Sunday morning after a night of snow and three days with Gala Moody and Michael Carter doing Cie. OFEN things, eating, drinking, and much good friends time.
Either Gemäldegalerie rotate some of their collection (the smaller works it seems) or I magically have seen this work before on their walls. Or it’s from the room that’s currently holding Jean Fouquet’s Das Diptychon von Melun, ’cos one of my faves was definitely missing. Hans Springinklee, a student of Albrecht Dürer (notably worked on Durer’s Triumphal Arch, Ehrenpforte Maximilians I.), more known for woodcuts and illustrations, but occasionally he painted, and here’s his Allegorie auf die Binde- und Lösegewalt des Papsttums, (Allegory on the Binding and Loosening of the Papacy), a riot of saints and martyrs floating on clouds, waving palm fronds (Saint Christóforos is up the back; you could play Name that Saint all day), St. Peter offering the pope a chalice full of crowned black snakes, and St. Michael busy heaving a sword and weighing souls on his scales.
Two more Adoration of the Magi from Gemäldegalerie’s In Neuem Licht exhibition. The first, a copy after Hugo van der Goes’ Die Anbetung der Könige vor dem Stall im Hügel from around 1500 (or maybe more like a copy of Gerard David’s early-1500s copy of van der Goes’ now lost original, though this one’s narrower and missing a couple of figues on the left — either way, done around the same time). The second, the Meister der Crispinus-Legende’s Die Anbetung der Heiligen Drei Könige panel from the Straußfurter Marienaltar, from around 1520. Van der Goes did one of my favourite works in the Gemäldegalerie, Die Anbetung der Hirten, as well, the gallery has another of his, the Monforte altarpiece Der Anbetung der Könige. Meister der Crispinus-Legende I’ve never heard of, but does remind me of some pieces in Magyar Nemzeti Galéria in Budapest, I saw on my eastern Europe jaunt a couple of winters ago.
(These photos were taken when I’ve been not so inclined to spend days editing scores of images, nor to agonise over photographing under crap light — and the lighting in In Neuem Licht is on the crap end — so they’re both not really up to my usual standard, but on the off-chance I don’t go back to photograph these pieces properly, they seem to be the only easily findable images of these on the internet.)
An afternoon at the Gemäldegalerie with one of my favourite museum partners, Robert. We spent a lot of time in front of Jean Fouquet’s Das Diptychon von Melun — which I will photograph, ’cos I have to go back for In Neuem Licht. I don’t think I can imagine the extent of their stockrooms. They’ve got 70 works on display in the central atrium, all deep blue walls and the gentle murmur of the long fountain, and any of them could easily win a fight for a hanging spot on in permanent collection (where I’m pretty sure some of them occasionally reside).
I’m fighting my urge to photograph everything in a museum at the moment. I wasn’t going to point camera at anything, but then I saw a trio of northern European mediæval Die Anbetung der Könige, and … especially when one of them is a copy of the very famous Hieronymus Bosch one, which hangs in Museo del Prado. It’s like I’ve already seen it, I know it so well. So I’m going to try blogging individually some of the pieces I like, and I have to go back anyway, ’cos it was all kinda rushed with the camera. This one, then, is a copy of Bosch’s Adoration of the Magi or The Epiphany, from around 1550, on oak, Kat.-Nr. 1223. It’s been in the Staatliche Museen zu Berlin’s collection since it was acquired in 1837 from General Otto August Rühle von Lilienstern. I’d love to go to Madrid and see the original, it’s one of my favourites, along with Pieter Bruegel de Oude’s unfinished De Aanbiddung der Wijzen.
I didn’t plan on taking photographs. I bought my camera anyway. Art from the Gemäldegalerie’s storerooms.
I saw this. It’s mad brilliant. Like it should have the grimiest beat vibrating the walls and NoLay spitting for 500 years.
First evening in Ottensheim, we all jump on the Drahtseilbrücke Ottensheim, a cable ferry that pendulums across to Wilhering on the other side, about 160 metres away. Up the river to Kraftwerk Ottensheim-Wilhering, Schloss Ottensheim on the hill, the town of Ottensheim itself with Pfarrkirche hl. Ägidius above the ferry pier (play spot the building with Wikipedia) on the market square where Kali and I did Friday in with goat cheese, bread, Most, smoked fish, apples and pears, and the most excellent Donau.hof restaurant where we ended up most days, either for eating or for drinking (& cheers to the head waiter for mad good service), further right the pointy apex of old church cum organ pipe factory cum rest home cum apartments where we had impromptu afternoon tea with a woman who lives there because we liked her garden so she showed us around, past the hills of Dürnberg and down the river to Linz, 10 km or so around the corner, and all the banks of the river we wandered and biked daily, if only to get our heads and emotions in order for Rest Area.
Jüterbog has been on my list of German towns with a connection to Saint Mauritius to visit. It’s approximately spring, which means time for weekend bike trips with David, and as we haven’t gone south, and the Berlin-Leipzig bicycle Autobahn goes through Jüterbog, it seemed like a good combination of for a Saturday.
So, the bike path. It’s an Autobahn. For the most part. Sometimes it’s like Paris-Roubaix, but mostly it’s gloriously hoonable, with twists and hairpins as it weaves between farmers’ fields and forests, those pretty but somehow disturbing towns by lakes where Baroque and Gründerzeit mansions and estates gradually return to earth, drivers that are embarrassingly polite when they need to overtake you on the occasional stretches of road, utterly, utterly flat except for one long, low hill we passed by that might have been a mirage or a crop of taller than usual trees, a couple of downhill stretches into Jüterbog that make me yearn for a UCI Tour von Deutschlands Osten — it’d be like Ronden van Vlaanderen.
We ended up in Jüterbog’s town square looking for coffee after not that many hours pedalling. Jüterbog is one of those walled villages on the borders of the Holy Roman Empire a thousand years ago, then called Jutriboc. It fell under the rule of the Archbishopric of Magdeburg, and as Magdeburg is where the earliest extant representations of Saint Mauritius as a black knight are found, he turns up regularly in churches and towns of the diocese. I knew he was in Jüterbog, I just wasn’t expecting to see him — and his impressive codpiece — on the north-west corner of the mediæval Gothic brick Rathaus, watching over us in the café.
Translated from the plaque:
The statue of Saint Maurice points to the town’s incorporation within the Magdeburg diocese (1157-1635). In 1507, the lord and Archbishop of Magdeburg Ernst von Sachsen, donated the sandstone figure in the form of a contemporary knight. After damage, the canopy was restored in 1935, and the statue itself in 1958-1960, courtesy Karl-Heinz Sachamal. The original is in Mönchenkloster.
As usual, he’s missing his lance, but the stonework of his gauntlets and shield are some of the best I’ve seen. We didn’t hang around long, so I saw neither the 12th century Liebfrauenkirche nor Mönchenkirche, which is now a museum, though did make it to the top of Stadtkirche St. Nikolai, via a claustrophobic and murderously easy to defend stairwell, whose massively thick walls reminded me of Torri Asinelli in Bologna. Along with a dozen other towns nearby, I have idle plans to return for the unseen museums and churches.
All the Victoria & Albert Museum. Well, all the mediæval stuff. That I could find. Plus some renaissance stuff, and a couple of other nice pieces. Masses of art from a Sunday afternoon with the awesome Jennifer Evans for company. Shared hangover also. In the sun in the courtyard garden. Romping the halls and galleries.
I saw: half of Level 0; less than a third of Level 1; a bit under half of Level 2; not much more than a quarter of Level 3; nothing of Levels 4 and 5; dunno if Level 6 even exists. All that in five hours until I got kicked out. I get booted from museums at closing time like most people get booted from bars, pubs, and clubs.
I missed: The brilliant Würzburg St. Maurice wooden statue because … I dunno. Was the room closed? Did I think there was nothing in the next room? Like many museums, incompleteness is a reason to return, to the city and the museum.
Best thing: It’s free! Blimey! So was the National Gallery. What kind of witchcraft is that where museums are free? Other best thing: It’s organised by material as well as chronologically. Which is frankly awesome. Another best thing: It was packed. And I mean packed. They must get millions of visitors a year. Yay, art! (Good estimate based on a single day, Frances: 3.5 million in 2015.)
How many photos did you take, Frances? A shade over 300, including captions. And how many have you blogged? This is the bit that always embarrasses me when I’ve finished editing them all: 111. The number’s kinda like an objective remark on my tendency towards excessive fun. I mean it’s not like I’m banging heroin anymore, is it? Museums it is, then.
- Victoria & Albert Museum — Level 0
- Medieval & Renaissance 300-1500
- Victoria & Albert Museum — Level 1
- Medieval & Renaissance 1350-1600
- Cast Courts: The Weston Cast Court
- Sculpture 1300-1600
- Victoria & Albert Museum — Level 2 & 3
- Medieval & Renaissance 300-1600
- Rosalind & Arthur Gilbert Collection
- Sacred Silver & Stained Glass
- Victoria & Albert Museum: Margot Fonteyn’s Swan Lake Tutu