Groundbreaking for Teruel Cathedral in Aragon, Spain, was in 1171 with consecration around 400 years later. Much of the construction and artwork was done by mudejar craftsmen. The nave has a wonderful coffered ceiling decorated with carvings and painted in saturated colors of red, blue, yellow, orange, green and black.
One of the painted horizontal supports features the woodworkers of the cathedral:
Here is a closer look at this lively group:
The carpenter in the middle row on the left is carving one of the eagles that decorate the ends of many of the beams.
The very limber toastmaster is smack in the middle and his buddy, to the right, is motioning for a round. Note the snappy striped outfits of the carpenters. The artists that painted the carpenters did not leave themselves out. They are shown, in more sober dress, in another section and in this panel are either being offered more paint or a refreshing drink.
Many cathedrals and other buildings, great and small, have depictions of the community of craftsmen that worked to construct those buildings. They can be seen in stone carvings, painted panels, stained glass windows and misericords, and they are mostly anonymous. I like to think that somewhere in each carving or painting a small set of initials or a symbol has been left by the artisan.
Many more images and the history of the cathedral can be found at the Spanish-language site: www.aragonmudejar.com.
Also, those red, yellow and blue striped shop aprons are a trend waiting to happen.
Marco Polo is one of my heroes. That’s him and his fellow travelers on my favorite map the Catalan Atlas of 1375 by Abraham Cresques.
I enjoy tales of adventure whether it is the real life wanderings of Marco Polo or Ibn Buttata, the mythical adventures in the Odyssey, the Argonautica or Samurai Champloo. The last week has found me on the Silk Road following fables about monkeys and carpenters. It all started while trying to track down the illustrations of a caravan from a 13th century manuscript that had nothing to do with monkeys. Instead, I came across this image from 1222 CE and wondered why was a monkey apparently not helping a sawyer.
In short order, through the digital libraries of a dozen countries, I was tracing a set of fables and lessons from India, across the Middle East, the Iberian Peninsula and into the rest of Europe. I was following a monkey interfering with the work of a carpenter.
The genealogy of the curious monkey starts in India with the Panchatantra, a collection of parables composed in Sanskrit around 100-500 CE, with animals as the main characters. The stories are filled with jackals, lions, birds, turtles, cats, mice, monkeys and a few more species. At some point illustrations were added. As the written collection of stories moved along the trade routes they caught the attention of scholars leading to translations in Pahlavi (Middle Persian), Syriac and Arabic. After arrival on the Iberian Peninsula an Arabic version was translated to Hebrew and this led, in Italy, to the translation into Latin.
The path of the translations (and the monkey) was by no means linear, more like a spider’s web, and as the stories were translated some were altered or left out, while other collections of stories, such as the Fables of Bidpai (or Pilpay), were added. You might even find some of the stories from the Panchatantra in later versions of Aesop’s Fables. The names of a particular collection varied with the translation and includes, Kalila wa-Dimna, The Fables of Bidpai, The Lights of Canopus and the Latin translation, Directoriun Humanae Vitae (Guide for Human Life). During my digital travels I read the monkey’s fable in French, Italian and 16th century English, bumbled through the Latin and hacked my way through the Catalan and Spanish translations.
The actions of the animals in the fables cover the full range of human interactions and the consequences of those actions. The illustrations, from simple line drawings to paintings using the finest pigments, are not just decoration but an important part of of each story. As the writings were translated so were the illustrations. In my wanderings through more than a thousand years of storytelling there is a remarkable consistency in the illustrations, whether the monkey is alone or with the carpenter. With the availability of many digital manuscripts that consistency made my search for the monkey’s misadventures that much easier.
So, what was the story of the monkey and the carpenter? It is a short tale with dire consequences for the curious monkey (and his tail or other body parts). A monkey watches as a carpenter is splitting a log or plank; to aid his work the carpenter uses wedges. After the carpenter stops and leaves for lunch/tea/other necessary things the monkey jumps onto the log and intrigued by the wedges tries to remove them. In doing so he: gets his “tender parts” or his tail, or leg, or paw stuck in the cleft. The monkey’s suffering ranges from great pain to death. On his return the carpenter does not show pity, instead he adds to the pain and demise of the monkey. A grim story and you can draw your own lessons about curiosity, consequences, compassion and the disposition of your body parts while splitting logs.
Besides finding some new (old) images for the LAPAWS (Lost Art Press Archive of Woodworking Stuff) this trip along the Silk Road reminded me of how important the trade routes were in moving and introducing new commodities and ideas. In our time the trade routes we travel are the digital scans of written documents, websites and blogs. We discover and preserve our histories and perhaps learn a new thing or two.
The images in the gallery below range from before the 10th century to 1915. The earliest is a terracotta plaque showing the monkey on a log from the story in the Panchatantra (apologies-no clearer photo was available). Some illustrations are in better shape than others and you will see a range of artistic ability.
My favorite proverb for the tale of the monkey and carpenter is from a copy of the Panchatantra, “What business of monkeys is carpentry?”
Terracotta plaque, Temple of Paharpur, Bangladesh, before 10th c. (BULAC, Paris).
Syria, 1222 (BnF Gallic, Paris)
Persian, 1307-8 (British Library).
Egyptian, 1310 (BSB, Munich).
Persian, 1350-1400 (BnF Gallica, Paris).
Persian, 1391 (BnF Gallica, Paris).
Persian, 1413 (Topkapi Sarayi Library, Istanbul).
Latin, 1484 (BSB, Munich).
Persian, late 15th c. (Istanbul University Library).
Egypt, 1501 (BSB, Munich).
Turkish, 1510 (BULAC, Paris).
German, 1545 (BSB, Munich).
Arabic, 1669 (BnF Gallica, Paris).
Arabic, 1681-2 (BnF Gallica, Paris).
Syrian, 1700 (Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York).
Earlier this summer Jeff Burks posted an article “Elephants at Work.” The article below presents a additional look at elephants working in the timber industry and the changes already underway in the industry and the working life of Burmese carpenters. The artwork is by an unknown Burmese artist and is part of a series of watercolors on Burmese life late in the 19th century. The descriptions were written by a missionary, possibly more than one. The series is not dated but was purchased from the original collector in 1897. The collection is from the Bodleian Library, University of Oxford.
Note: the red markings on the carpenters are traditional tattoos.
Sin-mya Elephants
Elephants used to be numerous in all forests of Burmah; but owing to the spread of civilization, capture and slaughter, the wild elephant is rarely met in Lower Burmah. In Upper Burma, the animal is chiefly used, as in India, for state processions and in military display; but the gangs of foresters from British Burmah make a much more practical use of this creature’s enormous strength.
He is used in hauling trunks of timber to the water-courses preparatory to floating them down the rivers. In Maulmein and Rangoon, Elephants are highly trained and display wonderful sagacity in hauling and stacking timber. They move about carefully among machinery and circular Saws, and seem to calculate with great precision, the weight, position and size of the timber and logs they have to move. They lift with their tusks, grasping by a turn of their trunks over the timber. In pushing, they generally make a pad or cushion of their trunks and push against this with their tusks to prevent the ivory from chipping. An Elephant has been known to lift upon his tusks a log weighing nearly a ton; and some of them can move along logs weighing over three tons.
In height, Elephants vary 5 to 8 cubits i.e. up to 12 feet at the shoulder; and in value, from Rs. 800 to Rs. 3000 according to their strength and training. The female is not much used in timber yards as her tusks are too short to be of use in laying hold of logs and the trunk can get no purchase.
The SIN-U-ZEE, or Elephant-driver sits on the neck of the animal, and partly by his voice, but more by the touch of his feet and knees, guides the huge brute’s movements.
The Elephant never seems in a hurry, and in spite of his size, is really a very delicate creature,soon falling sick and becoming useless if not well cared for and properly fed. His food consists chiefly of Paddy i.e. undressed Rice, Sugarcane, plantains (bananas), young shoots and branches of trees, and grass.
HLWAH-TEIK-THAMA Sawyers
This is the old way of converting logs for building purposes; but steam saw-mills have displaced most of the sturdy sawyers except in districts remote from the mills, or for short inferior timber, which is hardly worth taking to the mill. The SAYAH, or Teacher is above; his TABEH, or Apprentice below.
The saws used to be of native manufacture, but Sheffield and Birmingham have now the field all to themselves. Just under the log is shown the PHEH, or key, for adjusting the teeth of the Saw, and above is the KOON-JAH, or Wedge, to give the Saw free play
Two men in a little over a day, will reduce a round log of 30 feet in length to 16 inches X 15 inches square, for Rs.4/. Working hours are from 6 A.M. to 4 P.M. A circular steam Saw would do the same work in a few minutes but not at much less cost.
Burmese Carpenter
The Burmese word for “Carpenter” is “lek-tha-ma” – handi-craftsman, and to this work Burmans take most naturally. Their forests supply enormous quantities of slendid teak, pyingdo, and pyinma for boat and house building purposes; and the profuse decorations of their religious edifices allow them to display to the fullest extent their imitative powers in carving, etc. The Boat-builders get a fine seasoned log of thin-gan or chyun, split it to the heart by means of fire and wedges; then open it out, and so make the lowest part of the hull, and upon this build the sides in the ordinary way. Hulls of 35 feet made out of a single trunk are common, but there are some as long as 60 feet. The price of a well made boat (Wohn-lay) 40 to 50 feet in length, 8 feet in the beam is Rs. 2000 to Rs. 2500, i.e. £200 to £250. The tools are of European manufacture but fitted in native fashion.
The first metallic saws were likely Egyptian, and they resembled a butter knife or a simplified Japanese pull saw. We know that saw technology migrated north to the Romans and Greeks. But most of the saws you see in early frescoes or mosaics are bowsaws – not the Egyptian style.
So I was delighted to see this Roman image that was turned up by contributing editor Suzanne Ellison. It depicts Daedalus and son presenting an artificial cow to Queen Pasiphae. The Roman mosaic is from Zeugma in Turkey. Most of the Zeugma mosaics were done in the 2nd century. The mosaic has the queen, her nurse Trophos, Daedalus and Icarus.
My eyes were drawn immediately to the saw. It looks like an Egyptian saw, but perhaps in iron instead of copper or bronze. It has a wooden handle at one end (in the worker’s hand) and – surprisingly – what looks like another handle at the other end. This second handle looks to be open, much like the open rectangular handles on Roman planes.
If I squint, it looks like the teeth of the saw are filed toward the handle in the workman’s hand. But if I squint again it looks like they go the other way. Or both ways.
Curses. I need to get on a plane to Turkey today to investigate. The resolution on this image isn’t satisfactory.
Ostensibly he keeps the village inn. His name appears over the door in the orthodox black letters on a white ground as a licensed seller of beer and tobacco. It is a pleasant little inn, and in the garden behind there are some choice plants of the old-fashioned kind in which the landlord takes a good deal of pride; but the trade in beer and tobacco is not very brisk.
They keep a gramophone at the ‘Swan’ at the other end of the village, and its seductive tones seem to have an attraction for the thirsty. Such customers as fall to the quieter tap of the ‘Lion’ are served by the landlady, an active, bustling body with some little contempt for the slow, niggling work which her husband puts into the old rubbish that she would consign to the flames. Not but what she admits that the money that the old things fetch is a welcome addition to the family purse.
The old man is not contentious by nature, but he enjoys a moment of quiet triumph. ‘She took on about an old chair I brought home the other night,’ he tells you, after glancing round to see whether the good lady is within hearing. ‘I gave five shillings for it. Well, it didn’t look up to much, certainly; but I tell you what, sir, it was a genuine Cromwellian chair, and I never saw another of the same pattern.’ Then, with a twinkle in his eye of self-conscious justification, he adds that two days later a passer-by looked in, saw the chair, and promptly gave him three guineas for it, and sent it across the Atlantic. (more…)
