Category: Historical Images

We start our matsuri, or festival, with work commissioned by Philip Franz von Siebold, German physician and botantist. In 1823, under the auspices of the Dutch East Indies Company he was posted to Dejima, an artificial island and trading post off the coast of Nagasaki. For over 200 years, first for the Portuguese and later for the Dutch, Dejima was the conduit for trade with Japan during the isolationist Edo period (1600-1869).

Siebold collected a vast number of plants that were later taken to Leiden. He taught western medical practices and he, along with others, documented Japanese flora, fauna, customs and culture. Siebold quickly began the multi-volume “Archiv zur Beschreibung Nippons” (Archive for Describing Japan). The archive included this illustration of tools:

Siebold was allowed to hire artist Kawahara Keiga (1786-1860?) to further their documentation efforts. Kawahara was taught western painting techniques by Carl Hubert de Villeneuve. He painted harbor scenes, plants, animals and all manner of things. His artwork included the hand tools used by Japanese craftsmen.

Kawahara painted on paper, wood and silk. An archive of his work is held by the Netherlands National Museum of Ethnology (Museum Volkenkunde Leiden). Below is a gallery of Japanese hand tools painted on silk by Kawahara. At the end of the gallery are three illustrations by other artists, each of which has been used in previous blog posts (now they are all together!). After the gallery is a link to use if you would like to see several more paintings of tools, boats, sea life and more.

The link to see more of Kawahara Keigo’s work:

https://collectie.wereldculturen.nl/#/query/01ce7653-73cf-430c-a39e-76fa51557c99

The link will take you to a Search Page. If it comes up in Dutch you can select your alternate language at the top right of the page. In the Search Box enter Kawahara Keigo and press Search. Use the Green Arrows on the right to advance to Page 11. Kawahara’s work is found on Pages 11 to 51.

Kawahara’s cats! After all, this is the Lost Art Press and Cats blog.

– Suzanne Ellison

Michael Rimmer’s book about the angel roofs in East Anglia led me to take a closer look at the many carved wood angels to found in houses of worship. I narrowed a very large field of heavenly hosts to three that were made between 1450 and 1540: one plump, one commanding and one broken. All are small carvings made by highly-skilled craftsmen whose names we will never know. (Note: no stone angels. Thank you very much, Dr. Who.)

The Plump Messengers in a National Treasure

In the Marwood Church of St. Michael in Devon, England there is a 16th-century rood screen. The screen is a riot of carved foliage and fantastic figures of demons and spirits. The construction follows the classic form of canapy, vaulting, supporting columns, carved lower section (dado) and elaborate footings. The screen is dated 1535-1540 and was given to the church by Reverend Sir John Beauple. In the mid-19th century the screen was destroyed by the church’s vicar and only one portion was saved.

Just where the ribs of each vault descend and gather to meet the capital of the column there stands a small plump angel. 

Unlike the other carved figures on the screen, the four angels, each holding a tablet, appear to be stoic and almost static. They seem to be an anomaly, but they are not. They are right where they should be between the vertical supporting column and arched vault. Just as arches in church buildings draw our eye upwards, so too, do the vaults in a rood screen. The angels help direct our eyes and thoughts heaven-ward.

The wood carvers did not neglect these plump little angels. They gave them fabulous and flowing hair.

An Archangel Appears

The Saluzzo Altarpiece is dated 1500-1510 and was possibly made in the Borman workshop in Brussels (the workshop origin is disputed). The carved side shows the life of Mary, the reverse is painted and depicts the life of Joseph. The painting was done by Valentine van Orley. The altarpiece was made for the Pensa di Mondovi family in Saluzzo Italy. The altarpiece returned to Brussels late in the 19th century.

In the mid-15th century, tableaux within altarpieces were often carved from one block of walnut. By the end of the century construction of altarpieces became more complex and the Saluzzo altarpiece is a prime example. Each scene usually has several figures, they gesture and the faces are animated. The backgrounds are complex with furniture, drapery and architectural elements. Textures are added to add dimension and richness. Figures were carved individually from quarter-sawn oak and made to exact measurements in order to fit together in their respective scenes. When new, the checkered floors between the figures would appear to be seamless. Now, after 500 years, we can see gaps between the figures.

The following is a description of how the figures were made. It is from “Late Medieval German Sculpture: Materials and Techniques” by Julien Chapuis, Department of Medieval Art and The Cloisters, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

“A standing figure was typically cut from a halved section of a tree trunk, clamped horizontally in an adjustable workbench that allowed the block to be rotated. Working from this angle, the sculptor was able to envision the figure in strong foreshortening, much as the viewer would when the finished work was installed above eye level; thus the sculptor could compensate for visual distortions by adjusting proportions and modeling. After marking the contours of the figure on the block with calipers and compasses, he roughed out the form with a variety of tools: two types of axes, curved and straight adzes used in an overhand chopping motion, broad chisels, and mallets. The deeper recesses were created with augers and hand-cranked borers. Various chisels and gouges were used for the elaboration of forms, working from the highest point to the deepest. Certain parts of a figure, such as hands, attributes, and protruding folds of drapery, were carved separately and attached to the figure with dowels. The backs of figures were normally hollowed out to prevent the wood from cracking as it aged. The carvings were meticulously finished with knives and scrapers, exploiting the contrast between broad, smooth areas and incisive details. Last, decorative patterns were either appliquéd or cut or pressed into the surface with punches. Before a figure left the sculptor’s workshop, the eyes and lips were often tinted.”

 

The photo on the left is an example of how dowels were used to attach hands. On the right is the hollowed-out back of the figure. The drapery piece on the left may have been separately carved and attached, or may just be cracked.

 Guild laws in Brussels regulated how each component of the altarpiece was to be marked to ensure both quality and place of origin. The hutch maker (a medieval term for a cabinetmaker that crafted altarpieces among other things) marked the altarpiece case and other elements with a compass and plane. Carved figures were marked with a mallet. The polychromy was punched with “BREUSEL” in the gilding. All of these marks have been found on the Saluzzo altarpiece during restorations and cleanings.

 

Thanks to a Getty Institute publication, “The Conservation of Medieval Polychrome Wood Sculpture” by Michele D. Marincola and Lucretia Kargère, we have photographs of the maker marks from two altarpieces made in Brussels.

The Annunciation is one of the most repeated themes in religious art and the Saluzzo altarpiece has an outstanding depiction. I think of it as the “action panel.”

The carver of the Archangel Gabriel had the task of capturing both the moment and movement as the angel arrives in Mary’s chamber. Gabriel’s wings are still aloft, his mantle and gown swirl around him and his hair flows back from his face. He begins to speak his message as represented by the ribbon he holds. Mary, kneeling at her prie-dieu, turns to face Gabriel.

Layers of white ground (chalk and animal glue) are applied to the wood sculpures prior to the application of polychrome and gilding. Gabriel was given finely arched brows, his eye lids painted to give them depth and his cheeks have a delicate blush. His mantle is enriched with brocade pressed into the gilding. Gabriel’s beauty and the power of his arrival dominate this panel of the altarpiece. His presence emphasizes the immense importance of the message he carried to Mary.

The Lone Gitternist

Angels were often shown playing musical instruments, either alone or in groups. Unfortunately, as with choir stalls, misericords, rood screens and other church fittings, the groups were often broken up.

This angel plays a gittern, a forerunner of the guitar. The face is captivating with rounded cheeks, a faraway look and a crown of wild curls. 

He has the posture of a musician, focused on his performance. Sadly, the other musicians are missing,  but not due to creative differences causing a rift between members. Sculptures with multiple figures, as this probably was, were sawed apart and sold to collectors.

This angel has such a strong presence that it is surprisingly just how small it is. The dimensions are only 16-1/8 x 15-13/16 x 3-3/8 inches (41 x 40.1 x 8.5 cm).

Alone, forever separated from his group, he can play power solos to his heart’s content.

Rock on, angel.

–Suzanne Ellison

In the gallery below are a few more photos of the rood screen including the canopy and vaults; photos of the Saluzzo Altarpiece closed, the painted side (with the Joseph Cycle) and a screen shot of a video when the altarpiece was being dusted – it shows the immense size of the altarpiece.

 

Have you ever worked with someone who, despite being given detailed instructions, never gets the job done right? (Don’t answer that if you work by yourself.) The end of another workweek is a good time to meet, or be reintroduced to, Eulenspiegel. He has a five-hundred year history in European literature with his exploits translated into multiple languages. His first name is variously Dyl, Til or Thyll. His surname might be shown as Ulenspiegel and in English he is Owlglass or Howlglass. His stories have been studied by historians and humorists as they provide another level of detail about 16th-century life and society.

 

Eulenspiegel Who?
Till Eulenspiegel was a fictional character in a series of tales were written in Low German and published in the first decade of the 16th century. His stories take place in the 14th century with his birth in 1300 and death in 1350. Although he travels elsewhere, much of his story takes place in Northern Germany. Eulenspiegel means owl mirror and he is depicted with both an owl and a mirror on the covers of his books. He is a wily rogue and through his antics he exposes hypocrisy, greed and foolishness in all he meets. He spares neither the aristocrat nor the common man. 

The humor in Eulenspiegel’s exploits is how he carries out the exact commands given to him, no more, no less. Those who employ him make assumptions, react favorably to his assurances and later feel the consequences of their readiness to hire this unknown person. The owl and mirror, symbols of wisdom and reflection, are much lacking in those you are unfortunate enough to meet Eulenspiegel.

The tales of Eulenspiegel are bawdy and earthy (not to mention inordinate quantities of excrement) as was typical of 16th-century humor. If you have read editions published in the latter half of the 19th century and in the 20th century the indelicate bits have been taken out. Although some of you will be disappointed, there were no indelicate bits that needed to be excised to present the tale of Eulenspiegel and the Carpenter.

How Eulenspiegel Became a Carpenter in Dresden and Failed to Win Much Praise

Eulenspiegel came into Dresden, near the Bohemian forest, upon the Elbe River and declared himself a carpenter. It so happened, to his good fortune, that a master carpenter in the town heard of this, and lacking his own journeyman due to Blue Monday, hired Eulenspiegel to be his journeyman.

The master was to attend his cousin’s wedding that afternoon and was pressed for time to have a job completed. He told Eulenspiegel of the wedding and instructed his new journeyman to work diligently and glue four boards together for a table. Eulenspiegel asked to be shown the boards. The master took the four boards and stacked them together on the bench. Satisfied his new journeyman knew what was need, the master informed Eulenspiegel he would return late in the evening and departed for the wedding. Eulenspiegel got to work.

 

He bored holes in each of the boards and stacked them together, one atop the other. The glue pot was put on the fire to heat and when it was ready he poured and brushed the glue to bind all the boards together. He then carried the boards to the roof so the glue would dry in the sunshine.

When his work was done Eulenspiegel make it an early night and went to bed. The master and his wife returned late in the evening, both tipsy and a bit befuddled. He roused Eulenspiegel to ask about the day’s work and was assured that all was done exactly as requested. The master was pleased to have found a good worker and remarked to his wife that one does not find such a good fellow every day.

Early the next morning the master bade Eulenspiegel to show him the table top that had been glued together the previous day. When the master saw how Eulenspiegel had ruined the boards meant for a table, he was enraged and demanded to know where Eulenspiegel had learned the art of carpentry. Eulenspiegel was confused to be asked such a question and said as much. The master shouted that Eulenspiegel had spoiled costly wood. Moved by the master’s anger and shouting, Eulenspiegel responded he had only done that which was commanded and if the wood was ruined it was the master’s fault not his. Grabbing his iron square, the master shouted to Eulenspiegel to be gone his workshop, for of the work that was done he would have no profit. Thus, Eulenspiegel departed with very little praise for his work.

Eulenspiegel’s End

The last few tales of Eulenspiegel’s life relate his death and burial in 1350. His burial was a very appropriate ending for such a waggish character. As the story goes, a hollowed-out tree was used as his coffin (or perhaps a regular wooden coffin). Two ropes, one at each end, were used to lower the coffin. Unfortunately, the lower rope broke and the coffin was stuck standing upright. Those attending the funeral decided to let his coffin remain as it was as it seemed a fitting burial for Eulenspiegel. His tombstone was sculpted with an owl holding a mirror in its talons.

There are many notable people from human history whose burial sites are unknown, but there is no doubt about where Eulenspiegel’s fictional remains are buried. As a measure of his beloved status there is tombstone that still stands (or pretends to stand) in Mölln, Germany.

If you are a newer reader of the LAP blog and puzzled by Blue Monday (or are an old hand and want to relive your youthful hangover days) you can read a post I wrote about Blue Mondays here.

–Suzanne Ellison

The Turned & Joined Chair

Production of the joined chair began as a cottage industry in the last quarter of the 18th century in Briezi and Striki (western Latvia). The start of chair making as a main source of income was likely due to the shortage of land suitable for farming. Chair making spread to other areas and it is estimated that each year a family could make 70-100 dozen (840-1200) chairs for sale in Kurzeme, Estonia and parts of Russia. 

In the Home Industry section of “Woodworking in Estonia” Ants Viires wrote, “As regards chairs, the Latvian product sold at all the fairs was predominant in Estonia for many years.” He described the chair as “mostly of turned wood with a straw seat, later also a wooden seat.” The estimated annual output by Latvian craftsmen was 12,000 chairs.

As you can see, the biggest difference between the Latvian chair and many American examples are the thin back sticks instead of back slats. The seat of the chair was woven from reeds gathered from lakes near the chair making areas. The weaving was done in various patterns and usually by women. This chair is still made today both by hand and in factories.

In 1980 the BDM (Ethnographic Open-Air Museum of Latvia) asked chairmaker Eduards Tanne (born 1897) to make one of the traditional turned and joined chairs. Tanne, age 82, gamely took up the request. The video was digitized and subtitled and you can watch this wonderful craftsman make a chair, from chopping down a tree to weaving the seat, here.

The Bentwood Chair

This is an odd duck of a chair. The first documentation of the chair was by Johann Christoph Brotze late in the 18th century. Brotze (Johans Kristofs Broce in Latvian) was German and after completing his studies arrived in Riga in 1768 to teach at the Riga Imperial Lyceum. For the next 46 years, until his death in 1823, he traveled the country documenting, drawing and painting all that he saw. His trove of everyday life is in the University of Latvia Academic Library. One page dedicated to the bentwood chair.

I can barely read Brotze’s handwriting and relied on the description of the chair in “Latvie Tautes Dzives Pieminekli” written by Saulvedis Cimermanis and published in 1969. According to Cimermanis, four pieces of ash or hazel, each no more than 5 centimeters in diameter, are used (the length of each piece is not provided). Each piece is notched where it will be bent. The ends must be carved to a conical shape so that after clamping into the appropriate notch (or bend) the end does not slip out. Brotze’s letter-sequenced diagram shows how the four bent pieces fit together. As for the bending process, we know that steam bending had long been used by coopers, wheelwrights and shipbuilders and to make sled runners. I imagine Brotze saw this bentwood chair as very unusual compared to the joined and staked chairs with which he would have been familiar. Fortunately, he not only wrote about it, he drew it.

When I first found the diagram of this chair I sent it to Chris Schwarz for his opinion. His answer was he would love to see a surviving example of a chair made in this manner. It turns out a bentwood chair from Rucava (far southwest corner of Latvia) marked with the year “1890” on the back was in the collection of the Ethnographic Open-Air Museum. This proved the chair was still being made late in the 19th century and had been made as shown in Brotze’s diagram. Chris’ response: “Oh wow. Just wow.” And, how.

We don’t know how far back this method of chair construction goes. Also, I don’t know if the chair in the photograph (Cimermanis’s book was published in 1969) is still intact. Cimermanis noted one other example of this type of chair construction and cited the work of Polish ethnographer Kazimierz Moszynski. In Volume 1 of ”Kultura Ludowa Slowian” Moszynski had a drawing of a bentwood stool that originated in west central Russia, approximately 800 miles east of Moscow.

OK, I have to add one more chair. There are thousands of brettstuhls in museums in Europe and North America. The backs often have intricate piercings and carvings and they have never appealed to me. However, I have taken a fancy to a 19th-century Latvian chicken-backed brettstuhl.

–Suzanne Ellison

Although it is several days after the Equinox (sorry, I was busy), it’s still close enough to let you in on a dockside tradition. If you have spent any time around saltwater sailors you may be familiar with The Burning of the Socks.  If not, the poem below will explain.

Here are a few more ship building tools to match to the tools on the sign board. It may seem the cupid in the upper left is holding a hurley, but that is highly unlikely.

–Suzanne Ellison