Glorious Glass - Sainte-Chapelle...

Having visited Sainte-Chapelle a few months ago, I keep gazing at the glorious stained-glass windows that seem to make up most of the structure and space of its upper chapel. There seems to be so much modern-day ugliness on every possible level today, be that socially, culturally, or politically speaking, that I want to retreat from it all and find solace, peace and pleasure in pure beauty.

How is it possible that such a beautiful jewel could have been created and consecrated centuries ago - around 1248 - and indeed survived to the present day?

Ascending the narrow, time-worn stone steps up from the lower chapel below, which once served as a parish church for those living in the Palais de la Cité, visitors have little idea of just how magnificent this vast glass vessel will prove to be. What must this sensorial experience have been in centuries past, well before eyes and spirits were jaded through an incessant glut of 21st century screen-induced stimulation?

Commissioned by Louis IX to provide a palatine chapel in the Medieval royal residence, to house the sacred Holy relics in the most venerable manner, the upper level of Sainte-Chapelle stands on the lower chapel, in a two-storey design also found in Noyon Cathedral. Constructed in the Rayonnant Gothic style, the architectural design is staggeringly lofty; a tower of light, twice as high as it is wide, sending out a myriad of colour, even under darkening skies.

No supporting pillar obscures the long expanse that leads to the apse at the far east end, where the Holy relics were held in the grand châsse - an imposing reliquary casket - beneath the ornate baldaquin and surrounded by seven bays of towering stained-glass windows.

The west end of the chapel, is dominated by the vast rose window that was created in the Flamboyant Gothic style in the 15th century, with a flame-like design in the stone-work details and enamel-painted glass. The ceiling that runs from east to west above is divided into vaulted sections adorned with dark blue paint-work with rich gold stars...

The apparent weighlessness of the curtains of glass, without the use of masonry walls inside or buttresses outside, is reliant on bar tracery and iron rods and chains that provide tension and support. Furthermore, the pillars employed are cleverly 'disguised' by a series of slender stem-like structures that soar above, thus emphasizing the height as opposed to the thickness of the whole.

At the base of these ribbed columns stand apostles, and you cannot help but wonder what and who they have seen over the centuries! Having witnessed damage and destruction by the fire and flooding visited on Sainte-Chapelle, its desecration during the French Revolution and then disolution in the aftermath, these silent witnesses have also observed the pre-emptive measures taken in WW2, with the windows removed and later returned to avoid damage. Incredibly, two-thirds of the stained glass that we see in Sainte-Chapelle today are the original pieces from the Medieval period, whilst the spire is, in fact, the fifth to have adorned the monument!

Although Sainte-Chapelle managed to survive the social and political turmoil of the Revolution years, by the early decades of the 19th century there were plans to destroy it completely in order to make way for a new palais de justice. Fortunately, Victor Hugo swayed public opinion and Sainte-Chapelle was the object of a vast restoration project that went on from 1840-1863.

Much of the paint-work had to be recreated or restored, along with the sculptures, but models were taken from other monuments of the period in order to respect the original design. Typically, the fleur-de-lys image figures significantly, in reference to the royal heritage of Louis IX to the Capetian dynasty and then the castle of the kingdom of Castile in reference to his mother, Blanche de Castile.

A visit to Sainte-Chapelle is an immersion into an exquisite golden chamber of light, colour and weightlessness that is the perfect antidote to the dark, bland, heavy void we seem to have thrust upon us nowadays, whether we like it or not...

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose...

On a recent early visit to Hyde Park, I admired the beautiful lilies and roses all still in bloom, gradually coming to life as the morning sun gathered height in the summer sky. This is one of my perfect images of England and 'Englishness' and one that I seek out everytime I return and this time was no exception. I was immediately reminded of the twisted, silhouetted forms of those same flowers that play an integral part in the painting Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose painted in 1885/6 by John Singer Sargent (1856–1925). This painting is often considered to be quintessentially English and having met great acclaim when exhibited in the Royal Academy in 1887, today is often taken to be the artist's most notable work, displayed in the Tate Britain.

The glow radiating out from the delicate Chinese paper lanterns, the play of light and colour across the girls' white dresses, the flowers and their stark forms and outlines, all captured as twilight gives way to night, ensured Sargent's renown as the 'English Impressionist'. Indeed, up close the delicate rendering of flowers, fabric or flesh reveals itself to be achieved through remarkably bold yet deftly applied brushstrokes, with the artist said to have resembled a fencer, darting repeatedly towards the canvas with precision and skill. The fact that the work took two years to accomplish has also added a certain intrigue to the painting - with the children - Holly and Polly - caught at a particular, fleeting moment of the day that lasted mere minutes. Apparently Sargent played tennis whilst waiting for the instant when he could tackle his work, and had to adapt to changing circumstances accordingly, exchanging the real flowers for artificial ones when the season was over, for example.

Sargent's artistic output does, however, go far beyond this one painting and ultimately the crisp prettiness of Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose has perhaps done Sargent a disservice and lead to a number of misconceptions over the years. Firstly, although John Singer Sargent spent a large part of his adult life in England, he was in fact born to expatriate American parents in Florence, Italy, and travelled from one European city and country to another during his formative years.

Despite being an American national, he was consequently more cosmopolitan by nature, and his itinerant lifestyle meant that he felt forever the foreigner, and sometimes the outsider, reputedly feeling shy in large social settings in spite of his ability to speak five languages. Furthermore, his work encompassed other mediums than simply oil paint, and his truly prolific production throughout his career included countless charcoal and watercolour works and vast murals. Likewise, although he was lauded as an unparalleled, highly sought-after portrait painter and that a considerable part of his career was devoted to this field, he covered many other areas of subject material - landscapes, architecture, sculpture etc - and relished the opportunity to escape oil portraiture and the creation of pretty pictures for wealthy figures. In addition - and linked to the previous point - Sargent's work has often been mispresented - reproached for being superficial and lacking true substance; I certainly remember being taught to view his paintings as clever representations of frills and frocks but with no real 'message'. However, surely that is to miss the intention of Sargent as an artist and to fail to set him in an artistic context.

Having trained in Paris in the atelier of the realist portrait painter Carolus-Duran - and enrolled in the Ecole des Beaux-Arts - Sargent learnt to paint au premier coup and acquired a swiftness in approach that must surely be unmatched. Like Velázquez, he developed an ability to reproduce incredible detail with deceptively broad, visible strokes, apparently weilding large brushes rather like those of an artisan rather than an artist, to recreate an unbelievable degree of realism and accuracy with minimal detail. Influenced by French impressionism (he was friends with Monet) but still rooted in concrete reality, Sargent did not merely explore impressions from light and shadow but seemed to seek the physical and material sustance of the subject, not primarily their soul.

His portraits capture the essence of the individual in that moment, but do not attempt to offer a narrative or reveal social background; little or none is proposed. Sargent is said to have selected the two girls for Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose for their hair colour and not solely direct sentiment and likewise was fascinated with the famously pale luminosity of Madame Gautreau's skin, as opposed to being infatuated with this grand figure from Parisian society. How ironic that the scandal that followed Sargent's presentation of Madame X at the Salon of 1884 in Paris , ultimately led to his leaving France and his success in England with Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose just two years later.

For a public fed on 'meaningful' paintings with heavy references to historical events or offering some kind of insight into the nature of the sitter or subject, this would pass for a sorry lack of depth. His work could thus entrance and intrigue due its technical skill but would not haunt the viewer, and no amount of talent in execution could compensate the perceived spiritual emptiness. This could perhaps explain why Sargent's art fell out of favour shortly after his death in 1925, yet when you look at the skill and breadth of his artistic production, it seems a shocking error of judgement or reputation. The quality and incredible quantity of his outcome is utterly breath-taking and Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose is just one of many, many works...

Vanishing Beauty in the Woods...

Just over a hundred years ago, this long alleyway led to the grand Château de Toussicourt, set behind a majestic central pond and looking down over the sweeping landscape that is now indistinct agricultural land. I had learnt of Toussicourt a number of years ago, when looking into the history of the area of Hermonville and its unwitting involvement in the Great World - 1914-1918.

Finding itself at the heart of hostilities from the very beginning of the war, the region around Hermonville and further beyond was the focus of many brutal - yet ultimately futile military missions - with lives, land and livelihood literally obliterated. The village itself was employed as army training base in espionnage and the numerous châteaux (of which there were initially seven), served as encampment grounds.

These impressive domains were cruelly damaged during the war years and some were left in ruins - as was the case for Toussicourt. Having belonged to the Krafft family in the final chapter of its life, the château was abandonned to the wilderness as Hugues Krafft dedicated himself to the preservation of the architectural heritage of Reims with the foundation of the Société des Amis du Vieux Reims (SAVR) and the purchase of the Hôtel Le Vergeur.

I managed to track down Toussicourt a few years ago, in winter months, just weeks before global lockdown made such walks in the countryside seem illusory... The visit of the final remains of this once-grand residence was dreamlike in itself and now in the summer months, years on, there was a similar feeling of halted or suspended reality, as if you could somehow conjure up the past if only you find the correct opening.

The stark branches, stripped foliage and visible stonework of the winter have now been clothed in shrouds of vivid green with darts of sunlight breaking through the leafy canopies above whilst dense undergrowth carpet and conceal paths underfoot...

Moss and ivy are draped everywhere, as is lichen, whilst Nature takes its claim on these traces of human history...

No indentifiable structural vestiges remain of the château itself, apart from the odd turret-shaped form that originally stood near the pond, and is now sumberged by the trees and saplings that stand where once the main building rose up. The stonework of this final construction is gradually being carved up by inclement weather that drives in cracks and crevaces where the war hostilities had failed...

Although hidden from view in summer months, the pond still offers a peaceful glimpse of what once was; past elegance and tranquility. I couldn't help but reflect on that loss in the present too as we have entered unchartered territory in almost every aspect of life since my last visit.

As I left, feeling a little wistful, I caught a glimpse of this strangely faded Peacock butterfly; vanishing beauty indeed!

Face Values; Tudor Portraiture...

There is something absolutely mesmerising about the portraits from the extensive Tudor period (1485 - 1603) which of course includes the Elisabethan era, with such magnificent works as the one above (detail of 1575 painting of Queen Elisabeth I by unknown artist). Many of these can, of course, be seen at the National Portrait Gallery in London and during a recent visit, I tried to identify their unique appeal. However it is rather difficult to define a common trait in such varied works that extended over a hundred years in English history, and evolved accordingly but I would say it is their peculiar proximity to us which intrigues us as these individuals stare out from a set period in time yet reach out to us in a more universal, timeless way.

Certainly, the intricate rendering of their lavish attire catches the viewer's attention, leading us to peer at the work, picking out and pouring over all the breathtaking details, like crazed magpies. Above is Queen Elisabeth's last 'favourite'courtier, Robert Devereux (1565-1601) who was said to have a nature 'not to be ruled'. Looking at his portrait executed by an unknown artist in the style of Marcus Gheerhaerts in the early 17th century, his placid, frank expression, soft boyish features and elegant appearance belie the fact that he paid for this defiant attitude dearly, with his own life. He looks right at us in rather an unsettling way due to his frank gaze, likewise Philip Sidney (1554 - 1586) - another of Elisabeth's courtiers - as he stares out at us unquestioningly, appearing to wipe out the odd 430 years since his death.

And although this portraiture was very much a product of its time and historical context, in its essence it has a unique ability to connect with us, across a span of several hundred years, perhaps in the same way that we can identify with certain universal human traits explored in Shakespeare's writings.

Above is Henry VII, the Lancastrian king (1457-1509) who united the two rival Houses of Lancaster and York of the Plantagenet dynasty through his marriage to Elisabeth of York in 1486, having himself defeated Richard III in the Battle of Bosworth in 1485. There is some debate into the accuracy of the legend of Henry acquiring his rival's crown on the battlefield but either way, as a result the Tudor dynasty was born. This is one of the earliest paintings on display, but is highly effective. Looking at the 1505 portrait, we can literally feel the determination of the first Tudor monarch to hold onto his newly-established position - his hands emerge from the portrait as he grips the symbolic flower that represents the end of the Wars of the Roses. No jewelled rings distract our attention, as the king stares at us directly, seemingly to defy anyone who should question his right to the throne. Compare to that the following portrait of the maligned Richard III, painted some time after his death in 1485... Here he is seen fiddling with his ringed finger, his brow furrowed in an expression of concern whilst his eyes avoid contact with the public, creating a rather shifty impression that seems to prove Henry VII's greater suitability and apparent superiority as monarch.

Although the artist of Henry's portrait is unknown, its approach is in keeping with a the style and role of the genre which had already started to flourish in the latter half of the 15th century. Indeed, Henry's image was destined to be sent to Margaret of Austria in 1505, when diplomatic negotiations were to take place to find the widowed king a new wife. For the Royal portrait served a serious role, beyond mere decorative purposes, it was a tool for portraying the individual as the personification of power and integrity, thus managing and maintaining regal status. In a similar manner, portable portraits could be exchanged between sovereigns in the process of sealing a treaty or forming an alliance. Below is Queen Mary (1516-1568) by Hans Eworth (cerca 1554) in a portrait thought to be used in marriage negotiations with Philip II of Spain. She appears curiously girl-like here for a 37-year-old and holds a rather modern-day position with her back slightly arched back as she stares at us with an enigmatic expression. Either way, the portrait seems to have served its purpose and it certainly did the trick, for Mary and Philip married in 1554!

Many of the Tudor paintings were commissioned from foreign artists, for the most part from Germany or the Netherlands. The direct representation of the static individual executed with highly realistic detail - as opposed to a narrative work with acts and gestures to be 'read' - suited the function of the portrait. The focus is essentially on the figure in all his/her finery, often set against a dark, relatively simple background that does not detract from the key element; the subject as a person and not as an actor, playing out some theme. Below is William Cecil (1520-98), Queen Elisabeth's advisor as Secretary of State, an oil painting again by an unknown artist in 1570. Here is a fine figure of authority indeed - just on appearances alone - and there is no avoiding that intimidating stare!

Although Tudor portraiture bears many symbolic references through the strategic use of material objects - clothes, headwear, jewels etc - its approach is relatively simple and can literally be taken at face value. This could perhaps account for it being so greatly appreciated today; we do not need to fully understand the symbols to enjoy the work on a more basic level.

How could we not be stunned by the exquisite renditions of fine clothing made of damask, brocade, silk, satin and embellished with fur, feathers, lace and jewels as in the portrait of Queen Elisabeth (1575) above by Nicholas Hilliard? How could we not be amazed by the intricate, yet surely cumbersome and uncomfortable ruffs and cuffs that adorned necks and sleeves of the most powerful beings in society?

Above is a representation of Elisabeth on her coronation day in 1559 at the age of 25. She appears somewhat doll-like, with her frozen expression, a young almost naive face staring ahead, whilst wooden arms and hands clasp the orb and spectre. Yet her piercing eyes defy us to question her; she forces us to acknowledge her in an uncanny manner. The use of a stark figure depicted as if on centre stage, with minimal props and no cast members to draw attention away, is rather reminiscent of icon painting, with a 'flattened aspect'. Certainly the Northern European portraiture which largely led the genre had its roots in Gothic traditions of painting and manuscript illumination, using the oil paint medium to great effect with realism and illusionism in jewel-like colours. However, until the influence of the Italian Renaissance, with its use of perspective and anatomical study, such portraits tend to lack accuracy, giving the sitter a certain unwieldiness.

If we look at the representation above of Lady Jane Grey (1537 - 1554) painted at the end of the 16th century by an unknown artist with that of Mary, Queen of Scots (1452-1487) below, by an unknown artist after a piece by the great English portraitist, Nicholas Hilliard (1547-1619), in the same time frame, the difference is manifest...

The detailed altarpieces and church panel paintings created in the Burgundian and Habsburg Netherlands from the early 15th century were the keystone of the Northern Renaissance. The influence of artists such as Jan van Eyck (cf Arnolfini Portrait 1434) was incredibly significant, long-lasting and far-reaching. Unlike the Italian Renaissance that drew inspiration from the classical aesthetics of ancient Greece and Rome to create harmonious and idealized forms from mythology painted in the tempera medium, the Northern countries represented the divine in realistic images of daily life in versatile oil paint. Below is Robert Dudley (unknown artist - 1575), one of Queen Elisabeth's favourite courtiers, who himself went on to commission several portraits; his self-confidence and pride are evident here!

When the Reformation swept across Europe at the beginning of the 16th century, the theological divide that emerged between Roman Catholics and Protestants lead to a North-South split in Europe. As the Northern countries followed Protestant theology, they shied away from religious painting for fear of being accused of sinful devotion of idols. Thus they then moved towards a secular approach with historical paintings, landscapes, still life and more importantly, portraiture.

In the portrait above, from 1568, of a leading courtier to Elisabeth, realised by Anthonis Mor - court artist to Philip II in Spain - there are symbolic references to bonds of loyalty with his ring and patterns on his shirt yet no references to biblical themes. Yet the Tudor period was dominated by religious rift as Renaissance humanism and above all the Protestant movement spurned the excesses of Catholic religious practices and the extremes of Papal authority in Rome. When Henry VIII's wish for the annulment of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon was denied, his fury and frustration at his inability to marry Anne Boleyn led to the English Reformation and the establishment of the Church of England, free of Papal authority, with Henry as Supreme Head. Henry enjoyed unprecedented authority and occupied an unparalleled position, and this power and majesty is fully reflected in Hans Holbein's preparatory drawings for a work from around 1537, showing the king in a dominant pose, legs astride.

To portray his supremacy, Henry required a painter worthy of the task and indeed, the German artist Hans Holbein the Younger (1497 - 1543) was appointed the official King's Painter. Having trained under his artist father, and studied the work of the Italian Renaissance painters Leonardo da Vinci and Andrea Mantegna in Italy, by the time he came to England in 1526, he possessed unmatched skills and sophistication in technique and artistic approach. No English artist could compare, and his art would influence the entire Tudor era and well beyond. Just a glance at any of his work shows how far advanced he was in comparison to his contemporaries... Here is a copy of his 1527 portrait of William Warham (1450 - 1532) - Archbishop of Canterbury - painted by an unknown artist. Warham was one of Holbein's first patrons and by the 1530's, the artist was the most sought-after portraitist amongst English nobility.

Unfortunately, it was Holbein's beautifully executed portrait of Anne of Cleves (1539), that played a key role in Henry VIII's decision to marry the apparently eligible young German woman. Desperate to secure the Tudor dynasty by siring a heir, Henry wished to take on a fourth wife following the death of the queen, Jane Seymour. Judging Anne's suitability on the portrait presented to him, Henry agreed to go ahead with the marriage yet to his great dismay, reality did not meet the expectations the portrait had led him to nurture; after six months the marriage was declared unconsummated...

Despite being supposedly Protestant, under the Divine Right of Kings, the Church of England and Henry's kingdom followed certain Catholic doctrines when it suited his political and personal interests. Religion was synonymous with politics and the power struggles therein and the rest of the Tudor years would see the kingdom torn between the different faiths.

The striking figure above is Mary I, the first queen to rule England - born from Henry VIII's marriage to Catherine of Aragon. Known as Bloody Mary, she instigated a reign of terror, calling for the persecution of all heretics - Protestants - in an attempt to bring back Roman Catholicism to England, following the reign of her Protestant half-brother, Edward VI. Although the portrait dates from the end of the 16th century, its style is relatively stark - simplistic even - and devoid of excess detail, if compared to Holbein's work of some 50 years earlier. A certain severity is clearly visible in Mary's expression, and with her eyes averted and her jawline clenched, she appears disciplined and determined...

A similar dour note can be seen in the portrait of Sir Henry Sidney (1529 - 1586) by George Gower in 1585. As Lord Deputy of Ireland, he oversaw the implementation of English law on Irish soil. The rich fur-trimmed gown, heavy livery collar and intricately pleated ruff are offset by an oblique stare that could turn milk and a down-turned mouth, lips pursed in disapproval!

Sovereign rule over the oceans and foreign territories was essential to Elisabeth 1's reign and was reflected in visual references that serve as backcloth to late Tudor portraits. Above is the Elisabethan explorer and privateer, Sir Francis Drake (1540 - 1596), who circumnavigated the world in 1577-1580 and here places a firm hand on a globe, and stares at us a little defiantly.

In the so-called 'Ditchley' portrait of the Virgin Queen (1592)by Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger , Elisabeth is shown in all her finery, standing on the top of a globe, a map of her kingdom beneath her feet, as she turns her back on the thunderclouds gathered in the background, facing us and the brighter skies ahead. Again, the portrait's odd anatomical representation of the queen's body, with its strangely elongated arms, curious little hands and feet sticking out from the voluminous gown makes this work appear world's apart from the mastery of Holbein. Yet the little eyes are there, beadily watching out at us... Later, miniature portraits would become highly popular in courtly rituals and in this field of artistry, Nicholas Hilliard excelled, creating tiny paintings of perfection such as this one of Elisabeth...