Tuesday, January 31, 2023

A Boar's Maw...

One curious image that I had kept of a piece of art seen in my childhood, but retained only as an unidentified haze in my mind, finally turned out to be that of a Medieval illumination. Delighted to come across the intriguing picture again - some fifty years after initially seeing it a child – I was able to learn of its significance in the Middle Ages. It is an odd scene – I recalled staring at the dark boar with its powerful jaws bearing down on the trunk of a tree whilst a curious character perches at the very top, his funny claw-toed feet pointing down. Looking at it today, this unsettling mix of menace and melodrama creates an almost sinister effect, albeit a little comic.
In fact, this was one of the illuminated pages from the 14th century treatise on hunting Le livre du Roy Modus et de la Royne Racio (1354–1376), attributed to Henri de Ferrières. King Modus (referring to ‘good practice’) enters into discussion with various individuals about the nature of animals and the manner in which they should be hunted whilst Queen Ratio (‘reason’) explains how animals behave. Such was the importance of hunting in Medieval times that studies were devoted to its art so that its rituals could be observed and honoured in the correct manner. The precise terminology, and rich symbolism and ceremony of the hunt were expounded in Le Livre de Roy Modus which often acted as the reference to subsequent works such as Livre de Chasse (1387–1389) by Gaston III Phėbus, Comte de Foix.
Far more than a mere bawdy and boorish sport, hunting was thought to represent idealized noble virtues that it brought to the fore. In times of peace, the hunt not only enabled knights to practice and perfect their martial skills to fight for king and country, it also presented royalty and nobility alike with an honourable passtime of sophistication, skill and great finery. In some respects, it was almost on a par with the ceremonial acts of worship, with the chase and kill seen as rituals of redemption and purification, offering the huntsman the tantalizing promise of paradise. Hunting was likewise associated with courtly love – fin amor – expressed in the troubadours’ poetic music that developed the notion of chilvaric romance in 12th century southern France before spreading far further afield. Indeed, love and courtship followed the same stages as hunting – pursuit, struggle and conquest – with purity and virtue reflected in the deeds of the Medieval knights of valour just as they were in the mythological figure of Diana the huntress, goddess of the moon.
Through Medieval bestiaries most creatures were given symbolic importance, often representing religious sins, vices or virtues, and hence hunting could be seen as an act of faith. Deer-hunting was the most noble form of the art as the stag – preferably a white hart –lauded as a symbol of Christ Himself, pitted against the Satanic serpent that it would readily track down and trample. As the stag represented the words of Jesus and heralded Christian virtues, you might well wonder why it would then be deemed appropriate to slay it, but bloodshed was indeed an essential rite in the proceedings. A perhaps more ‘suitable’ quarry, on polar opposites to the virtuous stag was the beastly boar which fell into the same category as other ‘beste noire’ creatures of ‘stinking feet’; the bear, wolf and otter, according to Queen Ratio in de Ferrières’ treatise,. The good queen indeed listed a number of the boar’s base characteristics; black and bristly, raging and rampant, proud and petulant, low and lawless, fearless and ferocious. At best, it was a brutish yet brave beast, ready to stand its ground and defend it to the last with its dagger-like tusks and formidable force. At the worst, the boar was taken to be an anti-Christ, or at least its mouthpiece, spewing evil words to exhort sin, so much so that after death, its tongue had to be pierced with a sword and its heart and entrails burnt rather buried or fed to the hounds.
Unlike the noble stag that could be pursued and shot at with arrows before being dealt a final blow to the neck, the boar had to be charged at head on, if possible. Rather than immobilizing the boar with a lance wielded like a jousting weapon, from a height (horseback) or hurled from a safe distance, it had to be struck with a special sword, thus demonstrating great mastery and even greater courage. The boar would thrash and thrust at hounds, huntsmen and horse alike, its tusks fully capable of killing pursuers and tormentors in the ensuing struggle of literally epic proportion until finally incapacitated. The poor much-maligned boar – not much has changed over the centuries! At least what passed for the defiant ‘pride’ of the unrepentant boar in Medieval times had been lauded as commendable bravery in early Anglo-Saxon culture where pagan gods and spirits were worshipped. The image or form of a bellicose boar would often feature on helmets or battle weapons, offering sacred protection to warriors such as Beowulf, leading them to hold their ground and fight to the end…
On my illuminated boar, the usually voracious, ferocious gaping mouth – known as the maw – appears slightly comic as it casually closes around the spindly trunk of sapling tree bearing a rather underwhelming anti-Christ. The latter looks on, the whites of his widened eyes glinting in contrast to the dark, stark talons on his hands and feet and the spikes on his crown. Although unable to understand his full role here, I am quite content just to have tracked down this particular beast after all these years. What did the illuminator intend centuries ago, I wonder? Why was the anti-Christ boar trying to dislodge this hapless Anti-Christ?
Just by chance I happened to see a boar attack in the 1994 film, La Reine Margot by Patrice Chéreau whilst trying to track down scenes filmed in l'Ancien Collège des Jésuites in Reims (today Sciences Po)... This was an adaptation of the novel of the same name by Alexandre Dumas père, dealing with the life of Marguerite de Valois, entwined with the French Wars of Religion, leading to the Massacre de la Saint-Barthélemy of 1572 with the slaughter of the Huguenots (French Calvinist Protestants). In both novel and film, king Charles IX is turned on by a boar during the Royal hunt...
« Les dogues ! cria Charles, les dogues !... » A ce cri, le piqueur ouvrit les porte-mousquetons des laisses, et les deux molosses se ruèrent au milieu du carnage, renversant tout, écartant tout, se frayant avec leurs cottes de fer un chemin jusqu'à l'animal, qu'ils saisirent chacun par une oreille. Le sanglier, se sentant coiffé, fit claquer ses dents à la fois de rage et de douleur. « Bravo ! Duredent ! bravo ! Risquetout ! cria Charles. Courage, les chiens ! Un épieu ! un épieu ! - Vous ne voulez pas mon arquebuse ? dit le duc d'Alençon. - Non, cria le roi, non, on ne sent pas entrer la balle ; il n'y a pas de plaisir ; tandis qu'on sent entrer l'épieu. Un épieu ! un épieu ! » on présenta au roi un épieu de chasse durci au feu et armé d'une pointe de fer. « Mon frère, prenez garde ! cria Marguerite. - Sus ! sus ! cria la duchesse de Nevers. Ne le manquez pas, Sire ! Un bon coup à ce parpaillot ! - Soyez tranquille, duchesse ! » dit Charles. Et, mettant son épieu en arrêt, il fondit sur le sanglier, qui, tenu par les deux chiens, ne put éviter le coup. Cependant, à la vue de l'épieu luisant, il fit un mouvement de côté, et l'arme, au lieu de pénétrer dans la poitrine, glissa sur l'épaule et alla s'émousser sur la roche contre laquelle l'animal était acculé. « Mille noms d'un diable ! cria le roi, je l'ai manqué... Un épieu ! un épieu ! » Et, se reculant comme faisaient les chevaliers lorsqu'ils prenaient du champ, il jeta à dix pas de lui son épieu hors de service. Un piqueur s'avança pour lui en offrir un autre. Mais au même moment, comme s'il eût prévu le sort qui l'attendait et qu'il eût voulu s'y soustraire, le sanglier, par un violent effort, arracha aux dents des molosses ses deux oreilles déchirées, et, les yeux sanglants, hérissé, hideux, l'haleine bruyante comme un soufflet de forge, faisant claquer ses dents l'une contre l'autre, il s'élança la tête basse, vers le cheval du roi.

Monday, January 23, 2023

Sunrise and Sea...

Whenever 'home', I instinctively know that whatever the weather, the view over Mount's Bay will be so spectacular that I am beauty-bound to walk along the path over to Marazion to see St Michael's Mount, or at least the Causeway leading across...
And indeed, just as these incredible atmospheric seascapes never fail, nor do the extremes in weather! Blustery wind of varying force, from playful gusts to the tyrannical gales, mean that any umbrella will be snatched away, upturned and ineffectual against any rain.
However, on this latest visit, the sun was out at the very start of this new year and the light flooded across the bay and beach, just as the waves gently washed over the beautiful old granite slabs that make up that incredible causeway.
And as the tide went out, and the sun rose further, the shadows shifted, stretching and spreading, sending out ghostly silhouettes which somehow seemed appropriate as once I had left 'home' again, to return to where I now live, the whole trip seemed like a dream!

Sunday, January 22, 2023

Song of the Flower...

I am a kind word uttered and repeated by the voice of Nature; I am a star fallen from the blue tent upon the green carpet. I am the daughter of the elements with whom Winter conceived; to whom Spring gave birth; I was reared in the lap of Summer and I slept in the bed of Autumn.
At dawn I unite with the breeze to announce the coming of light; at eventide I join the birds in bidding the light farewell.
The plains are decorated with my beautiful colours, and the air is scented with my fragrance.
As I embrace Slumber the eyes of night watch over me, and as I awaken I stare at the sun, which is the only eye of the day.
I drink dew for wine, and hearken to the voices of the birds, and dance to the rhythmic swaying of the grass.
I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath; I am the memory of a moment of happiness; I am the last gift of the living to the dead; I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
But I look up high to see only the light, and never look down to see my shadow. This is wisdom which man must learn.
Song of the Flower (XXIII) by Kahlil Gibran

Thursday, December 29, 2022

Happy Holidays... Merry Messmas

Changing country and therefore culture and customs means that even familiar traditions take on a different quality, with emphasis attached to other elements and aspects - Christmas festivities being a case in point... Y

Sunday, December 18, 2022

Bleak Mid Winter...

Winter cold is biting now and all the branches, twigs and remaining leaves are glistening with frost, as if dipped in crystals...
The conditions reminded me of the 1872 hymn written by Christina Rossetti; In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago......

Wednesday, November 30, 2022

The Art of a Shell... Cameos.

When I was a child, I used to love touching the packages of semi-precious gemstones that had been ordered and sent from the suppliers. Unassuming folded white paper could be opened out so that fingers could delve and filtch out the jewels within, running these over the palms and letting them tumble down in a strangely fluid movement ; amethysts, garnets, citrines, moonstones That flowing sensation, with those rich colours delicately glinting in the light has never left me. In other types of package, meanwhile, would emerge the cameos and yet somehow these never left any impression on me at all, except disinterest. Face after face of some classical beauty or other would stare out but I was certainly not interested in returning their gaze and could never fully understand the allure of the resulting rings, earrings, brooches and pendents. How our preception of things changes with age !
Whilst my childhood collection of flawed and thus commercially-worthless gemstones still operate their magic on me, so too do the cameos, as it happens. And surging back came those greedy magpie urges to touch and treasure the beauties on display !!! Being told to simply ‘take what I wanted’ were words almost too magical to be hear, when faced with numerous cameo specimens of varying sizes, some too beautiful in their craftsmanship to even behold ! However, take I did, for fear that this treasure would one eventually end up unloved and lost in a world that does not appear to treasure their understated elegance. Of course, there are still periodic bursts of interest in this centuries-old art. There are an abundance of cameos featuring busts of women in their décolleté finery – typically with carefully arranged hair swept up into sophisticated styles, possibly held by a headdress or left flowing down the nape of an elegant neck to the shoulders.
Many of these are original Victorian pieces, mid 20th century versions of the same or are simply (rather shoddy) modern-day equivalents. Historically, the cameo is synonymous with more Classical themes, with scenes from Greco-roman mythology with their corresponding figures – both male and female. Gods and goddesses were frequently depicted but so too were portraits of politicians, or images of historical or religious figures, many of which, incidentally, would be shown facing to the right. Of the many cameos that have been passed on to me, my favourite is the double profile - capita jugata – which shows two superimposed busts in stunning fine detail, as in the style of the famous Gonzaga Cameo which itself exchanged hands many times before finally becoming part of the Hermitage collection. It seems to me that the majority of pre-21st century cameos are destined to become inheritance pieces, one way or another, to be cared for and handed down to the next generations in a timeless process.
Understandibly perhaps,there is a wish to bring the style and content of the cameo into the new millennium with a more modern approach. Somehow these updated ‘edgy’ versions with trendy images - often machine-carved or laser sculpted - do nothing for me whatsoever. I cannot imagine such pieces having any lasting hold or attraction in time or space but rather will appear outdated in the years to come. Why would you want a cameo of a skull or monkey anyway, I wonder, but each to his own, ultimately… However, with an art form that has been so intrinsically linked to certain types of image and imagery – be that quaint Victorian belles or bellicose emperors, gods or goddesses – how do you move towards the future in a credible, relevant, aesthetic manner? I have often asked myself why many ultra-realist pieces of sculpture simply do not work as pieces of art and maybe modern-day cameos face the same difficulties. How to display stature and meaning in modern times without looking like dull 3-d print-outs without artistry or aim ? We can surely admire cameos from decades and centuries past, and certainly do, but I am not sure how the form can evolve.
In my childhood indifference to the cameo, I never bothered to find out how they were made or where, beyond the basic knowledge that they were in effect carved from shell. Looking now at the artistry in each piece, I cannot believe I was so underwhelmed, for they are indeed, miniature sculptures and some are truly tiny in size and yet all the details are painstakingly worked to scale. Whatever the proportion, a cameo is a form of glyptography, from the Greek word meaning ‘to carve’. They are hand-carved in relief – relievo - from the Italian relievevare, 'to raise' and as such are the opposite of the intaglio, which is an indented or sunken engraving, often employed as a seal and means of identification.
Although most commonly associated with a shell medium, cameos may also be carved from a layered stone such as agate, onyx, or sardonyx, with the different coloured layers highlighting the sculpted forms ; cornelian, coral, lava and jet have likewise been used. Work on bone, resin, amber or glass is not, however, considered to be genuine cameo artistry and nor is the excessive reliance on modern sculpting techniques such as laser-carving and ultrasonic milling. The subsequent mass production of perfect yet bland, soul-less pieces has done the art of the cameo a disservice and the practice of assembling these from separately carved relief and background - composite cameo-making - is considered by some to be ‘cheating’….
One of the pieces that my aunt still treasures is one that I remember from years ago. In hommage to Botticelli’s 15th century painting, Venus is represented borne on a shell, her goddess form having emerged, quite literally from the shell on which it has been carved in relief. With such a work there can be no doubt as to how a cameo is made and indeed very little has changed in the ancestral technique employed by traditional shell carvers, despite the passage of time.
Generally, the ‘cup’ of the shell – the superior convex part -is cut and divided in the ‘scoppatura’ process by carvers using a tool known as the ‘bullino’. The shape of the future cameos is marked out on the inside of the cup during the ‘aggarbatura’, and the subsequent oval and round forms are fixed onto a wood baton, allowing the hand carver sufficient movement and grip to chip the shell exterior and then sculpt the surface below. Although each piece is unique in its own right, carvers have traditionally repeated styles, in addition to perfecting their own ‘signature’ details. The skill involved is immediately apparent, since one false move would wreck the whole since there is no way of correcting an error, as is the case in a full-scale sculpture. With the cameo, however, the tiny proportions require the most accurate and intricate of carving in order to create a work that is well realised and aesthetically pleasing.
For shell cameo carving today, the African Carnelian shell is apparently the type most commonly used, along with the sardonic shell from the Caribbean or Bahamas, both offering optimal contrast in colour to emphasize the bas-relief. Traditionally, the Black Helmet and the pink and white Queen’s Conches were the main medium, both in plentiful supply along the Italian coast – the geographical heart of cameo production. Indeed, for over two hundred years, the coastal town of Torre del Greco a commune of Naples, has been the focal point for the art of shell carving.
A number of the establishments there have been run by the same families, generation after generation, one of the oldest of these being M+M Scognamiglio, set up in 1857. Over a hundred years later, it would be a descendant of the founder, who would come to visit my jeweller family to display and sell his wares. According to both my aunt and father, the signore in question cut a very dashing figure in a 1960s Birmingham that was not accustomed to the sight of immaculately dressed business men, with impeccable taste and manners. Some of the cameos ordered all those years ago are now in my proud possession, to be treasured and later passed on to future generations. My aunt also confided in me that as some of the fine women’s profiles often had rather prominent noses, she would carefully chisel some of these down to a more suitable size and slant !
Although Torre del Greco established itself the centre of cameo manufacturing, it would be a mistake to assume that the cameo originated there. It is in fact an art that finds its origins in prehistoric petroglyphs from around 15,000 BC with figures carved into rock. The Mycenaean civilization followed with the carving of gems, a technique continued in Ancient Greece and perfected by the Romans. The skill of cameo-making spread itself throughout the Ancient Mediterranean cultures via the trade routes running across and between Egypt, Greece and the Roman Empire, with work sculpted on varied types of medium. The mastery - and monopoly - of shell-carving in Torre del Greco would come about considerably later, through the convergence of several economic, cultural and geographical factors.
Cameos appear to have been less commonly used as a means of portraiture or allegoric representation during the Middle Ages, but rather employed as amulets (thus similar to Eygptian scarabs), seals and reliquary ornamentation. The cameo gained ground and popularity in the Renaissance, albeit amongst individuals of means and therefore status. Lorenzo de’Medici was a great collector of cameo pieces, as was François I of France. Reflecting the ultimate power and prestige of royalty and grand political personas alike, through allusion to classical figures of antiquity via portrait, cameos could be exchanged, displayed or worn as jewellery of all kinds. Charles IX dedicated a gallery in the Louvre for the engraved gems brought to France from Italy by his mother, Catherine de Medici. The taste for cameos soon passed beyond Italy and France and specialist engravers (generally of Italian origin) were summoned to other courts around Europe. In Tudor England, Elizabeth I commissioned carved gems with her portrait to be set in brooches and pendants. In order to meet high demand, and a lack of gems to engrave, shells began to be used for cameo work from the 16th century.
Early 19th century France was the heyday of the cameo when Napoleon Bonaparte -great collector of intaglios and cameos – recognised how the latter would enable him to display his imperial might as founder of the newly established French republic. Associating his image with those of Roman Antiquity, the cameos served as the ultimate emblem and trophy for the triumphant emperor of France as a political, propagandistic and diplomatic tool of great beauty. His coronation crown (1804) was set with cameos as is the Cameo Tiara, part of a collection of cameos Napoleon gave to his wife, Josephine. He set up a Prix de Rome for gem engraving, alongside those awarded for sculpture, architecture and painting and also created a school devoted to the art of gem-cutting and goldsmithing.
Later in the century, it was of course Queen Victoria who would continue this devotion to cameo art in the era of the British Empire, and propel this to unprecedented levels of popularity and mass production in an age of industrialization. While Victorian cameos initially dealt with the customary neoclassical themes, often linked to the profile of the Queen herself, towards the later period, they focused more on idealized feminine profiles to decorate all kinds of objects of jewellery and ornamentation for both men and women.
But back to Torre del Greco… Situated near the currently dormant Mount Vesuvius, the town ‘Greek man’s tower’, had once been part of Magna Graecia, the Southern coastal area colonised by ancient Greek settlers. It is thought to have been a suburb of Herculaneum in Roman times, with its fate tied to the volcanic activity from which is has suffered and indirectly benefitted over the centuries. Acting as a beautiful and seemingly benign backcloth to the whole area, this huge sleeping beast infrequently awakens itself to spew lava and ash down its flanks and across the surrounding area. It mocks Man’s arrogant attempts to manage the land and tame Nature. The seismic tremours that pulse through the region today as always, are the erratic heartbeats of a timeless bestial force, lying beneath our paper-thin layer of modern civilisation ; dormant not extinct. Vesuvius famously preserved the nearby ancient towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum under a shroud of volcanic debris as proof of its power in AD 79. Torre del Greco itself did not escape the wrath of the land either, as the volcano cloaked the town and its surroundings in a mantle of ash in the 17th and 18th century and thousands of locals were killed or left homeless in the 1980 Irpinia earthquake.
For better or for worse, the town has plunged its roots deep into the land, like some crazed dysfunctional marriage that draws its lifeblood from the good times and glosses over threatening, volatile reality.The town’s proximity to the volcano has shaped its evolution and identity, just as it has those of the art of cameo-making itself. Since Torre del Greco was the closest town to Vesuvius, it became the touchpoint for visitors wishing to set out to see the volcano first-hand. Since the discovery of the ruins of Pompeii in 1748, sudden interest in the area led to a steady influx of affluent gentlemen travellers, eager to include this on their Grand Tour of Europe. It was, of course, the foundation of Thomas Cook’s travel agency, with its ‘package’ tours of such sites that led to the term ‘tourism’. Such tourists, wishing to take home trophy souvenirs of their adventures far afield led to a trend in glyptic art with petrified lava cameos taking centre stage as a portable, wearable memento for both men and women.The Neoclassical Movement allowed the glyptic to come back into fashion and an observation made in the Journal des Dames (1805) pointed out that « A fashionable woman wears cameos on her belt, necklace, bracelets and tiara ».
By the turn of the 18th century Torre del Greco had already long established itself in the trade of ‘red gold’ ; coral. As in other coastal towns around the Mediterranean, the residents had been diving for the abundant supply of red coral since the Roman times. From the 15th century onwards, their skill in harvesting their ‘maritime gold’ was such that they were referred to as ‘corallini’ and production of carved coral and shell jewellery was the keystone of the local economy. From the beginning of the 1800s, however, the processing of coral grew further in stature with the founding of a royal-ornament business - Real Fabbrica di Coralli – in 1805 by a certain Frenchman, Paul Barthèlemy Martin.
This coral broker from Marseille was accorded a ten-year exclusive licence to deal in the manufacture of coral artifacts and jewellery on the understanding that local artisans would be trained in the art. Thus, the working of coral and shell was transformed into a highly specialist domain, of which Torre del Greco was at the forefront. Yet as demand for red gold grew, so did the competition from other coastal areas which began to enter the coral market. As this situation coincided with an ever-increasing supply of shells from Africa, Torre began to focus on shellwork to assure their income ; the cameo.
Just like numerous other artisanal family enterprises still running today, the Scognamiglio family initially specialized in coral work, with Michele Scognamiglio (born in 1815) setting up a coral factory in 1857. Over the decades however, generation after generation of workers became master artisans in cameo carving. Whilst most artisans learnt their trade from their fathers and grandfather, some also attended the Instituto Statale d’Arte. Established in 1878 with the patronage of the royal family, this public school was dedicated to the carving of cameos, coral, lava. Freelance artists still work from home to the present day – generally carving on their verandahs which offer the best natural light. Coral and shells are now both imported from other countries as acidification of the Mediterranean waters has led to dwindling supplies and endangered species in need of preservation. In view of all of the above, I am certainly very happy to be the current owner of the collection of cameos in my care…