian trained during the High Renaissance and the influence of this can be seen in this early painting of his, the Enthronement of St Mark. At the feet of St Mark are Ss Cosmas and Damien on the left, and St Sebastien and St Roch on the right. This was painted in 1510 and one could be forgiven for thinking it was painted by Raphael. Notice how sharply defined all the figures and all the details are, even the floor tiles.

If you compare this with the following paintings we see how his work changed as he got older. The first is Cain and Abel painted in 1543; and the second is the entombment of Christ, painted in 1558. In the latter Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus and the Virgin Mary take Christ in the tomb watched by Mary Magdalene and Saint John the Evangelist.

We can see how, in contrast to the first painted how diffuse and lacking in color much each painting is. The edges are blurred in many places and only certain areas have bright or naturalistic color. Those areas of primary focus are painted with sharper edges and with bright colors. This is done to draw our attention to the important part of the composition. He cannot apply bright color to the figure of Christ but notice how he uses the bright colors from the clothes of the three figures who are carrying him to frame his figure. In contrast the two figures in the background are depleted of color and detail. He wants us to be aware of them, but not in such a way that they detract from the most important figure. He uses the white cloth draped over the tomb in the same way, making sure that the sharpest contrast in tone, light to dark is between this and the shadow of the tomb. They eye is naturally drawn to those areas where dark and light meet and this is how Titian draws our gaze onto Christ.

It is suggested that this looseness of style in Titian's later works occured because as his eyesight declined, he was unable to paint as precisely as he had done as a young man. This may well have been what forced him to work differently, but if so, all I can say is, my, how he accomodated his handicap so as to create something greater as a result!

If we go forward now to early 17th century Rome, it is the artist Caravaggio who is often credited with creating the characteristic visual vocabulary of exaggerated light and dark of the baroque style. We have seen deep shadow and bright light before this time, but Caravaggio exaggerated it and embued it with spiritual meaning in a new way. The shadow represents the presence of evil, sin, and suffering in this fallen world; and it is contrasted with the light which represents the Light, Christ, who offers Christian hope that transcends such suffering.

This visual vocabulary of light and dark can be seen in the painting above. Notice how it is so pronounced that in this example we do not see any background landscape; all apart from the figures is bathed in shadow. One thing that Caragaggio does retain from the visual style of the High Renaissance is that generally his edges are sharp and well defined, even if partially obscured by shadow. Other artists looked at this and while adopting Caravaggio's language of light and dark, incorporated also the controlled blurring edges that characterized Titian. What we think of as authentic baroque art is a hybrid of the two.

Look at the following painting by the Flemish artist, Van Dyck, St Francis in meditation, painted in 1632:

 

We can see how much he has taken from Titian in this painting. Van Dyck trained under Rubens. As a young man in 1600, Rubens travelled to Italy where he lived for eight years. His travels took him to Venice (where he saw the work of Titian), Florence and Rome (where much of Caravaggio's work was). He was influenced strongly by both and passed on these influences to his star pupil.

New icon: St Edna, Abbess of Whitby

This recently painted icon is St Edna, who succeeded St Hilda as the Abbess of Whitby in the 7th century. I based this icon a series painted by Aidan Hart of early British saints, including one of St Hilda herself. These seem to me, in turn, to be inspired by an icon of St Theodora from Mt Sinai in Egypt. This is for my domestic church.

'Decoration' and 'Ornament' - Denis McNamara of Architecture 5

Why both are necessary for the beauty of the building

Here is the fifth in the series of short videos by Denis McNamara. Denis is on the faculty of the Liturgical Institute, Mundelein; and his book is Catholic Church Architecture and the Spirit of the Liturgy. Scroll to the bottom if you want to go straight to the video!

Here he distinguishes between two similar, but crucially different ways in which the building is made beautiful - 'decoration' and 'ornament'. The two words are interchangeable in common parlance, he is using them here as technical terms that been developed by architects in order to be able to describe two complementary aspects of a building that are necessary for its beauty.

In the way Denis describes them decoration is a 'poetic', that is beautifully applied adornment that reveals the structural elements of the building. This is to be distinguished from the modern architect's desire to show the structural elements literally, almost brutally, without regard for beauty. The columns used in neo-classical architecture, for example are designed to reveal beautifully their load bearing function.

The church above is a neo-classical design in Poland, while the building below is an 18th century civic building from York in England that clearly points to and is derived from the church architecture.

As we will see, while one would not be surprised to see similar decoration on the two buildings. We would expect to see different ornament. That is because ornament is an enrichment that tells you the purpose of the building. A cross on a steeple, for example, is ornament as it reveals the buildings theological purpose. The cross of St George (the patron saint of England) on the York building tells Englishmen that this is a civic building...although ironically, this is also the Resurrection flag (although as an Englishman I didn't know this until I converted!).

Decoration and ornament are both necessary for a beautiful building because they contribute to the form in such a way that it tells us what this building is. Beauty, remember, is the radiance of being: a property of something that communicates to the observer what he is looking at.

In the flying buttresses of gothic architecture, it occurs to me, this distinction between decorative and literal in structural elements almost seems to disappear. Architects please feel free to contradict me if I am mistaken, but these are fully structural and literal in that sense, but they are also built in harmonious proportion. Might this represent the highest ideal for the architecture?

Anyway, here is the link to Denis's talk:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hEi0aqNFpVw

How do we paint disfigurement and bodily imperfections in saints?

Blessed Margaret of Castello is the patron saint of unwanted and disabled children. Born in 14th century Italy, she was disfigured and neglected from birth by her wealthy parents. She was taken in by Dominican nuns when she was sixteen and became a third order Dominican. Her story is both harrowing and inspiring: harrowing because of the suffering and cruelty she experienced; and inspiring because of her joy in life, which arose from her faith and transcended that suffering. Here is an account of her life from the website of the Dominican sisters at Nashville. As I read this story it occured to me that if this had been today and her parents had had access sonogram prior to her birth she would surely have become another abortion statistic.

A friend of mine, Gina Switzer, told me that she had been commissioned to paint her and we were discussing how artists might represent human disfigurement in saints so that they retain the dignity of the human person. So this week, I thought I'd write about this - for those who are looking for the continuation of the series, we'll come back to the series of architecture videos next week.

The first point is that it is not immediately clear that human imperfections should be portrayed in holy images. One might assume that these are absent in heaven and so to the degree that we show the redeemed person, argue that they should not be there at all. I was reminded that Denis McNamara told me recently that when they were designing the stained glass windows for the new John Paul II chapel at Mundelein, they thought about this and deliberately left  out St Maximilian Kolbe's spectacles for just this reason.

The counter to this is that in order to make an image worthy of veneration, according to the theology of holy images established by St Theodore the Studite in the 9th century, two things need to be present: first the name should be written on the image; and second it should portray the essential visual characteristics of the saint. This last criterion refers to those aspects of the saint that together give the person his unique identity. This can include a physical likeness, although a rigid application of physical likeness is not appropriate - a holy image is not a portrait. We are thinking here of those things that characterize the person and his story, for example, St Paul's baldness, the tongs containing hot coal for Isaias. With this in mind, to use the example of the JPII chapel again, Denis told me that for Blessed Teresa of Calcutta they did want to show her deformed feet because it symbolized her charity - this disfigurment arose because she always chose the worst shoes for herself from those donated to the order. We thought that for St Margaret, in this age of the culture of death, the portrayal of her joyful but with her physical imperfections would be particularly important.

One ideas was to look for inspiration at the dwarfs painted by Velazquez from the court of Philip IV of Spain, who have great dignity and bearing. This idea was rejected, firstly because they can also have an imappropriate haughtiness about them which would have to be changed. And second, because to incorporate all of these considerations into a naturalistic style and be able to pull it off would be very difficult indeed - it might almost require a Velazquez to do it. Even in naturalistic styles there should always be a degree of symbilism (or idealism) and this is notoriously difficult for contemporary Catholic artists to get right even for easier subjects. (Below you see his portrait of Sebastien de Morro.)

In the light of all these considerations I thought that I would probably paint an image in a gothic or iconographic style in which her natural physical characteristics were shown, retained but nevertheless redeemed in some way. The first thing I always do is, as I was taught, look first at existing images and if I can find one that is appropriate, just copy it. The aim to change as little as possible. If there is no perfect image to copy then I look at other images from which I can use the particular characteristics that appear to be missing from my desired image and patch them together into a single image. Only if I can find nothing that has already been painted do I attempt something original. I create drawings made from observation of nature and onto those I impose the stylistic form of the tradition that I am working in.

I found this picture of this sculpture of St Margaret.

I thought that a painting in egg tempera based upon this would work. A change I would make, I though, would be to change the face to one that is more joyful. I like the ones that I see in a series of Aidan Hart's icons, such as St Winifride or St Hilda of Whitby or St Melangell, which look to me as though they are based on an ancient icon of St Theodosia which is at Mt Sinai. You can see images of each below. One thing that I would do is close her eyes to indicate St Margaret's blindness:

Denis McNamara of Architecture, part 4: the Classical Tradition

And no, this does not mean that every building has to look like a Roman temple.

Here is the fourth in the series of short videos by Denis McNamara. Denis is on the faculty of the Liturgical Institute, Mundelein; and his book is Catholic Church Architecture and the Spirit of the Liturgy.

Before I sat in on some of his lectures this summer, I had been aware of Denis's emphasis on the classical tradition in architecture. I have to admit, I did have half a suspicion that his ideal was a world of faux Roman temples - all domes and Doric columns.

As I found out, and as you can see in the video, he does not mean this at all - although it does include what most of us think of as classical style. He describes classical architecture as any style that is created out of a respect for tradition and which participates in order of nature that 'reveals the mind of God'.  This includes, for example, gothic architecture.

Furthermore, he says that a respect for tradition does not mean that we look back, rather it provides a set of principles that will guide us as we go forward employing forms that might echo the past closely, or on the other hand might have styles that are previously unimagined. The potential range of styles is limitless.

Rather than painting a picture of people walking backwards reluctantly into the future wishing they could head for the past,  he is giving us one which is closer to the crew of a beautiful sloop that looks forward in optimism as it sails into the rising sun in the East, with tradition firmly at the tiller.

His reference to the mind of God is reminiscent of language used by Pope Benedict XVI, the Spirit of the Liturgy in which he describes how the numerical description of the patterns of the cosmos give us a glimpse into the mind of the Creator. Even the beauty of this world as it is now, fallen, does not reveal the divine beauty fully, for it is a fallen world. The question the good architect asks himself when designing a building is not so much, how can I reflect the beauty of the cosmos as it is, but rather, how can I reflect the beauty of the cosmos as it is meant to be? For me a critical point is that if we want beauty we cannot escape this question, for there is no order outside the divine order, only disorder and ugliness. Any building, or for that matter any aspect of the culture that does not look forward to the heavenly ideal

Onwards and Eastwards!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDpg_ChcgfI

Pictures from the Way of Beauty explained: Attingham House, Shropshire

A perfect exemplar of traditional harmonious proportion. And how modern research supports the traditional consensus for what is beautiful.

This is a picture that is only referred to in the book. For various reasons we were unable to include it in the book. I visited Attingham park in Shropshire in the Midlands area of England with my icon painting teacher Aidan Hart. We went primarily to enjoy the extensive grounds which are beautifully landscaped. I always thought that it was made in the 17th century, but in fact I notice now that it was build in the late 18th century.

It is a National Trust property, which means that it is owned by  the state and considered a place of outstanding interest and beauty. When I was there I noticed the proportional layout of the main house, as seen in this view above. What makes this particularly worthy of study is how simple the design, yet how beautiful. If it were not for the Palladian style portico (the grand columned porch that leads to the entrance of the building) the main house would be just a square block. One might argue that there was very little in terms of design to differentiate it from a modern housing block.

Both have windows and doors in a rectangular facade. Yet the modern building is no tourist attraction. In fact it was described in the website where I saw it as one of the seven most notorious housing projects in the US.

What gives Attingham House its beauty is the proportion? Proportion is the consonant relationship between three or more objects of different size. You cannot have pleasing proportion when everything is the same size as in the modern building shown. The basis for theories of harmonious proportion are consensus - people have observed since the ancient Greeks how most people react psychologically to different proportions. The Attingham House proportions are made apparent by the different window sizes associated with the three stories. If you count the panes of glass there are 6 in the lower floor, 4 in the second floor and 2 in the upper floor windows. The proportion would be expressed mathematically as 3:2:1. This corresponds exactly to the traditional proportions based upon the lengths of pipes that produce pleasing combinations of musical notes developed by the ancient Greek philosopher, Pythagoras (who we talked about in the last of these features, here.)

It seems that modern science is beginning to catch up. Someone recently contacted me to tell me about this book by Colin Ellard, Places of the Heart in which a psychologist conducts studies to see how different designs affect the mood of people.

If the designers of modern housing projects had made use of such proportions, even such mass housing could elevate the spirit in the same, way.

Behold the lamb of Advent!

Here's an enterprising way to draw people into the liturgy...and to prepare for Advent:

This from Jesson Mata, recently appointed Director of Office of Divine Worship for Archbishop Sample in the Archdioces of Portland, Oregon. He is also the Archbishop's Master of Ceremonies. He has done a blog posting on how to cook a dish - 'lamb with earthy vegetables'. At one level this is a simple cooking demonstration but he connects it with the liturgical season of Advent and offers it in anticipation of the coming season. This highlights the point that feasts and fasts are not just religious observances or names given to the liturgical celebration but are about eating (or not as the case may be).

There can be a tendency to think of the Lamb's supper, in the Mass, as a symbolic replication of conventional meals, but in fact it is the other way around. Formal meals are quasi-liturgical activities that are derived from and point to the holy banquet.

Similarly, the choice of vegetables reflects the earthly season, which points us to the seasons of sacred time. It is sacred time that is the model for earthly time, and not the other way around. He also gives it a Oregonian connection by making use of locally grown produce.

Anyway, here is the posting, complete with the video of Jessen in his kitchen...

Read the article here.

My only criticism would be the same one I have of all haute cuisine - the size of the helping. If I was presented with a meal like this I could probably eat about 10 of them and still be hungry. Then again, I am a bit of a Philistine when it comes to food and tend to see quantity and quality as the same thing!

Jesson also chooses a very interesting modern image of Our Lady - it has a hazy, gothic feel to it which I think works very well. I didn't recognize it so asked Jesson about it and he referrred me to this link here. The artist is Kay Eneim and it was painted in 2007. As she explains its is 'copied' from a 14th painting by Spanish gothic master, Pere Serra. She explains her reasons for focussing just on Our Lady (the original has many saints surrounding her). It is to her credit that she did not seek to do something wholly original (as someone working in the modern idiom might) This selective copying, changing only what is necessary to make it accessible to the modern eye, is how artists should approach the reestablishment of these traditions today as living traditions.

Denis McNamara on Architecture, part 3: the Jewish Roots of Church Architecture

In this, the third of a series of ten videos by Denis McNamara, he discusses how church architecture reflects the roots of the function of the church in those of the Temple and the synagogue.

Denis is on the faculty of the Liturgical Institute, Mundelein; and his book is Catholic Church Architecture and the Spirit of the Liturgy.

Drawing on St Gregory the Great and Pope Benedict, he refers to three eras in time: the pre-Christian time of the Jewish faith, the 'time of shadow'; the heavenly period to which we all look and which is called the 'time of reality'; and the time in between, which we occupy. This is the 'time of image'. The liturgy of the time of image both recalls the sacrificial aspects of the previous age and anticipates and gives us a foretaste of our heavenly end. Having described time in this way, Denis then goes on to explain how good church architecture reflects this.

As I was listening to this, I was reminded of how in art, again according to Pope Benedict, there are three authentic liturgical traditions. The baroque 'at its best' reveals historical man, that is man after the Fall but with the potential for sanctity as yet unrealised. It occured to me that this might seen also as the art of the time of shadow (after all it is characterized visually by deep shadows contrasted with the light of hope).

The art of eschatological man - man fully redeemed in heaven - is the icon. This is the art of the 'time of reality' and visually there are never any deep cast shadows in this form. Every figure is a source of light.

The art of the in-between time is the gothic, which I always called the art of our earthly pilgrimage. Like the spire of the gothic church it spans the divide between heaven and earth. Its form reflects the partial divinization of man which characterizes the Christian who participates in the liturgy. This might then be called the art of the 'time of image'. As before, any are curious to know more about this analysis can find a deeper explanation in the book the Way of Beauty.

In contrast to the artistic forms, in which the form of each tradition focusses on one age, the form of the church building, regardless of style, must reveal all three ages simultaneously. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bLj2ivFh75M

What is a church? What is the Church?...and How are They Connected?

The essence of Church as institution, and church as building. And how understanding this is what opens up the 'Pope Francis effect' to all people.

A friend was telling me recently how much he is enjoying meeting regularly with a group of friends, a mixture of Catholics and non-Catholics, to read the bible and pray together. From what I gathered, it had started as much for the sharing of friendship and conviviality as it was to explore different ideas of Christianity, but gradually the development of personal faith had become a more and more important part of it.

What had struck him, he told me, was how the different understanding of the church is was proving a stumbling block in explaining his Faith to his friends. I thought it was worth summarizing our discussion of this here, because it relates directly to beauty and worship and how we engage with the culture; and this is something, I suggest, that we can see in Pope Francis as I have been describing in recent articles.

If there was a quick way to describe the different ideas of what a church (as an institution now, not the building) is, then it might be this: for his protestant friends, their understanding of a church is of a community united by common belief. It is the creed, what is believed in common, that makes the church. That community can be local, as in a parish; and it can much wider, something that links many parishes together. Catholics believe this too, but there is something else that defines a church and is present, we believe, only in the Church. That is common worship.

In fact, for the Catholic this identity of common worship is the most important thing of all. All of the Church's activity is directed towards right worship for it is in its heart, at the Eucharist, we encounter personally, the living God. This is the foundation of our personal relationship, coming before emotions and feelings about God (which may be very good nevertheless). This is the optimal place to respond to the love of God so that in accepting it, we are transformed, supernaturally, as better lovers and, for all our personal inadequacies, become more capable of loving other.

In his book, the Spirit of the Liturgy, as my friend pointed out, Pope Benedict talks about how it is natural to man to worship God. If this natural tendency is distorted or not given full expression then it has a profound effect on us as people. The saying of the Church Fathers going back to the early centuries of the Church that describes this effect is lex orandi, lex credendi - rule of prayer, rule of faith. This expression tells us that it is how we pray in the liturgy more than anything else that forms what we believe in. This is why, if you want to destroy belief, you attack the liturgy. Accordingly, we believe that because the wider culture is a manifestation in all that we do of our attitude to God - art, music, architecture even the mundane activities of daily life, if you want to restore the culture you restore right worship in our churches.

So how do we know how to worship properly? We believe that this was revealed to us as much as Holy Scripture. Both the form of worship and holy scripture have been preserved in what we call Tradition. We believe that we are not at liberty to change it and in fact would not want to, because this is offered to us not as a constraint, or as a rod to beat us with, but rather as a gift. It is a heavenly path, that shows us how to love God adequately, so that we can be capable of accepting his love. This is why in the last two articles I wrote about Pope Francis I suggested that the optimal way for us to shine with the light of Christ and to know how to love man effectively is a full and active participation (properly understood) in the liturgy that leads to a supernatural transformation. That liturgy is not just any form of worship but it is the sacred liturgy that God has given us.

In the Spirit of the Liturgy, Pope Benedicts talks of the fault of the Isrealites who were worshipping the golden calf as that of worshipping in a way that differed from that which God had told them to do (in the Jewish liturgy). In our own way, if try to modify the liturgy from what is ordained we participate in the same flaw.

This importance of the liturgy to the identity of the Church is reflected in the way that the Catechism of the Catholic Church defines it. It refers to the other understanding of church as community, but very clearly places that of worship as the highest: 'In Christian usage, the word "church" designates the liturgical assembly, but also the local community or the whole universal community of believers. These three meanings are inseparable. "The Church" is the People that God gathers in the whole world. She exists in local communities and is made real as a liturgical, above all a Eucharistic, assembly. She draws her life from the word and the Body of Christ and so herself becomes Christ's Body.' (CCC, 752)

That is what the Church is as an institution, but how does that relate to the church as a building? The two are intimately connected...or they should be.

If you recall the last posting I made, in which Denis McNamara talks of the importance of beauty in architecture. He describes how one of the important attributes of the church if it is going to be beautiful is that it must communicate to us - radiate -  through its form just what it is. In fact this is how you define beauty: it is the 'radiance of being'.

If a church is going to communicate its 'churchness' to us it will reveal in outward signs what it is for. Now we can see what has been the cause of so much ugliness in church design especially in the last 75 years. Architects did not seek to reveal the full purpose of the church to us through its forms. There was a neglect of the true liturgical purpose of the church and too much emphasis on human fellowship and community. For a church to be beautiful it must not only look like a place of community, it must also, crucially, look like a place of worship. And that worship must be right worship. Furthermore it must be a symbol of what the Church as in institution is, the body of Christ and relate to God the Son. Practically this last aspect might have been achieved,for example, by basing the design features on the porportions of an idealized man.

Someone who does not understand all of this and how it can be reflected in form cannot create a church that looks like a church,  and so cannot create a beautiful church (except by luck).

By the way, as you look at the photographs, which are all churches, ask yourself two questions: first, do I think it is beautiful?; and second, could I tell it was church without being told so (or having an obvious sign such as a cross).