Saint CecIlia

There are lots of classical depictions of Saint Cecilia, the Patron Saint of Musicians, so I decided to turn out yet another. I chose to depict her in one of my favourite Gothic ruins, playing a theorbo (or chitarrone). I like to incorporate the frame into the picture, using it as an adjunct graphical element. The frame is a composite of wooden components and stands about a quarter of an inch above the painting surface, giving a shadowbox appearance.

If you look closely, you’ll see that there’s a head carved on the scroll of the instrument’s neck. This instrument was copied from an example in the collection of the Royal Ontario Museum. I now know that it is a fake concocted by one Leopoldo Franciolini, a notorious 19th century dealer in antique musical instruments. Examples of his creativity abound in musical instrument museums around the world, to the extent that it was mooted that a Franciolini Retrospective might be an attractive museum exhibition.

Nevertheless, authentic examples of the chitarrone differ only slightly in appearance from the one depicted here.

Acrylic on Masonite panel, oak frame

24" high by 12" wide

Musikalische Exequien

The Romanesque, Romantic and musical theme got the full treatment with Musikalische Exequien, painted in 1975. This is a depiction (highly fanciful) of the funeral music commissioned from Heinrich Schütz by the Saxon Prince Heinrich Posthumus of Reuss in 1635. He met with the composer to select the text, and had the music played several times before his demise. This painting shows the full musical forces specified by Schütz in his 1636 publication. The choral section ‘Er spracht zu seinem lieben Sohn...’ is, in my opinion, one of the loveliest pieces of music of this period. Note the theorbo player in the blue dress on the left; my Saint Cecelia recycled. Also note the old cove on the far left; Heinrich Schütz himself.

If you compare this depiction of the trumpeters with the one on my Home Page, you will see that here they hold their trumpets with two hands. When I painted this work, I was misguided by watching players of bogus ‘baroque’ trumpets who needed to open fingerholes in the tubing with the other hand. Of course, as I later learned, the real trumpet of this period would be played one-handed, so I unashamedly did some Photoshopping on the Home Page version. It would be unethical to display the painting here with that correction, of course. (Check Henry VIII’s Motorcycle, in the Our Books section, for my thoughts on who’s ethical and who isn’t.)

(Private collection, Montreal)

Acrylic on Masonite panel

48" high by 84" wide

A History of St Edmund

I began this painting in 1977, having been beguiled by reading about the martyrdom of St Edmund while studying Anglo-Saxon at the University of Toronto. The right panel was originally a stand-alone piece, interpreting a reference in Thomas Carlyle’s Past and Present, where the saint’s life is mentioned. During a research stint in the British Library, I found the 12th century Latin text, and so I had the makings of a trilingual triptych: Old English, Latin and Modern English. It was 32 years later that the right panel was joined by the other two. Here’s what is depicted:

Left Panel
Martyrdom of St Edmund, year 869

St Edmund confronted Viking pirates who were laying waste to East Anglia. They captured him, shot him full of arrows, beheaded him, and threw the head into the bushes, knowing that there could be no Christian burial of an incomplete corpse. His people found the head, guarded by a wolf, and reunited it with the body. The body was buried quickly in those uncertain times, and it was only some years later that it was exhumed for burial with full Christian rites. The wound was found to be miraculously healed with only a thin red line showing how he had been slain. Miracles began to take place immediately.

The people went searching and also calling out: ‘Where are you now, friend?’ And the head answered them: ‘Here, here, here.’ There lay a grey wolf who watched over the head, and had the head clasped between his two paws. The wolf was greedy and hungry, but because of God he dared not eat the head, but protected it against other wild animals. (From Aelfic, Lives of the Saints, 993-998)

Centre Panel
Abbey of Bury St Edmund’s, year 1198

While transferring the holy remains to a new sepulchre, Samson, Abbot of St Edmund’s Bury, decides to open the coffin in the company of 12 selected brethren. Only the Abbot is permitted to touch the corpse, but Turstan the Little dares to put forward a finger and is admonished by one of the senior monks. One other brother, John of Diss, who was not invited to the ceremony, hides in the clerestory of the abbey and witnesses the event.

Therefore, taking the head between his hands, he said groaning, ‘Glorious Martyr, Saint Edmund, blessed be the hour of thy birth! Glorious Martyr, turn not to my perdition this my boldness, that I, a miserable sinner, now touch thee; thou knowest my devotion, thou knowest my intent.’ And he proceeded to touch the eyes and the nose, which was very large and prominent, and afterwards he touched the breast and arms and, raising the left hand, he touched the fingers and placed his fingers between the fingers of the saint; And that there might be abundance of witness, by the disposition of the Most High, one of our brethren sitting above in the roof of the church saw all these things clearly. (Extract from the Journal of Jocelyn of Brakelond, c. 1200)

Right Panel
Ruins of Bury St Edmund’s Abbey, year 1843

This is the panel painted in 1977. Thomas Carlyle visits the ruins of the abbey and is inspired to write about the life of the saint and the eye-witness account of Jocelyn of the late 12th century. His novel Past and Present is a polemic that uses historical characters and incidents to highlight contemporary social criticism.

Alas, how like an old osseous fragment, a broken blackened shinbone of the old dead Ages, this black ruin looks out, not yet covered by the soil; still indicating what a once gigantic Life lies buried there! It is dead now, and dumb; but was alive once, and spake. (From Thomas Carlyle, Past and Present, 1843)

Acrylic on Masonite panels, white ash framing, side panels hinged

24" high by 48" wide

A Celebration of Galileo

I did this painting in 2010 to celebrate the 400th anniversary of Galileo’s pointing a telescope at the heavens. This time the trilingual triptych theme lent itself to Latin, Jacobean English and Italian.

Left Panel
The Inquisition, year 1633

Galileo is brought before the Inquisition to be punished for his unrelenting criticism of Catholic doctrine, particularly his assertion that the Sun is the centre of the universe.

In the name of the Pope and the complete congress of the officials [of the Inquisition] it is stated that the opinion that the Sun is the centre of the universe, and immobile, and that the Earth moves, and other like things, must be completely relinquished, not held, taught or defended, in speech or in writing, and upon these official proceedings the said Galileo acquiesces and unequivocally promises. (Inquisition transcripts from Opera Galileo Galilei)

Centre Panel
A Terrace in Padua, year 1610

Galileo demonstrates his telescope to colleagues from the University of Padua, while his younger brother Michelagnolo entertains on the lute. Philosophy professor Cesare Cremonini turns his back and refuses to look through the telescope because he fears that the evidence of his senses will contradict his Aristotelian view of the cosmos.

(English text from a letter of March 12th, 1610, concerning publication of The Starry Messenger (Sidereus Nuncius) from Sir Henry Wotton, British Ambassador to Venice, to His Majesty King James I.)

Right Panel
Galileo’s House in Arcetri, year 1638

Under house arrest, a blind Galileo dictates a letter to his amanuensis Vincenzo Viviani, who was his disciple and a student of Evangelista Torricelli. On the bench is a prototype pendulum clock escapement, and in the rear a mercury barometer, the principle of which Galileo suggested to Torricelli.

When I think upon my present affliction [his blindness] it makes me consider that this universe, which I with my astonishing observations and clear demonstrations, had enlarged a hundred-, or even a thousand-fold beyond the limits commonly seen by wise men of all centuries past, is now for me so diminished and reduced, that it has shrunk to the meagre confines of my own body. (Letter to Elia Diodati, Venetian Legate in Paris)

Acrylic on Masonite panels, black walnut framing, side panels hinged

24" high by 48" wide

Jacob the Trumpeter

The potential publishers of my historical novel of the same name promised to produce a cover graphic. Trying to keep them to their promise over a year of effort proved futile, so I said screw it and did it myself. I felt that I knew Jacob Hintze better than anyone else anyway - having got myself inside his head while he told me his life’s story - so who better to daub up an image? (In the end, this publishing house was so useless that I published the novel myself as well.) This painting was a new technique for me: I combined about 15 digital images on-screen then had the graphic printed full-size onto a prepared panel. I then used acrylics to complete the painting, adding all the features of the cavalryman, his equipment and the greater part of his steed. Call it cheating if you will; I’m happy with both the result and the modus operandi.

Acrylic and ink jet pigment on Masonite panel

15" high by 12" wide

The Witch

I have no idea who she is or what she’s doing. I don’t even know why I thought she was a witch. (I must have read somewhere that witches danced naked.) This painting was produced when I was in that fantasy stage where I put down whatever popped into my head without analyzing it. Clearly, the ‘gothic’ theme and a fancy for bums are front and centre.

(Private collection, Montreal)

I chose the font size for these captions because some of the paintings come with a great deal of explanatory text. Such is not the case with this one, so how about a humorous anecdote to fill the space? My studio instructor - whose inspiring words I mentioned with regard to The Discoverie - was himself a practicing artist before either a) the lure of academia drew him, or b) he was a failure as an artist. Whatever the case, in his early days he was delighted to sell an enormous painting to the local Working Men’s Club. The canvas occupied an entire wall. One night, there was a robbery. The thieves broke in, emptied the beer fridge, cleaned out the frozen food and, to my instructor’s delight, stole his painting! His delight was short-lived: the police told him later that they had found the painting some distance away where the thieves had abandoned it after using it to wrap up and drag away their swag.

Acrylic on Masonite panel

30" high by 18" wide