Revelations in miniature
Andrew Lambirth Illuminating the Renaissance: The Triumph of Flemish Manuscript Painting in Europe Sackler Wing, Royal Academy, until 22 February 2004 Manuscript illumination has been called 'the quintessential mediaeval art form' — and indeed the idea of a monk sitting in his cell carefully embellishing a parchment to the greater glory of God is a very Middle Ages image — yet it achieved its last and perhaps most splendid triumph in the period we think of as the Renaissance. There is an irony at work here, showing once more that an art form cannot be so easily confined to a particular period of history, and neatly tabulated to please art historians. Movements and styles coexist and overlap. If we think of the Renaissance as primarily witnessing the triumph of fresco painting, it is instructive to be reminded that the period 1470-1560 was also one of supremely high achievement in manuscript illumination, and that, 100 years after the advent of printing, handwritten books were still being made as luxury items of Court art.
Right at the beginning of the exhibition is a large book from the Bibliotheque Royale in Brussels, a copy of the Chroniques de Hainaut, open at its remarkable frontispiece attributed to that most influential of 15thcentury painters, Rogier van der Weyden. Immediately, one of the central issues of this exhibition is raised — the two-way traffic between illuminators and panel painters. Who influenced whom the most? An allrounder like Simon Marmion, whose gorgeous 'Choir of Angels' panel (from the National Gallery) is exhibited nearby, was hailed as 'the prince of illumination', but was equally important as a panel painter. Which way did the influence and inspiration run? In which medium were artists being the most innovative? It seems likely that a kind of cross-pollination took place, and that there were discoveries and inventions in both camps, many of which must have been accessible to all parties. It was, after all, a period of great artistic energy and exchange.
Simon Marmion (c. 1425-89) is a key figure, painting such unforgettable sights as 'The Valley of Murderers', with its scarlet throbbing cauldron, one of the leaves from Les Visions du chevalier Tondal. He also painted half the miniatures (see 'The Mystic Marriage of St Catherine') in the smallest of the first Books of Hours with the new type of illusionistic border known as 'scatter-flower'. In these borders, the flowers and fruits, birds and insects are depicted realistically as if actually present on the page. The miniature image within the bor
ders is thus further miniaturised, and complex spatial relationships are pursued.
What colours we are to behold shining forth in this exhibition — such greens, such blues, such reds, and over all, the rich glow of gold. (The intensity of the colours is partially explained by the superb condition of the manuscripts, most of which have been preserved away from light.) Look at the unearthly blue curtain edged and striated with gold in Lucas or Susanna Horenbout's 'Saint Luke'. Or the goldshrouded feet disappearing through the top of the frame in Simon Bening's 'Ascension' from a Rosary Psalter.
Simon Bening (c. 1483-1561) must be the outstanding artist of this final efflorescence of Flemish manuscript painting. His command of complicated narrative, and his particular skill in depicting landscape, together with a sure eye for space and colour, make him a master. In eight miniatures from an incomplete calendar, probably from the late 1540s or early 1550s, Bening's naturalism and control of spatial recession are shown to be exceptional, and to anticipate the vigorous peasant compositions of Pieter Bruegel the Elder, A late painting by Bruegel is hung nearby, entitled 'Landscape with Magpie on the Gallows', borrowed from Darmstadt. It is a thrilling picture (if you ignore the typical Bruegel touch of a man relieving himself at bottom left), scintillant with light on the trees, receding into a landscape lyrical with late summer sun.
One strength of this exhibition is its changes of pace. Some exhibits are hung on the wall, others are presented in freestanding, purpose-built display cases. The variety of subject-matter and style in the work on show is echoed by this stunning and inventive example of exhibition design. Among the many other joys are Bening's 'Christ Before Annas', Charles the Bad's bed being set on fire by a servant blowing into his bed-warmer, by the Master of the Getty Froissart — the sheer delight these artists take in depicting spindle-shanks and decorative tights — and such oddities as 'Saxons Extracting Iron', by the Master of the London Wavrin.
It is notoriously difficult to display manuscripts, but for once you can see the exhibits clearly; the Academy has surpassed itself in mounting a ravishing exhibition. Not only does it look good, this exhibition also breaks new ground in terms of scholarship. There has never before been such a glorious display of late Flemish manuscript illumination, featuring the whole gamut of sizes and formats, from folios to tiny prayerbooks. Here are histories, chronicles and romances, Christian devotional works and Books of Hours. This unique event has come about through a high-level collaboration between the RA, the British Library and the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles, at which last venue the exhibition has already been shown. The loans are heavily reliant on the Getty's magnificent collection, but also on crucial items from the British Library collection, founded on Edward IV's unrivalled purchases. Other lenders to the exhibition range through Europe to Canada, and scholars and artists are already voicing their disbelief or enchantment at the richness of the work on display.
There are some 170 items on show, and, partly because of their miniature nature, they require a degree of concentration above the usual 'glance-and-browse' approach to looking at art. Ideally, the visitor will be able to return to the exhibition, and absorb it piecemeal, but not everyone can do that. If you want to get round the show properly in one hit, then you should allow yourself at least two hours — there is that much to be seen. But don't try to carry the catalogue with you. This weighty tome runs to 576 pages and is filled with sumptuous colour illustrations, and a wealth of
detailed scholarship which may go over the head of the average gallery-goer. (It costs £27.95 in paperback. £85 in hardback.) I wish the RA had produced a more modest publication, something you could slip into a pocket or a briefcase, which would be more detailed and informative than the pamphlet Gallery Guide, but not so specialist-orientated as the vast catalogue. But that's my only quibble. I have no hesitation in recommending this extraordinary exhi
bition it's a revelation.
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