Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas.

Many Nativity paintings have an air of stillness and peace. This one, by Jan Wydra,

makes me think of light and movement. The light source is not the Christ-child, but the sun. If Jesus is lifting his hands in blessing, he is older than a week or two, but rather Mary has lifted his arm like a mother looking at her newborn in amazed delight and love- and playing with him, not just contemplating. Joseph could be looking out worriedly for Herod’s soldiers.

There’s the same movement in Christ and City.

All those people are about their business, but Christ is the still centre.

 

The Adoration of the Kings

Art to delight the eyes.

Andrea Mantegna, c1460, Venice.

Stanisław Durink, c1480, Poland. The head and the body of the kneeling king appear naturalistic to me, but I don’t think he has quite got the way the head should sit on the neck right, or the roof supports. I love the faces, though. The kneeling man on the left seems more real than the others. Perhaps it is a portrait, of someone paying to be shown as a Wise Man seeing Christ, who looks out to catch our eye.

The Master of the Virgin among Virgins. This is a “Notname”, where the artist of several pictures is known by one of them. They were craftsmen, not honoured by remembering their names. Delft, 1490. It is customary to paint the building as a ruin, as Christ will make all things new, and the old world passes away.

The Master of the Antwerp Adoration, which is a different adoration to this one from c1510.

The Master of Hoogstraeten, early 16th century. Mists make the mountains in the distance blue, though the change in colour seems too sudden, to me.

Francesco Bassano the Younger, Venice, c1568. They seem tired, at the end of a hard journey:

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’

Raphael, 1502, when he was 19.

Merry Christmas to you

However you are spending Christmas, alone or with others, catching covid, getting drunk, may you be blessed by the coming of Christ.

Eugene Delacroix, the education of the Virgin

Elizabeth Siddal, Madonna and child

Alice Havers, But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart

Bouguereau, the song of the angels

Albert Aublet, the child sleeping in the desert

Marianne Stokes, angels entertaining the holy child

Bosch, The Adoration of the Magi

The Wise Men pay homage to the King of Peace.

Why are there four of them? Four richly dressed men, one hurriedly covering his nakedness but wearing his crown. I love the tassel on Balthazar’s sleeve, and the embroidery. His page looks at the naked man, not the Baby. Here’s Mary, calm and regal.

Above them, there is the star, and a far city with a windmill and fantastic towers.

The side panels have some lovely details: the people in the fields have no idea of the rich gifts, or they’d be over for a gawp. A man in a woman’s headdress tries to dry nappies before a fire. The smell of smoke might mask the smell of Jesus-poo. St Peter escorts a donor, portrayed in piety, identified by his coat of arms and motto “One for all”. How strange, to buy your way into Heaven!

The fleur de lys identifies a female donor and her same-named saint Agnes. A wolf menaces a woman, and a bear engulfs a man. At least the sheep is peaceful. I wonder what those long spoons are for.

When the triptych is closed, the faded outside shows Christ crucified, and a devil taking Judas’ soul to Hell.

Here is the whole.

Merry Christmas!

Blessings and delights to you for Christmas.

In a beautiful wilderness, with a beautiful innocent lamb, John the Baptist is in contemplation.

Jesus here is a pudgy baby, but he has a direct gaze. He can see into your soul.

Mary has her hair uncovered, which is unusual. I read that’s Judas lighting the candles. John the Baptist as a baby is on the right, and Anne, Mary’s mother, reads a book.

Merry Christmas, with Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones

Anticipating, slightly: the Epiphany is 6 January. I have not seen this tapestry, but found tapestries of his I have seen gorgeous. This fabulous thing is 3.77×2.58m.

Only his mother, in her maiden bliss
worshipped the Beloved, with a kiss

His Annunciation has the Angel descending from on high
and the woman not abashed

I note it appears to follow the rules of perspective found in the Renaissance, and the vanishing point is a star.

Christmas Blessings

The Adoration of the Magi.

And, not particularly Christmassy, but I like it- the Goddess Minerva:

Artemisia Gentileschi / Артемизия Джентилески (1593-1653) – Minerva (Sapienza) / Минерва (Мудрость) (около 1615)

Blessings at Christmas

A woman artist gives a different perspective on the Annunciation. Gabriel kneels to Mary as the Holy Spirit descends, as she bows to him in assent- ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.’

Against the spiritual or even sentimental view of the Holy Family, here is a physical act with the human mother and child. Often in painting, the child turns towards the viewer with hand raised in blessing. Here he is a baby, with a baby’s wants and actions.

Biblical paintings were a mix of authenticity, contemporary references, and symbolism like the flower in Jesus’ right hand. The roses may symbolise Mary’s life, controlled by the imperative of the Saviour’s life journey. Or Love; or her role as the Bride of Christ. Your knowledge and tastes affect your response to the paintings.

Imperfection

I glory in my imperfection, because it is freedom. When do you repent? When you realise you have something to repent of! All that time I was stating repentance weekly- the remembrance of [sins] is grievous unto us; the burden of them is intolerable- I had no particular consciousness of doing anything wrong.

It’s a glorious, sunny Christmas day, well above freezing. It is a Spring day in wintertime. Peter is doing the homeless charity’s Christmas dinner, so drives me to Meeting. I walk from there to the Meeting house, wishing a man and a small girl Merry Christmas. In Meeting, I am moved to minister. I feel Joy. I walked here from the Sunlight centre, and felt Joy. I was tempted to overreach my leading, preaching a little homily, but that was it, so I sit.

The acoustic’s dreadful in here. K is moved to respond to my ministry, but he heard the word “dry” not “joy”. He speaks of Patriarchy: oppressive expectations and coercive control of women and girls, but inability to be really themselves for men and boys too. (Well, it is a man talking.) He is talking at school of patriarchy, which makes Western civilisation dry. I really want to correct him. I said “Joy”, the happy union of delight and contentment, not “dry”. However, that is against the rules. You do not speak more than once in a meeting. I have to allow it. No real damage is done.

I said “I am selfish,” and that delighted me. It was terrifying, then it became alright. It is liberating. I am not worthless when I am not perfect, I am human, and in between.

I am generous
I am courageous
I am perceptive
I am creative
I am truthful
I am cursed

and I am selfish
and I am cowardly
and I am cloddish
except when I am not
and I dissimulate
and I am blessed

---

Have I no control? That is bearable, because it has to be. Anyway having control, like a child playing with a train set, might pall. Real human beings are far more interesting. I do bad things, including where I cannot say sorry or be forgiven, and scarce know how bad they are: Did that hurt you? Does the fact that I did not realise make it OK, or make it worse?

I mean well. Normally that is enough, sometimes it isn’t, and anyway in the long run we’re all dead. Life is tragic, a matter of loss after loss, and beautiful, with finite discrete moments of joy.

Some people this driven, who must always be perfect, have the talent to manage it; but faced with evidence of my imperfection I have fled and hid. No-one could be as good as I wanted to be. So. Metanoia. You change when you realise you have to, and that it is possible. I will not drive myself so harshly: I will accept my imperfections. Only then can I see them clearly, and bear them; and keep buggering on, and mitigate them.

Another opposite: I had been overweeningly arrogant, seeing myself as the centre of the universe, and self-abasing, seeing myself as worthless. Neither of these views were accurate. Self-acceptance might bring self-knowledge, and a just appraisal of my capacities. Though I will always get things wrong- the world, and all the life in it, is too complex a puzzle for me, to puzzle it out.

Happy Christmas with the Holy Family

Merry Christmas. Here are the Holy Family, looking happy:

I love the sweetness and unselfconsciousness of Joseph’s love here. He looks at his wife and child in delight. Mary has a small smile as if she has not a care in the world.

The contrast here is not just the darkness of the background but the intensity of the look. Here are highly intelligent people, knowing and self-conscious. Initially I thought it a man, on the left, despite the head-covering. It is a strong-looking woman.

Munch is always so disturbing. When is the picture, precisely? Mary is in ecstasy, possibly sexual, and the foetal Christ has anger or even resentment.

At last, a baby, wrapped as he would be, in a Mediterranean winter. Joseph has a halo, but not the others.