NAR #7: Corpus

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CORPUS ISSUE 7 FALL 2011 NORTHWESTERNARTREVIEW.ORG

NORTHWESTERN/ART/REVIEW

» CORPUS

BETSY FEUERSTEIN president betsy@u.northwestern.edu

ELISABETH RIVARD editor-in-chief

ONLINE & EDITORIAL STAFF

MADELINE AMOS, Featured Artist Editor

madelineamos2013@u.northwestern.edu ANGELA WANG, Online Columnist

elisabethrivard2008@u.northwestern.edu

MORGAN KREHBIEL director of

communications

morgank@u.northwestern.edu

MEGAN LEE director of programming meganlee@u.northwestern.edu

MARNI BARTA and NANCY DASILVA directors of finance

marnibarta@gmail.com nancy.dasilva@u.northwestern.edu

MATTHEW KLUK web director

matthewkluk2012@u.northwestern.edu

SAMUEL PAPE web director samuelpape2013@u.northwestern.edu

angelawang2011@u.northwestern.edu

WILLA WOLFSON, Online Columnist willawolfson2013@u.northwestern.edu

ELEANOR FISCHER

eleanorfisher2012@u.northwestern.edu

ERIN KIM

erinkim2013@u.northwestern.edu

SAMANTHA OFFSAY

samanthaoffsay2013@u.northwestern.edu

DESIGN

CHRISTOPHER ADAMSON

christopher@polymathicmedia.com

MARCY CAPRON, Web

marcy@polymathicmedia.com

art history department advisor

PROFESSOR CHRISTINA NORMORE art theory and practice department advisor

PROFESSOR LANE RELYEA NAR is a non-commercial journal published by students at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois.

Images are copyright their respective owners, and from ARTstor.org and used within their Terms and Conditions. Written material is © 2010, all rights reserved. Reproduction without permission is prohibited.

Âť NAR

is a student-produced journal based at Northwestern University dedicated to publishing undergraduate papers on art history and contemporary art trends. If you are interested in submitting a research paper or art review for publication in the journal, please contact our editor-in-chief at elisabethrivard2008@u. northwestern.edu. If you are an undergraduate at any institute of higher education and interested in contributing in other ways, please contact the president at betsy@u.northwestern.edu.

FROM THE EDITOR CORPUS

T

he human figure is perhaps one

Christina Normore, NAR’s department advisor,

of the most fundamental topics of

Jesus Escobar, Chair of the Department, and

investigation and discourse in art history.

Hannah Feldman, the Director of Undergraduate

Representation of the body, or lack thereof, is

Studies, as well as the Art Theory and Practice

a seemingly infinite source of discussion that

Department, and especially Lane Relyea, the

cuts across both history and culture. For the

Department Chair. We would also like to thank

Fall 2011 issue of the Northwestern Art Review,

the staff at the Mary and Leigh Block Museum

each essay returns to this essential concern

of Art at Northwestern University for their

of art historical scholarship. From the Italian

enthusiastic support of and collaboration with

Renaissance sculptures of Michelangelo, to the

NAR. I am also grateful for the assistance of our

iconic face of Che Guevara, these essays spark

graphic designer and Communications Director

further conversation regarding the human form

Morgan Krehbiel, and our Webmaster Marcy

in art. The Northwestern Art Review aims to

Capron. Our publication, and our presence on the

encourage this kind of engagement in art history

web would not be possible without your excellent

among undergraduate students, whether these

work.

discussions take place in a museum gallery, or on the pages of our journal.

I would like to express our gratitude for the support of the Weinberg College of Arts and Sciences and the Office of the Provost. I would also like to extend thanks to the Northwestern University Art History Department, especially

In my second publication as Editor, I have been lucky to work with an incredible group of fellow students and NAR members. As NAR continues to expand each year, it is all on account of their ideas and enthusiasm for art. I would like to thank our President Betsy Feuerstein, and the other talented and dedicated members of the Executive Board. Also, thanks to each of the editors who

were instrumental in the publication of this issue, including Angela Wang, Eleanor Fischer, Katherine Cannady, Matt Kluk, Megan Lee, Nancy DaSilva, Samuel Pape, and Willa Wolfson.

Last but not least, I offer thanks to every student who submitted essays to the Northwestern Art Review this fall, and to art history departments nationwide for their participation in our publication. Our published journal is one of the tangible ways by which we encourage art historical scholarship among undergraduates. It is an honor for us to receive and review such superb essays for our journal. We hope to remain an open resource for all undergraduate students who seek to read, write, and discuss art for many years to come.

ELISABETH RIVARD NOVEMBER 2011 EVANSTON, IL

TABLE OF CONTENTS 1SCARY » by

cars:

OR SEXY?

A lexandra Glancy, page 8

2R »E S U michelangelo ’s RRECTED CK by

senia

H D

R 18 I

yachok, page

S

3revolutionary » analysis of CHE C by

hristine

T

the icon

GUEVARA

Hazday, page 26

4devotion » materially mediated : wooden reliquary

busts

and

LATE MEDIEVAL F E M A L E SCP IB R , I T36 U A L I T Y by

arly

oxer page

NOTES, page 44

page

8

page

18

page

26

page

36

CARS: SCARY OR SEXY? by

ALEXANDRA GLANCY northwestern university

anned spaghetti, the female figure, and automobiles never had much in common before twentiethcentury American painter James Rosenquist brought them together. Using his experience as a billboard designer, and techniques from the advertising industry, Rosenquist created large canvases that illustrated the mentality of American consumers, particularly in regard to cars.

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CAR TOUCH — James Rosenquist

1966

Both automobiles and the automobile industry had tremendous influence on Rosenquist’s life and art. Automobiles as actual machines, their capabilities, and mechanical power provided inspiration for Rosenquist. In addition, he drew imagery from the automobile industry, including advertising, the planned obsolescence of old models, and cars’ new role as a consumer product and status symbol. Cars function in Rosenquist’s works in two ways. First, they are often sexualized by their inclusion in a suggestive scene or by taking on sexual roles themselves. Second, despite this characterization, in each of Rosenquist’s works there is usually a sense of danger signaled by car and the implied threat of a crash is always looming. By incorporating car imagery into his artwork, Rosenquist highlights the tension between sex and violence in the advertising industry of the 1960s.

Born in 1933, Rosenquist had close ties to automobiles since 10

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his childhood. By the 1960s cars were already integrated into mainstream American life. In his autobiography he describes dreaming of driving to California when he was just fourteen.

After he got his first job as a sign painter in Iowa, he details a trip to Wisconsin: “it was like an On the Road type of adventure.”1 Thus, while the generation before him had to adapt to the activity of driving, Rosenquist felt the fantasy and allure of cars from a young age.

For Rosenquist it was not the development of cars that radically influenced his art, so much as the transition of cars to massproduced consumer commodities that harnessed his attention.

Automobiles were just a fraction of Rosenquist’s artistic focus. On a greater scale, he was interested in the advertising industry and American consumer culture. His first commissioned work was a Coca Cola advertisement.2 Even his color palette drew from advertising campaigns. As he writes in

his autobiography, “another idea that had occurred to me while doing commercial art was the relationship between colors and objects. […] Green became the eyebrows of a kid drinking Coca-Cola; blue was a Chrysler sedan…”3 From his background as a billboard painter, Rosenquist developed a recognizable style involving large canvasses and an airbrush paint technique.

Sign making not only influenced Rosenquist’s style but also his compositional structure, especially when it came to surrealism. In describing his transition away from sign making in his autobiography, Rosenquist notes his critical observations about the advertising industry. After contemplating a cigarette advertisement, Rosenquist wrote, “you just had to laugh at all this magazine advertising. It was so strange. What was Madison Avenue doing? It was on another planet. Most advertising is based on getting your attention by juxtaposing things that don’t belong together. Advertising uses a crude form of surrealism to

CARS: SCARY OR SEXY? get your attention.”4 Rosenquist himself carried on this pattern of juxtaposition through his canvasses. Often disparate items are associated with one another.

Additionally, he uses bright colors and a smoothed, airbrush painting technique, so that the paintings look like they could be from another world. Each of his artworks recall large-scale commercial advertisements meant for public consumption, only transported to a museum gallery.

Rosenquist was aware of the boundary between public and private life that he was breaking.

While previous art movements treated their canvasses as windows that the viewer must look through, Rosenquist thought of his art as “smashing images into your face.”5 His large canvases, vibrant colors, and dynamic compositions were indeed hard to ignore. He uses dislocation of scale to make some recognizable images too large to recognize, thereby transforming everyday

Rosenquist wrote, “you just had to laugh at all this magazine advertising. It was so strange. What was Madison Avenue doing?

It was on another planet.

Most advertising is based on getting your attention by juxtaposing things that don’t belong together.

Advertising uses a crude form of surrealism to get your attention.” images into abstractions. Like the medium of collage, this technique used the materials of everyday life to make art, but instead Rosenquist painted images that we have reserved in our brains from when they flash before us everyday. Also, as one drives he is looking through a window, and is already in motion. Thus Rosenquist more easily realizes his objective of enticing view-

ers by using the billboard style, which was initially invented to capture pedestrian and driver attention. Rosenquist feared this attention-grabbing advertising was a threat to painting, which had to be just as dynamic if it were to compete for viewers’ interest.

Rosenquist used these techniques to make critical commentaries about sex, products, and advertising. One of the most notable examples of Rosenquist’s individual style is his 1961 composition I Love You with My Ford. Rosenquist juxtaposes sexual imagery with a car and consumer products to show the paradoxical undertones of the advertising industry. Upon first glancing at the composition, one notices its sheer size. The painting is 82 ¾ by 93 ½ feet, a monstrous dimension made possible by coupling two large vertical canvasses to make nearly a perfect square. Three horizontal sections further divide the painting.

I LOVE YOU WITH MY FORD 12

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— James Rosenquist

1961

CARS: SCARY OR SEXY? The top section shows a 1950s Ford model in close up in black and white. The middle section depicts a woman’s mouth and what looks like a man’s ear, also in black and white. The lower section contains canned pasta in bright reds, yellows, and oranges, floating around in open space.

The references to mass advertising are immediately noticeable in this painting. The Ford is painted with great attention to detail and symmetry, and the Ford emblem is prominently and accurately represented in the center, consistent with consumers’ treatment of cars as status symbols. The car has an airbrushed quality, so its features are more indistinctly rendered.

The arched line over the emblem of the grill is repeated throughout the composition—in the line from the woman’s mouth to the man’s nose and again in the curves of the pasta. The motif of the car’s physical structure

is maintained throughout the painting in line and the horizontal block format.

The title of this painting, I Love You with My Ford draws a connection between sex and cars.

The Ford is a necessary object in this couple’s sexual relationship.

The frame of a woman whispering into a man’s ear is situated on an extreme diagonal, as if their action is happening quickly and dramatically. In her article “Sex, Lies, and History”, Emily Braun catches sight of this relationship: “packaged with heterosexual erotic overtones, deluxe automobiles and streamlined appliances become the objects of the new consumer economy of desire.”6 Perhaps this couple is together in a car at a drive-in. This also may be an on-screen couple, which the horizontal, zoomedin frame suggests. Nevertheless, the painting seems to insinuate that the woman is more attracted to the man because of his Ford automobile.

All of these images were real advertisements that Rosenquist copied, enlarged, and manipulated. The former title of this painting was I Used to Own a 50 because Rosenquist painted a 1950 model even though he completed the work in 1961. Rosenquist made this decision intentionally. He felt that in 1961, “a 50s Ford was devoid of emotional connotations.”7 He argues that these images were so drained of associations that people would find less significance in them than they would in something that was obviously abstracted. A product too recent to be historical and too late to be fashionable, Rosenquist viewed the Ford as part of a “blind spot” in history.8 As Michael Lobel notes in his book about Rosenquist and his historical context, “to some extent the work resonates with a critique made of automobile styling at the time: the annual style changes, in which details like trim and grilles were updated or

modified, obscured the car industry’s failure to make significant mechanical or technological improvements.”9 This statement further highlights the superficiality of American culture at the time, as well as car companies’ sales technique of planned obsolescence. Cars were designed to retire quickly so that consumers would buy new models more often. While the car industry had not innovated any mechanical function of their products for a time, it instead made great strides in the marketing sector.

As a result, Rosenquist’s cars were all about appearance, not function. This notion resonated in American consumer society at the time, and in the car industry as a whole.

The middle panel of I Love You with My Ford conveys an ambiguous, awkward, and manipulated human relationship. The arc of a woman’s nose continues smoothly into the arc of a man’s ear. Odd organic shapes are at play that contrast yet somehow 14

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complement the car above them.

Both the car and the couple are painted in grayscale, tying them together. By painting the top two images in such similar styles, Rosenquist implies that like the car, sex has become superficial, mechanical, and meaningless.

The canned pasta is the epitome of the type of consumer product Rosenquist is critiquing. What was once an Italian gourmet dish, this spaghetti is now food without a culture. It is artificially flavored and inserted into an impersonal and manufactured can, produced in a factory. Its only values are that it is cheap and widely available. Likewise, Rosenquist includes the pasta only for its aesthetically interesting curves and colors. Its quality, identity, and origin are irrelevant.

Nevertheless, the appearance of the pasta, when combined with the other compositional elements, suggests the destructive force of the car. The car on top holds the most weight

in the painting. We see the car from head on at the grill, not the seats or the back. It is blaringly there before the viewer in a threatening way. With its yellow, red, and orange tones combined with swirling curves, the pasta at the bottom looks like it could be blood or innards, reminding us of the looming threat of car crashes. Thus, while viewers are drawn to the sexual imagery of the painting initially, at the top and bottom lie a reminders of the machine’s destructive potential. The whispering couple is left stuck in the middle between these two disastrous options, frozen in black and white. Like the Ford and canned pasta, they become yet another image devoid of culture, passion, and life.

In a later painting, Rosenquist suggests that people are not the only ones who can have a sexual relationship. His installment Car Touch (1966) consists of two cars painted in oil on separate canvasses that move back and forth on a mechanized track. The canvases have been reworked to mimic the contours

CARS: SCARY OR SEXY? There is an immediate tension in this painting that warns us of the potential destruction of this “touch. of the cars as they move apart and together again repeatedly.

There is an immediate tension in this painting that warns us of the potential destruction of this “touch.” The cars are placed on a struggle diagonal from left to right, and the front and rear bumpers run in parallel zigzags.

The space between them expands and contracts. These cars could crash, smashing into one another on the road. However, in this painting, the cars only come so close that they just touch.

Thus, this painting is charged with dangerous tension. The diagonal structure of the composition reinforces this dynamic.

All of this drama is magnified by the canvas’s large size, which recreates the sensation of being

CAR TOUCH

— James Rosenquist

1966

around large automobiles. The piece becomes almost threatening, yet still artificial because of the utter flatness of the picture.

On top of this tension is the sexually charged motion of the two cars. Emily Braun describes Car Touch as a “ribald send-up of the sex and machine cultural mentality.”10 The cars in this position are personified to take on a sexual relationship not unlike the one suggested in I Love You with My Ford. Moving back and forth in constant rhythm, the cars could be seen as having sex. Products for sale like cars can therefore take on a sexual attraction that is related to a sort of commodity fetishism.

That the cars are painted all red also references this “sexed-up” classiness, the equivalent of red lipstick on a woman. The title, with the word “touch,” adds to the suggestion of human contact.

Moreover, the zigzag front grill and bumper nearly fit together like puzzle pieces, making them a pair. Yet as described earlier, 16

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Much like I Love You with My Ford, this painting represents three concerns that are on everyone’s minds: food, money, and sex, by projecting common consumer images. within this sexual relationship is the threat of a disastrous crash.

In Lanai (1964), a large car serves as the link between canned peaches and a woman’s naked silhouette. Much like I Love You with My Ford, this painting represents three concerns that are on everyone’s minds: food, money, and sex, by projecting common consumer images. Reading the image from left to right, a car in deep perspective shoots the viewer quickly to the pink shaded image of a woman. The flashy car seems even more spectacular so because of how it is situated against the picture plane.

Once again, in this painting, sexual imagery is rampant. Em-

LANAI

ily Braun identifies the sources of this imagery: “from the Del Monte fruit (“a peach” being a common slang for a woman) to the kneeling figure derived from the White Rock girl, Rosenquist knows we know that the metaphors are hardly fresh.”11 Peaches are a common representation of the vagina; alternatively, they are a sweet dessert that may symbolize oral satisfaction. The woman is crouched over “about to take the plunge.”12 It looks like she is luring a man. The image is pink, the advertised color of fem-

CARS: SCARY OR SEXY?

— James Rosenquist

1964

ininity. Then at the finale of the painting on the far right, there is a phallic vertical pencil. The title of the painting, Lanai, adds a sense of tropical heat.

The car in this case is large and overpowering; it dominates the center gravity of the image.

Perhaps this car is a sexual innuendo on its own, such as a sex “drive”. The car, at such an extreme perspective, adds speed to the painting. It moves the eye quickly from left to right. Looming in this composition, the peaches eerily look like floating

cells. Interestingly, Rosenquist places the car upside down. This proves even further that the aesthetic qualities of the car are more important than its function.

In Rosenquist’s work of the 1960s, he juxtaposes automobile imagery in sexual and potentially violent settings. He speaks to the dangers of consumer culture and advertising, by using the same exact techniques in his own works. While some remember James Rosenquist as a Pop artist, along with Roy Lichtenstein

and Andy Warhol, it is important to remember that Rosenquist did not attempt to glorify pop and consumerism, but rather to critique it in its own language. More than fifty years ago, Rosenquist predicted the power of mass media imagery that still profoundly affects American culture today, with the automobile as his warning symbol.

MICHELANGELO’S

RESURRECTED CHRIST by

KSENIA DYACHOK

university of california

- los angeles

mong the numerous depictions of Christ in the Italian Renaissance, Michelangelo Buonarotti’s Resurrected Christ of Santa Maria sopra Minerva (1519- 1521) is among the most controversial. Indeed, the Resurrected Christ is one of the world’s few known sculptures in which the adult figure of Christ is depicted completely in the nude.

A

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— Michelangelo Buonarotti 1519-1521

There have been a number of attempts at covering the sculpture with loincloths or even removing Christ’s genitals. However at present, Michelangelo’s sculpture stands more or less as originally conceived, beneath the roof of one of the most important Dominican order churches in the heart of Rome. Although shocking at first, Michelangelo’s intentional depiction of Christ in the nude attests to the underlying Neoplatonic, theological, and ancient references to the heroic nature of Christ as the Savior of Humanity. Michelangelo imbues the sculpture with a metaphor for Christ’s spiritual perfection in the manifestation of his nude body.

Christ’s pain and tragedy is vividly expressed on his face while the stoic heroism of his posture recalls the most profound gods of the antique. In this groundbreaking quintessence of sculptural ideals, Michelangelo conflates the Man of Sorrows with the heroic Savior of Humanity to produce the Resurrected Christ.

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Although shocking at first, Michelangelo’s intentional depiction of Christ in the nude attests to the underlying Neoplatonic, theological, and ancient references to the heroic nature of Christ as the Savior of Humanity.

Commissioned in 1514 by Bernardo Cencio, canon of St. Peter’s, Mario Scappucci, and Metello Vari, the sculpture was meant to adorn the altar of the tomb of Maria Porcari in the Dominican Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva. Through a series of letters between the artist and his patrons, it may be noted that although Michelangelo was busy with other commissions at the time, he was intrigued by the thought of creating a sculpture of Christ in the nude. After working on the sculpture for over a year, Michelangelo discovered a black

vein within the marble that appeared on Christ’s face. Disappointed by the spoiled work, and occupied with other commissions, Michelangelo postponed the job until 1519. When he was nearly finished in 1520, the artist sent the statue to Rome to be finished by his assistant Pietro Urbano.1 However, once again ill fate befell its completion. According to the outraged contemporary artist, Sebastiano del Piombo, Michelangelo’s assistant had completely spoiled the sculpture, ruining the fingers of the hands so that they no longer “look as if they were made of marble, but made by someone who makes pasta.”2 Although the mistakes were easily rectified by Federigo Frizzi that same year, Michelangelo offered to create yet another version of the sculpture and presented Vari with its model. According to records however, Vari was pleased with the first result, keeping Michelangelo’s second model of the sculpture to be placed in his garden. The first, accepted version was installed in a more prominent location, on

michelangelo’s

RESURRECTED CHRIST the left side of the choir of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, one of the most important churches of the Roman Catholic Dominican order. Christ’s nudity was concealed several times after the sculpture’s installation. Following the Council of Trent (15451563), the figure was covered up with a metal loincloth in order to conceal the exposure, but even such measures did not prevent a monk from breaking off Christ’s genitals in the seventeenth-century. However, despite the violent criticisms at the time of its installation, thousands of Romans have continued to pay homage to the Resurrected Christ since then, believing that by kissing his foot they would be more likely to meet their beloved.3 It was not until recently that the Baroque additions of the loincloth and the protective foot covering were once more removed and the sculpture was restored to its authentic state.

The Resurrected Christ was

originally meant to be installed in a niche above an altar, from the shadows of which the resurrected figure would rise. Always attuned to the dramatic effects of lighting and placement, Michelangelo would have undeniably used this interplay of light and shadow to highlight the most important parts of the composition and to soften others. By examining the initially proposed location, art historian William Wallace has claimed that although Christ was intentionally nude, the position of the shadows would have concealed the exposed genitals and produced a less shocking effect on viewers.4 Furthermore, when viewed from the left, “Christ is no longer an unpleasantly thickset figure with monumental buttocks. Rather, his proportions are more slender, and his body merges with the cross in a harmonious and graceful composition.”5 Thus, in its original context, the sculpture would have inspired a devotional

atmosphere rather than drawn the criticisms of crude exposure that it endured until recently.

In its present position, on the left side of the choir, the Resurrected Christ stands in full visibility. Many critics have described the sculpture as a classically heroic nude rather than a Christian figure of devotion. As described by the biographer Howard Hibbard, “we see here Michelangelo’s unabashed love, even hunger for the nude figure, which from the rear could be in every sense a pagan work.”6 Christ stands in an exuberant contrapposto, displaying the instruments of his Passion: a rope, a sponge and a reed. Placing his left foot in front of the cross, the marble Christ triumphantly embraces the most prominent symbol of his faith. He is the Redeemer sent

by God, and by embracing the instrument of his own destruction, Christ accepts the sacrifice that must be made in order to save humanity from original sin.

As noted previously by Hibbard, the figure is closely modeled on the heroic nude. In particular, a parallel may be drawn to one of Michelangelo’s most celebrated works, the David completed in Florence in 1504. Just like the Resurrected Christ, David stands in a nude contrapposto pose echoing sculptures of classical gods. The Biblical figure David serves as the complete embodiment of a heroic nude.

He too carries the tools of his combat, resting a slingshot on his left shoulder, while holding a rock in his other hand. His tense muscles, ready for combat, are paralleled in Christ’s figure in the Santa Maria sopra Minerva.

Alluding to the heroic stance of David, Michelangelo had made a deliberate decision to portray the body of the Resurrected Christ as a classical nude in order to highlight Christ’s role as the ultimate Christian savior.

Michelangelo’s presentation of Christ in the nude becomes even clearer upon delv22

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ing further into the Neoplatonic influences that are known to have played a great role in Michelangelo’s ideology and work.

Masilio Ficino’s newly translated works of Plotinus, Proclus, and Plato into Latin sparked the inception of the Neoplatonic movement in the Renaissance. Lorenzo de Medici supported the Florentine Neoplatonic Academy led by Ficino, and it was under Lorenzo’s patronage that Michelangelo came into contact with Neoplatonic ideas. According to Deborah Vess, “Plotinus argued that there were three hypostases: the One, the Intelligible, and the World Soul. The One was the highest, most perfect realm.”7 Combining classical Platonic ideals with Christian teachings, Ficino’s Neoplatonic Academy stipulated that the heavens represented this “perfect realm,” and the objects found on Earth were merely scattered reflections of the heavenly ideals. Furthermore, the Neoplatonic teachings of Ficino described “man as

the center of being, as the connecting link between God and the world.”7 Such focus on the human figure is clearly exhibited in Michelangelo’s Resurrected Christ. Through the Neoplatonic lens, Michelangelo saw the human nude as a reflection of a body’s inner soul. The Resurrected Christ’s nudity, therefore, signifies “the ideal and intelligible as opposed to the physical and sensible, the simple and ‘true’ essence as opposed to its varied and changeable images.”8 Apart from the symbolic marks of the stigmata, the figure of the Resurrected Christ bears no traces of injury. Christ’s unblemished body reflects his purity of soul and his soul’s readiness to ascend into heaven.

The stylistic perfection after which Michelangelo’s Resurrected Christ was modeled, can be traced to the Apollo of Belvedere sculpture from 350325 B.C., recently discovered in Michelangelo’s time. Considered to be a paradigm of classical antiquity, the ancient sculpture was highly praised by Renaissance

michelangelo’s

RESURRECTED CHRIST intellectuals. It is very plausible that Michelangelo had come into contact with this sculpture of Apollo at the court of Julius II della Rovere, and had been inspired by its unabashed display of bodily perfection. In fact, just like the Apollo, the body of the Resurrected Christ proudly exhibits its flawless proportions and structure in the way that Michelangelo interpreted the Neoplatonic ideal. Furthermore, Michelangelo sought to channel the Apollo’s representation of the human nude completely free of the sin of shame, as practiced by the pre-Christian civilizations of ancient Greece and Rome. As proposed by traditional Christian teachings, Christ was the New Adam, exempt from original sin and therefore not privy to the concept of shame. In his teachings, early Christian theologian Saint Augustine discusses the concept of shame: “we are ashamed of that very thing which made those primitive hu-

man beings ashamed, when they covered their loins. That is the penalty of sin; that is the plague and mark of sin; that is the temptation and very fuel of sin; that is the law in our members warring against the law of our mind; It is this which makes us ashamed, and justly ashamed.”9 The art that represents Adam before he committed original sin shows him naked. The parallel of Adam seen in the Creation of Mankind on the Sistine Chapel ceiling can therefore be drawn to the nude representation of the Resurrected Christ. Adam displays his naked figure, attesting to the perfection of God’s creation.

In the same way, Christ, as the redeemed Adam, embraces his original human form.

Furthermore, in his discussion on the sexuality of Christ, Leo Steinberg points out, “if Michelangelo denuded his Risen Christ, he must have sensed a righteousness in his decision more compelling than inhibitions of modesty; he must have 24

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seen that a loincloth would convict these genitalia of being “pudenda,” thereby denying the very work of redemption which promised to free human nature from its Adamic contagion of shame.”10 Thus, Michelangelo avoids any speculation about the sexuality of the sculpture. Eve was believed to have been the primary instigator of original sin. However, by revealing the gender of Christ, Michelangelo underscores the sculpture’s masculinity, and therefore clearly states that this is the sculpture of Christ the Savior and not of the female Eve. By this logic, it becomes evident that the Resurrected Christ should, in fact, be depicted in no other way than in the nude.

In contrast to the nearly flawless, heroic stance of the Resurrected Christ discussed earlier, the solemn expression on the sculpture’s face reveals an undeniable image of Christ as the Man of Sorrows. The sculpture’s eyes, filled with emotion, remind

the viewer of Christ’s divine sacrifice. In its present location, Christ’s gaze is directed towards the path that leads to the altar.

Contemplating the practice of the Eucharist, Christ relives the suffering and the sacrifice that he has undergone in order to save mankind. His Apollonian expression, reminiscent of the lifeless features of Christ in Michelangelo’s Pieta done almost 20 years earlier, is betrayed only by the tragedy present in his eyes. The facial expression of the Resurrected Christ almost seems disconnected from his body. As Wallace describes, “The turn of the body and the averted face suggests something like the shunning of physical contact that is central to another postResurrection subject, the Noli me tangere. The turned head is an eloquent and poignant means of rendering Christ inaccessible even as his corporeal reality is made manifest.”11 Thus, Michelangelo skillfully superimposes the image of the Man of Sorrows onto the body of Christ as the heroic redeemer of humanity.

michelangelo’s

RESURRECTED CHRIST As the viewer approaches Resurrected Christ from its originally intended viewpoint on the left, the eye is directly drawn to the cross that is embraced by the figure. The Arma Christi, or instruments of Christ’s passion serve as powerful symbolic images and attest to the gruesome events suffered by Christ during his Passion. Michelangelo’s inclusion of such symbolism evokes the familiar devotional image of Christ as the Man of Sorrows, bringing the viewer’s attention to Christ’s great sacrifice done in the name of humanity. Passing Michelangelo’s Resurrected Christ on his way to the altar, the viewer contemplates this notion, paving the path to his own salvation.

Furthermore, the gesture of Michelangelo’s sculpture serves as a subtle allusion to Christ’s tragic fate. Embracing the tool of their own destruction, Christ’s widespread fingers point to the cross, and even further to the di-

rection of Heaven. This embrace of the cross is likewise mimicked in the subtle gesture of Christ’s leg. Extending his left leg around the base of the cross, the body of Christ and the symbol of his death stand interlinked and inseparable. As noted by Wallace, “the identification of Christ with the cross are joined, two manifestations, material and symbolic, of the same reality.”12 Such gestural rhetoric reminds the viewer that without Christ’s suffering and death there would be no hope of resurrection. As Christ’s arms direct the eyes to Heaven, the cross becomes the focal point of Michelangelo’s composition, and an avenue for the viewer, “a via cruces to salvation.”12 In terms of the Resurrected Christ, Michelangelo succeeded in creating a devotional figure that has awed and inspired generations in its bodily perfection and spiritual might. By depicting the Resurrected Christ in

the nude, Michelangelo reveals the ideal and superior nature of Christ as the New Adam, ready to re-join the realm of heaven. His strong classicized body serves as a symbol of his spiritual perfection and represents Christ as the ultimate hero sent to Earth by God in order to redeem humanity of original sin.

The figure encourages not only admiration but also inward contemplation as the viewer comes in contact with Christ’s poignant gaze. Through this work, Michelangelo imparts the tragedy and heroism of the story of Christ’s Passion. In a paradigm of theological, spiritual, and artistic ideals, Michelangelo surpassed the negative connotations of human nudity of both his time and those of modern times.

CHE GUEVARA

analysis of the revolutionary icon

by

CHRISTINE HAZDAY northwestern university

ccording to lifelong Marxist Bertolt Brecht, director of the Teatro Politico in Havana during the 1960s, “unhappy is the land that is in need of a hero.” Brecht’s words express the state of Cuba in 1965 after the enthusiasm for the initial successful years of the Cuban Revolution had waned.

A

»

— Alfredo Rostgaard

1969

RADIANT CHE

DAY OF THE HEROIC GUERILLA

— Elena Serrano

1968

28

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By 1965, Cuba’s independence from the Soviet Union had become a contested issue between revolutionary leaders Ernesto “Che” Guevara and Fidel Castro.

While Guevara often denounced the Soviet Union publicly, Castro realized that with the United States embargo in place, the regime’s survival greatly depended on Soviet sugar subsidies. After Guevara resigned from the Cuban government on October 3, 1965, Castro seized this opportunity to shape Guevara’s image into an icon to promote Revolutionary ideology.

Guevara’s image is an enduring symbol that continues to be seen on billboards, wall art, and posters throughout Havana even today. The genius of Fidel’s strategy lay in its appeal to artists and thinkers of the left who were losing faith in the Soviet Union and were impatient for social change in Cuba.

Ultimately, the artistic images of Che Guevara were part of a strategy by the regime and government-commissioned artists to combine the mythological

analysis of the revolutionary icon

CHE GUEVARA

According to Fidel Castro, on different Revolutionary aes“The art of the Revolution thetics: international and ethnic solidarity, martyrdom, and will be internationalist, embrace of a hero in non-hierat the same time as it will archal terms. be tightly bound to the Little is known about the national roots.” Serrano’s artist Elena Serrano, one of eight women hired by the Orposter embodies Castro’s ganization of Solidarity of the message as well as Cuban people of Asia, Africa, and Latin history.

America (OSPAAAL) to design history of the Cuban Revolution, Guevara’s self-sacrificing and idealistic values, and the image of the heroic guerrillero into a single, powerful mnemonic to propagate a positive vision of sweeping socialist change. Elena Serrano’s Day of the Heroic Guerilla (1968), Alfredo Rostgaard’s Radiant Che (1969), and Raul Martínez’s La Isla (1970) exemplify the mobilization of Che’s image for political purposes. These artists’ representations of Che Guevara complied with the specific demands of the regime and drew

posters. OSPAAAL was founded at the Tricontinental Conference held in Havana in January 1966, which was attended by more than 500 representatives of national liberation movements, guerilla organizations, socialist and communist parties from Asia, Africa and Latin America. OSPAAAL’s mission was to promote the liberation of Latin America, Africa, and Asia from American imperialism, a fundamental notion of Guevara’s revolutionary ideology. Serrano’s Day of the Heroic Guerilla (1968) poster was designed specifically for October

8, 1968, a date referred to by the same name. This day commemorates the revolutionary life of Che Guevara, whose death was ordered by the Bolivian high command and witnessed by a CIA operative on October 9, 1967. Serrano’s poster Day of the Heroic Guerilla was chosen to be displayed throughout the Plaza de la Revolución in Havana. Guevara and Castro promised that the movement would empower women as they contribute to the revolutionary causes. Supposedly the regime and public’s approval of Serrano’s work marked the postrevolution attainment of gender equality in Cuba, because the ideas and creations of women became equally relevant to the revolution as those of men.

Thus, Serrano was honored for her design which embodied the revolution’s “most sacred of duties: to fight against imperialism wherever it may be.”1 Serrano’s Day of the Hero-

ic Guerrilla is a profound testimony to Cuba’s unremitting and vigorous ideological support for third world liberation.

According to Fidel Castro, “The art of the Revolution will be internationalist, at the same time as it will be tightly bound to the national roots.”2 Serrano’s poster embodies Castro’s message as well as Cuban history.

Serrano was one of the first artists to appropriate Alberto Korda’s iconic photograph of Che Guevara wearing his black beret taken at a state funeral on March 4, 1960, in honor of the seventy-six people who died in the explosion of the French freight boat La Coubre. This particular image of Guevara represents youthful confidence and success, appropriate for the poster’s glorification of his service to the revolution. The design layers successive images of Che Guevara’s portrait in increasing scale superimposed over the Latin American continent. The two-tone red 30

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and white image of Guevara’s face blends with the red landmass, while the outer frame is blue and brown. These primary colors were often used because they were the only colors available. This represents the “common Revolutionary tale of creativity born out of scarcity.”3 Both in a literal and figurative sense, the image of Latin America frames Guevara’s image and everything he represents politically, culturally, and psychologically. Serrano incorporates an internationally comprehensible language, as the title is written in the top right hand corner in four languages: Spanish, French, English, and Arabic.

Serrano’s Day of the Heroic Guerrilla has become a lasting image of revolutionary utopian ideals and triumph.

Alfredo Rostgaard, born in Guantanamo, Cuba in 1943, also made use of Che Guevara’s image. He attended the Joaquin Tejada School of Art in Santiago de Cuba. Later he

Rostgaard’s Radiant Che commissioned by OPSAAAL, pays homage to the “Christ-like” martyrdom with which Guevara was associated. moved to Havana at the age of twenty-four and earned a degree at the School of Plastic Arts in Santiago de Cuba. Soon after the Cuban Revolution began, he worked as a cartoonist and artistic director of the Union of Young Communists’ magazine Mella. He designed numerous posters for Instituto Cubano de Arte e Industria Cinematográficos (ICAIC) and became OSPAAAL’s art director from 1960 to 1975. Although he was never formally educated in graphic design, Rostgaard felt that with graphic design he could establish a more direct communication with a wide sector of the population. Like many OPSAAAL artists, Rostgaard tailored his design to the message of his poster. In an in-

analysis of the revolutionary icon

CHE GUEVARA

RADIANT CHE

— Alfredo Rostgaard

1969

terview with fellow artist Raul Martínez, Rostgaard stated: “my aesthetic and style were born of pop, and I had arrived at it not by imitation but because I considered popular images very beautiful, very tranquil.”4 His work Radiant Che (1969), which references Pop art and psychedelic poster art, was one of his most important works.

Rostgaard’s Radiant Che commissioned by OPSAAAL, pays homage to the “Christ-like” martyrdom with which Guevara was associated. Guevara’s address to the Cuban public stressed that each segment of society needed to fulfill its function well if the revolution was to succeed. But most importantly, Guevara preached the notion of the “New Man” who put others before himself. To promote this ideology, Rostgaard incorporates Korda’s image because he felt this particular photograph was “unique, as are the

LA ISLA

— R aul Martinez

1970

circumstances for which it was taken: mourning and anger over a death – a Jesus contemplating human iniquity.”5 The fusion of Korda’s Guevara with the figure of Christ involves specific, symbolic art. Emanating from the star of Che Guevara’s beret worn in his iconic photograph are rays of colors.

The star, a universal Christian symbol, emphasizes this image of divine, polychromatic light.

Ocean waves are superimposed on the bottom half of Guevara’s 32

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image, a reference to the landscape of Cuba.

Revolutionary leaders spoke of “the landscape” as a metaphor for the Cuban people, perhaps because the initial stages of guerrilla warfare were formed in the rugged Sierra Maestra Mountains and the Bay of Pigs. Figuratively, this poster serves as a reminder that Guevara, the self-sacrificing leader of the Revolution, will forever lead and guide the Cuban people. Guevara became the “ulti-

mate standard-bearer for Revolutionary virtue.” It is Guevara’s image to which school children would salute and recite “Pioneers for communism! We will be like Che!” In an anecdote told by Rostgaard, an aging man thanked him for this image and stated, “we have a faith, a confidence in Che. When I go to bed and when I wake up, I first pray to God and then I pray to Che - and then, everything is all right.”6 Rostgaard’s image is powerful: it maintains a connection to the circumstances of

analysis of the revolutionary icon

CHE GUEVARA

Martínez’s La Isla unites Pop art and folk art as a “grand metaphor” for the initial phase of the revolution, expressed in oil on canvas. the original photograph taken

by Korda, yet endows Guevara’s sacrifice with a more spiritual purpose as a responsibility of the revolutionary “New Man.” Raul Martínez was a Cuban painter, designer, and graphic artist. His colorful Pop art portraits depicted leading Cuban political figures, such as Che Guevara, Camilo Cienfuegos, and Fidel Castro. Martínez was born in Ciego de Ávila and was formally trained in the fine arts at the School of Plastic Arts in Havana. Additionally, he studied at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago from 1950 to 1951, where he learned graphic design. Martínez soon real-

ized after his training that his graphic skills would be useful to the Cuban Revolution.

In 1959, the Cuban government enlisted Martinez as a graphic design artist to help promote the Cuban Film Institute (ICAIC), Casa de las Americas, and the Cuban Book Institute. Martínez came to prominence not only as a wellknown poster and book designer and an accomplished photographer, but also as a teacher, publisher and muralist. His use of art as a weapon for political and social change led him to be called a “catalytic figure on the Havana art scene”. He believed that by living in agreement with socialist tenets, his art was a political act. Influenced by the growing Pop art movement, Martínez incorporated the themes and iconography of the Cuban Revolution, using vibrant colors and comic book themes. In an interview in 1964, referring to the previous

five years, Martínez commented, “before it seemed enough to maintain an honest behavior, without concessions of the regime. The work remained outside. Now we have a different sense of responsibility.”7

Martínez’s posters gained internationalism acclaim. The artist was credited in Cuba for creating the Cuban variation of “Pop art.” This is indicative of his ability to produce a broad visual language with his artwork to convey a message to the public. He used celebratory bold colors, a non-EuropeanAmerican concept of space that undermined the static quality of American Pop art, and graphic design that was based on the shared history of the Cuban people. Martínez’s posters carefully channeled the work of American artists such as Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein, who created art based on modern popular culture and the mass media, especial-

ly as a critical or ironic comment on traditional fine art.

For revolutionary leaders Fidel Castro and Che Guevara, their main concern was to reject the Stalinist doctrine of “Social Realism” in their art.8 While it may seem paradoxical that Martínez could appropriate the American Pop art style, his posters never faltered in conveying revolutionary ideology.

The radical or revolutionary potential of the Pop art movement was strengthened within the Cuban Revolution through Martínez’s work.

Martínez’s La Isla unites Pop art and folk art as a “grand metaphor” for the initial phase of the revolution, expressed in oil on canvas. The Cuban Revolution headed by Fidel Castro demonstrated that triumph was achieved with workers, masons, and farmers rising up to become great military leaders and strategists. Both Castro and Guevara felt that the Revolution would “make Cubans feel 34

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more complete” because everyone would have a role in contributing to the ultimate goal of a utopian society.9 Martínez represents many anonymous Cubans from various sectors of society while using Warhol’s geometric grid. In addition, he celebrates the ethnic diversity of the Cuban population by including figures of all races.

Among the anonymous workers, revolutionary leaders Guevara, Castro, and Cienfuegos are depicted from left to right.

Martínez uses vibrant colors, boldly flat forms, heroes and campesinos (farmers) united within a system where no one figure stands out over any other. Guevara viewed himself as a hero in non-hierarchical terms.

Thus, this element of “equalizing unity” in a utopian society was a promise of the revolutionaries’ triumph.10 Martínez does not exalt Guevara as an individual by highlighting his “uniqueness.” Rather Guevara, a principled egalitarian is visu-

ally represented by the superimposed farmer and student figures over his face on the far left of the painting. Thus, La Isla embodies the values of Guevara’s “New Man,” who is driven by moral incentives to lead the “masses to victory.”11

According to Eric Selbin, Guevara’s image represents the “collective memories of the oppression, sagas of struggle, tales of opposition, and myths of once and future glory.”12 In Cuba, Guevara’s omnipresent image is identified with revolutionary ideas. Serrano’s Day of the Heroic Guerrilla, Rostgaard’s Radiant Che, and Martínez’s La Isla serve a didactic function, instilling values in the Cuban public such as liberation of the oppressed, the contribution of non-hierarchical heroes, and the willingness to sacrifice oneself for the revolution. Guevara embodied these ideals, especially the revolutionary “New Man.” His untimely death was interpreted as martyrdom and self-willing sacrifice, which fueled revolutionary sentiment of

analysis of the revolutionary icon

CHE GUEVARA

the Cuban people. These artists’ works do not praise or honor Guevara directly, as this would contradict Guevara’s “New Man” ideology. Instead they honor the idea of Guevara and his exemplary heroism.

The uniting thread among these three works is that they represented Castro’s larger political and public relations strategy in the year 1965. Guevara’s iconic power was not established at the moment Diaz took his photo. During the economic instability of 1965 that created greater dependency upon the Soviet Union to subsidize Cuba’s sugar prices, Castro used Guevara’s image as a vehicle to reignite the Cuban’s people pride for the revolution. Day of the Heroic Guerrilla, Radiant Che, and La Isla “feed the Cuban soul.”13 These posters of Guevara affirm the positive aspects of the revolution, including the promise of a utopian society. As generations

have passed, Guevara’s image still retains its powerful revolutionary message. For those who lived during the Cuban Revolution, their personal histories are directly connected to Guevara’s actions and ideologies.

Therefore, these works embodied specific aspects of revolutionary ideology and incited the emotional response for the revolution Castro intended.

MATERIALLY MEDIATED DEVOTION:

WOODEN RELIQUARY BUSTS AND

LATE MEDIEVAL FEMALE SPIRITUALITY by

CARLY BOXER tufts university

edieval bodypart reliquaries, shaped like disembodied appendages and created to hold bodily fragments of deceased saints, typically exhibit an inescapable association with death and decay. Yet both their forms and their contents belie a positive association between the reliquaries’ macabre nature and their spiritual and liturgical sacredness.1

M

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RELIQUARY BUST OF A COMPANION OF SAINT URSULA c.

1520

The veneration of female saints in Northern Europe during the late Middle Ages generated its own forms of geographically, temporally, and culturally specific sculpture and devotional objects. Prominent among these new forms were wooden reliquary busts, essentially large body-part reliquaries, created in and around the Rhineland beginning in the mid thirteenthcentury. The unconventional use of wood in later reliquary busts of female saints imbued them with a sense of liveliness that reflected many of the aims implicit in their production. While earlier head reliquaries and reliquary busts existed to venerate male saints, these reliquaries made use of materials other than wood, particularly various metals.2 In considering the unusual choice of wood as the primary material for creating reliquary busts of female saints at Cologne and Strasbourg, the practical, formal, and devotional issues involved in the creation of these late me38

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dieval reliquaries become apparent. Wooden reliquary busts help to elucidate the relationship between regional compositional similarities in devotional objects, and contemporary trends in establishing spiritual identities among female audiences in Northern Europe during an era of increasing religious turmoil.

Throughout the Middle Ages, body-part reliquaries served as devotional objects with particular liturgical and formal significance. These “speaking reliquaries” laid the groundwork for the later trend of reliquary busts as devotional objects. Although these reliquaries took the shape of body parts, they rarely contained corresponding bodily relics, thus “an arm or head reliquary is not so much an expression of what is within as a restoration—even a redemption—of the body part.”3 A number of reliquary busts produced in workshops in Cologne, Strasbourg, Brussels and the Netherlands in the late Middle Ages

represent a minority of wooden speaking reliquaries that depicted a portion of the body in human scale. Wooden bust reliquaries venerating the cult of St. Ursula and the Virgins of Cologne produced in Germany in the thirteenth-century (and farther north in subsequent centuries) and fifteenth-century bust reliquaries from the workshop of Nikolaus Gerhaert von Leiden in Strasbourg exemplify this form of devotional object. Specifically, these reliquaries were produced to honor female saints in Northern Europe at the end of the Middle Ages.

The workshop at Cologne produced hundreds of reliquary busts dedicated to the cult of Saint Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins between the late thirteenth and mid fourteenth- centuries.4 These reliquaries established clear formal conventions for the production of similar reliquary busts throughout Europe. The cult of Saint Ursula was centered in Cologne, where Ursula, an unmarried British princess, and her virgin

materially mediated devotion:

WOODEN RELIQUARY BUSTS AND LATE MEDIEVAL FEMALE SPIRITUALITY companions were martyred by the Huns. The reliquaries commemorate Ursula’s martyrdom and preserve the relics, primarily the skulls, of Ursula and her companions. Carved in the round, the 40 cm tall reliquaries are ornamented such that “polychromy in naturalistic flesh tones and hair colors heighten the striking life-like effect, as do stylish garments with brocaded patterns and jeweled, impasto, or punched neckbands.”5

By the fifteenth-century, workshops in Strasbourg, Brussels and the Netherlands used similar formal approaches in producing reliquary busts for the relics of female saints unrelated to Saint Ursula’s cult. The workshop of Nikolaus Gerhaert von Leiden in Strasbourg produced a number of reliquary busts that were then displayed in Wissembourg, Germany.6 Leiden’s reliquaries follow in the tradition of life-sized, wooden, polychromed

The materials used in producing late medieval reliquary busts demonstrate how medieval viewers understood devotional objects and visualized the relationship between relic, reliquary, and saint. busts. His reliquaries for Saints Catherine, Saint Barbara, and Saint Agnes are greatly individuated, unlike the close resemblances among the Cologne reliquaries and contain fragmentary relics, whereas the Cologne reliquaries contain skulls. These differences, however, seem to be a product of the distinctive attributes and extant relics of the saints whom the reliquaries venerate. Therefore the differences among wooden reliquary busts produced after the thirteenthcentury seem slight when comparing the form of the wooden reliquary bust to earlier metal

speaking reliquaries and other devotional object precedents.

The materials used in producing late medieval reliquary busts demonstrate how medieval viewers understood devotional objects and visualized the relationship between relic, reliquary, and saint. Unlike many earlier reliquaries, specifically earlier body-part reliquaries, late medieval reliquary busts were carved out of wood. The use of wood in reliquary busts demonstrates not only the practical concerns associated with creating devotional objects in the late Middle Ages, but also the ways in which the materials of these works affected how medieval audiences received them. The unusually large number of reliquaries created to venerate Saint Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins of Cologne necessitated the use of wood. Unlike metal, wood was cheap and locally abundant.7 The use of multiple varieties of wood in the Leiden

RELIQUARY BUST IN THE FORM OF A YOUNG WOMAN (SAINT URSULA) .

c late

15th century

reliquaries also suggests similar craftsmen in his workshop may economic motives in the mas- simply have used the most easily ter’s choice of the material, as the accessible materials.8 40

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RELIQUARY BUST OF COMPANION OF SAIN These economic motives, however, offer only one explanation for the use of unconventional material in the production of reliquary busts. Wood also ex-

materially mediated devotion:

WOODEN RELIQUARY BUSTS AND LATE MEDIEVAL FEMALE SPIRITUALITY

FA NT URSULA

c.

1520

pressed the reliquaries’ significance as corporeal containers for relics, particularly in the case of the reliquaries from Cologne, for wooden reliquary busts “hold

the major relic, the cranium, in a manner that approximates the relationship of bones to skin in the living person.”9 Compositionally, these reliquaries directly reflect their contents in ways that earlier metal speaking reliquaries did not. In other contemporary and subsequent wooden bust reliquaries there is not necessarily a direct correlation between the reliquary’s contents and its exterior appearance. In other words, the head of the bust did not necessarily contain a skull, Wooden bust reliquaries generally create a more corporeal and exact understanding of the relics within than their metal predecessors. Earlier metal speaking reliquaries often contained relics that were anatomically dissimilar from what the shape of the reliquary would otherwise indicate, such as relics taken from a saint’s thigh and stored in an arm-shaped reliquary.10 Even wooden reliquary busts that con-

tain smaller fragmentary relics in small indentations in their chests, such as those, which Leiden’s workshop produced, present the relics as parts of the saint’s whole body.11 While these reliquaries depict only the upper body, the three-dimensionality and relative wholeness of the bust provide a sufficient image for the viewer to understand the relic as part of the entire saint rather than, for example, part of the saint’s arm, hand, or head.

By providing a sufficiently complete depiction of the saint’s body, wooden reliquary busts ensure that their viewers consider the reliquaries as physically equivalent to actual human bodies, and therefore they can better understand the corporeal nature of the relics they contain. This fosters a powerful spiritual relationship between viewer and relic, for “in becoming the skin covering the saint’s bones, the reliquary itself takes on the guise of part of the

saint, facilitating a conflation between image, relic, and the actual presence of the saint.”12 As such, the viewer can conceptualize the physical remnants of the deceased saint as part of her immortal spiritual presence.

The way in which these reliquaries were carved mediated the viewer’s experience of the saint by providing a “readily discernible surrogate visage for the saint,”13 but the intrinsic mediating power of wood itself further influenced viewers’ devotion to these images. Wood as a material encouraged strong associations between the reliquary and its contents, and allowed for otherwise unviable forms of decoration that engendered a more personal relationship between the viewer and the saint. In medieval Europe, wood was perceived “as a living material and therefore able to more closely approximate the look and feel of human flesh.”14 Unlike the metal used in earlier reliquaries, “the rich warmth and fleshy pliability of 42

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wood...would have the additional benefit of imbuing the reliquary with a living, organic quality.”15 The material enhanced the reliquary’s naturalistic appearance, and thereby encouraged a greater association of the reliquary and its relic with the saint as a living presence, creating a stronger understanding of the physical manifestations of the saint’s spiritual power. Wood, unlike metal, also lends itself to decorative polychromy and gilding. The use of polychromy in these works simulated a detailed, life-like, contemporary appearance that further enforced the viewer’s understanding of the reliquary’s materiality.16 The choice of wood as a material for constructing late medieval reliquary busts, and the large-scale production of reliquaries with such striking visual similarities, reflect larger trends in devotion and female spirituality in late medieval Europe. The use of polychromy on the busts creates an immediate under-

standing of the “virgins’ state of being rather than their activities… the fourteenth-century viewer addressing one of these reliquaries would have found herself confronted by a striking image of a contemporary: her sister, her neighbor, herself.”17 Encouraging viewers to identify with these virgin saints makes a great deal of sense given the changing religious climate of Germany and Northern Europe in the later Middle Ages. The development of the Beguines, a religious community of laywomen in the thirteenth-century posed a threat to existing forms of religious authority. In creating a direct association between contemporary Rhenish women and the holy virgins of Cologne (or other female saints depicted in later reliquary busts), “the busts were intended to make visible and present the Ursula virgins as role models for the young women of the city and particularly as exemplars for the achievement of sanctity in the world and in one’s station in life.”18 The busts encouraged women to strive to

materially mediated devotion:

WOODEN RELIQUARY BUSTS AND LATE MEDIEVAL FEMALE SPIRITUALITY achieve a level of piety similar to that of the virgins, and to eschew new and potentially heretical forms of religious life, by promoting self-identification with devotional images of the virgins.

This self-identification process also relied upon the way female saints were portrayed by their reliquaries, that is, on realistic, naturalistic depictions achieved through the use of wood and polychromy.

In many ways, these reliquary busts bear greater similarity to the wooden Thrones of Wisdom, or Mother of God in Majesty known as Sedes Sapientiae that preceded them than to earlier metal speaking reliquaries. Like the relatively small Sedes Sapientiae sculptures, the Virgins of Cologne and later reliquary busts were light and small enough to be easily incorporated into feast day processions and other liturgical events.19 Likewise, both Sedes Sapientiae and wooden reliquary busts were cre-

ated in response to the increasingly influential cults of female saints, and both portray their subjects with a heightened sense of naturalism and humanity in order to inspire the worship of their audiences. In synthesizing established conventions for the veneration of female saints and many of the precedents for speaking reliquaries, late medieval wooden reliquary busts effectively met the devotional needs of their audiences and the practical limitations of the society in which they were created.

NOTES

2» MICHELANGELO’S RESURRECTED CHRIST

1» CARS: SCARY OR SEXY?

1. Frederick Hartt, Michelangelo, the Complete Sculpture (London: Thames & Hudson Ltd., 1970), 164.

1. David Dalton and James Rosenquist, Painting Before Zero: Notes on a Life in Art (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009), 24.

9. Leo Steinberg, The Sexuality of Christ in Renaissance Art and in Modern Oblivion (Chicago: University Of Chicago Press, 1997), 18.

10. Ibid., 21.

2. William E. Wallace, “Michelangelo’s Risen Christ,” The Sixteenth Century Journal 28, no. 4 (1997), 1271.

11. Wallace, 1274.

3» ANALYSIS OF THE REVOLUTIONARY ICON CHE GUEVARA

4. Ibid., 81.

3. Christof Thoenes and Frank Zollner, Michelangelo Complete Works (Köln: Taschen, 2007), 234.

5. Ibid., 83.

4. Wallace, 1273.

6. Emily Braun, “Sex, Lies, and History,” Modernism/modernity 10, no. 4 (2003), 733.

5. Ibid., 1274.

2. Ibid., 29.

3. Ibid., 94.

7. Dalton and Rosenquist, 96.

8. Ibid.

9. Michael Lobel, James Rosenquist: Pop Art, Politics, and History in the 1960’s (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2009), 27.

10. Braun, 733.

11. Ibid., 737.

12. Ibid., 736.

44

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12. Ibid., 1276.

6. Howard Hibbard, Michelangelo (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 1985), 169.

1. Ernesto “Che” Guevara, “Socialism and Man in Cuba” (speech, March 12, 1965) under the title “From Algiers, for Marcha. The Cuban Revolution Today,” in The Che Reader (Ocean Press, 2005).

7. Deborah Vess, “Neoplatonism and Michelangelo,” The World Civilization Virtual Library (accessed November 17, 2009), http://hercules.gcsu.edu/~dvess/ micel.htm.

2. Fidel Castro, “Our Enemy is Imperialism, Not Abstract Art” (mission statement, Congress on Education and Culture in Cuba to OPSAAAL officials, Havana, Cuba, November 11, 1966).

8. Erwin Panofsky, Studies in Iconology: Humanistic Themes in the Art of the Renaissance (New York: Harper and Row, 1939), 159.

3. Michael Casey, Che’s Afterlife (New York: Random House, 2009), 102.

4. Shifra Goldman, Dimensions of the Americas (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 184.

5. Trisha Ziff, Che Guevara: Revolutionary and Icon (New York: Abrams Image, 2006), 88.

6. Goldman, 10.

4. Joan Holladay, “Relics, Reliquaries, and Religious Women: Visualizing the Holy Virgins of Cologne,” Studies in Iconography (1997), 85.

7. Ibid.

5. Ibid., 86-87.

8. Craven, 102.

6. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art-Reliquary Bust of Saint Barbara,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art, http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/searchthe-collections/170003993.

9. Guevara.

10. Craven, 83.

11. Guevara.

12. Casey, 83.

13. Ibid., 51.

4» MATERIALLY MEDIATED DEVOTION: WOODEN RELIQUARY BUSTS AND LATE MEDIEVAL FEMALE SPIRITUALITY 1. Barbara Drake Boehm, “BodyPart Reliquaries: The State of Research,” Gesta (1997), 14.

2. Margaret English Frazer, “Medieval Church Treasuries,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin (Winter 1985-86), 49.

3. Caroline Walker Bynum, “BodyPart Reliquaries and Body Parts in the Middle Ages,” Gesta (1997), 4.

7. Scott Montgomery, “The Faces of Sanctity: Reliquary Busts of the Eleven Thousand Virgins,” in St. Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins of Cologne (Bern: Peter Lang, 2009), 62-63.

8. William Wixom, “Late Medieval Sculpture in the Metropolitan: 1400 to 1530,” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin (2007), 25.

9. Holladay, 87.

10. Cynthia Hahn, “The Voices of Saints: Speaking Reliquaries,” Gesta (1997), 21.

11. Wixom, 25.

12. Montgomery, 60.

13. Ibid., 63.

14. Holladay, 87.

15. Montgomery, 63.

16. Wixom, 25.

17. Holladay, 88.

18. Ibid., 94.

19. Ibid., 89.

FROM THE PRESIDENT Dear Reader, NAR 7 revives an age-old Art Historical theme – the body – at a pertinent time. This issue is about the human body’s centrality to art across time and culture.

It has been used as an object for religious devotion in the middle ages and as a critique of consumerism and sexualization in the mid-20th Century. Today, we are seeing a literal reassertion of the body into global consciousness as people take to the streets to communicate their frustrations to their societies, their governments, and the world. Virtual expression will not do; only the body is so expressive and imposing that it can both signify resurrection and topple dictators.

Closer to home, we at NAR have been putting our bodies to good use organizing events from our canon and creating new ones. Thus far in the academic year 2011-12 we have continued our Coffee with a Professor series and collaboration with the Block Museum to a joint event with the Smart Museum at the University of Chicago, and to explore the art district in Chicago’s Pilsen neighborhood. We have brought an art and architecture tour to campus, and will be putting an unused classroom to various uses, including film screenings, coffee study-breaks, and an art fair. To celebrate the launch of this journal and our brand new website (virtual expression is still important, after all), we are hosting a holiday party to bring together our wonderful supporters: the Art History Department, the Art Theory and Practice Department, the Mary

and Leigh Block Museum, Weinberg College of Arts and Sciences, the Office of the Provost, and our fellow students. Thank you all for your continued support and guidance.

Looking forward, as we like to do at NAR, we will hold our second annual Art Jobs Panel in the winter, and our third annual art exhibition in the spring, as well as further Coffees with a Professor, and collaboration with the Block Museum to bring students to the Chicago art world. We are also exercising our own creative and innovative muscles with future events in the works.

As I am now a senior, my time at NAR is coming to an end. I am sad to leave this organization, in which I have been involved for over half my time at university, first as Communications Director, now as President.

I am deeply grateful to my current Executive Board, whose passion, creativity, and drive constantly inspire me, and to the past generations of NAR Boards, who put us in such good stead. I look forward to seeing the new and wonderful things our younger members will do when they take the reins.

BETSY FEUERSTEIN NOVEMBER 2011 EVANSTON, IL

» NORTHWESTERN/ART/REVIEW