At the midpoint of our life’s journey,
I found myself in a dark forest,
For the straightforward path had been lost.
Dante Alighieri, Prologue to the entire “Comedy,”
reorchestrated by Kolja Mićević, Rad, 2007.
Difficult times call for good literature, so I kindly ask readers not to hold it against me for starting this series of articles on art with an overture to one of the masterpieces of world literature, despite the fact that the verses lead into the gloomy journey through Dante’s “Inferno.” I’m aware that it’s inappropriate for a lady to reveal her age, but I must note that Dante’s “midway through life” refers to the age of 35 (as interpreted in the poet’s analysis of life’s course in Convivio IV 23), which I found highly symbolic as I too, alas, faced this great crisis of my generation at the same age. I should immediately clarify that I’m not drawing any comparisons between myself and the great poet, merely pointing out a detail that, I must admit, amused me greatly.
As a true lover of art, I greeted the declaration of the state of emergency by revisiting Bergman’s The Seventh Seal, which I currently do not recommend to anyone despite the relevance of its themes and Bergman’s brilliant portrayal of personal and collective crisis during the time of the Crusades.
This will, in fact, be the subject of a few short essays on art—how this great crisis of humanity, which began nearly a thousand years ago, changed the collective consciousness and, consequently, art itself.
Fear of the Apocalypse
When Dante’s contemporary, Giotto, painted the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua around 1305, his depiction of the Crucifixion presented not a God, but a man. Beneath the cross are Christ’s closest followers, their facial expressions and bodily positions clearly reflecting their emotional states in the evil hour of Christ’s earthly departure. This was unimaginable before the Crusades. Emphasizing Christ’s humanity was undesirable, as the topic of His dual nature—both human and divine—had been a theological stumbling block since the early days of Christianity. The Crucifixion fresco from the Studenica Monastery, which was vividly projected in the Gallery of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts as part of the recently closed exhibition Spiritual and Cultural Heritage of Studenica Monastery – Antiquity, Continuity, Modernity, conveys a more restrained pathos compared to Giotto’s work, consistent with the Byzantine tradition where sorrow is depicted by raising a hand to the face. The work of the anonymous Studenica fresco painter and Giotto’s piece are separated by a hundred years, yet they share the same sentimentality and the artists’ desire to draw the viewer into the intimate circle of Christ’s followers, making them accomplices in the scene of suffering. The aim to emphasize Christ’s human side, relatable to us, his humanity expressed through his earthly suffering, began to emerge in Byzantine art from the 11th century, coinciding with the wars that led to the crisis of faith in the medieval mind. The uncertainty of daily wartime life and the spread of a new religion that threatened the very foundation of Christian faith seemed to signal the coming Apocalypse. The plague, which arrived in Europe shortly after the end of the Crusades, was seen as confirmation of apocalyptic prophecies. The medieval person’s only hope lay in the belief that God was indeed capable of mercy.
The proof of that mercy is precisely Christ’s Incarnation—His birth, which culminated in His Passion on the cross for the salvation of humanity.
In upcoming posts, we will explore the development of Passion devotion in greater detail, as well as some specific religious and artistic practices that arose as a result of the medieval man’s crisis.
I hope that the forthcoming articles will both educate and entertain you, despite the chosen theme, which is presented in the hope that the current unfortunate events will result in an enrichment of our collective consciousness with more humane content.
Looking forward to parting ways with these times soon and finding new amusements.
Jovana Pikulić