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Clouds: Objects, Metaphor, Phenomena

This post was contributed by Rebecca Royle, who is starting Birkbeck’s BA Creative Writing in September.

The space in between the troposphere and the infinite density of human
comprehension is where science and God fuse. I think humanities and sciences
are mutual companions and they certainly happily existed together last Monday at
Clouds: Objects, Metaphor, Phenomena. There was something quite magical and
ephemeral about the evening as it passed from daylight to dusk and I had to ride
on the eventide’s warm sultry breeze to catch my train.

Richard Hamblyn, accomplished environmental writer and historian and Birkbeck’s own lecturer in the Department of English and Humanities opened up the proceedings with a gentle, easy and earnest welcome. What fascinated me most about his lecture was the phenomenon of the Brocken Spectre. The Brocken Spectre is often seen by mountain climbers when they reach a high ridge and look into fog or mist. They stare at the vision of a spectral figure in front of them in the mist and into the glare of a corona radiating from its head. Striking fear and foreboding for centuries, this deception can be traced back in literature and art to the 18th Century. It is ourselves we see of course, the sun centred directly behind us at the antisolar point. The point that struck me is that it is impossible to see the same spectre. It is the individual’s vision alone.

This leap in perception made me think of the art of Josef Albers and his series Homage to the Square. His nested squares explore our chromatic reactions and the internal deception of colour. I stood in the Metropolitan Museum of Art with a group of people and discussed the possibility that we were seeing completely different things. I was suddenly acutely aware of being in a body in the room talking with the people, leaving the piece slightly more
alienated and uncertain of my footing.

Descartes – “And so something that I thought I was seeing with my eyes is in fact
grasped solely by the faculty of judgment which is in my mind.”

Vladimir Jankovic a historian of atmospheric sciences (PhD University of Notre Dame) took us on a jovial and rich panorama breaking apart our reasoning of the many clouds around us including that to which I am saving this document. He questioned our perceptions of beauty as we viewed Romantic artworks such as the Wanderer above the
Sea of Fog followed by a slide that could’ve been a Constable yet the next, revealed the source of the cloud: a power station in the foreground. Or the “lovely bouncy fluffy
clouds” that were actually acid foam.

So the question that Jankovic posed was, can we know beauty if we do not understand it? For example Jankovic explained a cumulonimbus cloud holds the same power as the atomic bomb ‘Little Boy’. It suddenly seems more impressive, no? He spoke of Aristotle’s ‘Four Causes’ governing that we are unable to understand a thing until we know it’s final cause. We now even know how to make a cloud! The Dutch artist Berndnaut Smilde creates clouds indoors.

The final cause makes me a little uncomfortable. I know nothing of the final cause of many a thing. Am I then unable to see their beauty? No. I see it everywhere, yet I seek to learn, so the desire is there for the definitive.

Esther Leslie, Professor in Political Aesthetics at Birkbeck, concluded the evening with
a dialogue befitting the Beat Generation which is unfortunately now out there in
the ether. It was like a one-way channel beyond my retention outside of the
moment. I was utterly dissolved as I listened and watched a freeform slide show of
clouds in all their beauty as well as their destruction, speaking of dreams against
the dark clouds bulging from the Twin Towers. I was very nearly moved to tears.

Soldiers’ homecoming in poetry and prose

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This post was written by Bryony Merritt, from Birkbeck’s Department of External Relations.

A soldier relating his exploits in a tavern-1821-John Cawse-Copyright-Ownership of Natinoal Army Museum London

John Cawse ‘A soldier relating his exploits in a tavern’ (1821) Copyright/Ownership: National Army Museum, London

The transition from military service to civilian existence has never been easy, as demonstrated in the accounts presented by Dr Kate McLoughlin on the first day of Birkbeck Arts Week 2014. Despite covering a period of over 2000 years, during which methods of warfare have changed beyond recognition, the emotions and experiences of the homecoming soldiers revealed striking similarities.

After the Battle of Waterloo, all veterans of the Battle were awarded a medal, one of which can be seen on the soldier’s uniform in John Cawse’s A Soldier Relating his Exploits in a Tavern (1821), while he proudly expounds upon his heroic feats. Dr McLoughlin drew our attention, however, to the more ambiguous response of his audience, whose demeanour suggests that they are less than enthralled by the soldier’s storytelling.

This kind of scene may be ambivalence towards the heroic status of the returned soldier is captured also by William Wordsworth in The Discharged Soldier. When pressed for stories from the war, the soldier responds with

A strange half-absence and a tone

Of weakness and indifference, as of one

Remembering the importance of his theme

but feeling it no longer

The discharged soldier’s reluctance (or perhaps inability) to share his story, contrasts to the British Government’s 1915 poster, encouraging men to sign up for the army by appealing to their desire to be able to recount their contribution to a future family. The poster shows a little girl asking “Daddy, what did you do in the Great War?” However, the father’s pensive gaze, to me, suggested he was not about to launch into tales of bravery and heroics. At first glance it seems to me that the poster aims to evoke a feeling of embarrassment at the idea of not having a heroic tale to tell in future. But the artist has unwittingly captured an expression which could be translated as the reluctance of a discharged soldier to brag of his former actions.

Henry Nelson O’Neil ‘Home Again’ (1858) Copyright/Ownership: National Army Museum, London

The ‘soldier as hero’ can be a difficult role to fill, suggested Dr McLoughlin. On homecoming, soldiers are welcomed as heroes, as depicted in Henry Nelson O’ Neil’s Home Again (1858). However, Henry Metcalfe’s memoirs describe how, following his return from India in 1859, the warm welcome by a “grateful public” was soon forgotten and Thomas Jackson’s memoirs (I missed the date of this publication) describe how he “sees himself as an isolated being”. The hero of Eric Maria Remarque’s novel All Quiet on the Western Front (1929) describes how following the reunion with his family he sensed “a veil between us.”

The change which creates this distance between soldiers and the people and places that were previously so familiar to them was so pronounced in some of the accounts that the soldier was not even recognised by his family. Upon Odysseus’ return to Ithaca it is only his dog and his former wet nurse who recognise him (and the latter only because of a scar on his leg). Even the wife who has faithfully seen off suitors during his 20-year absence fails to recognise her husband. John Ryder, who published his memoir in 1853, describes how on his return to Twyford he went first to the pub where he met with lifelong acquaintances, and later his father and mother, none of whom recognised him.

The final returning soldier to whom we were introduced was the captain in Helen Ashton’s novel The Captain Comes Home (1947). On learning that his wife has remarried during his long absence during World War Two, the captain returns to his village and assaults her new husband, for which he is put on trial. Identifying the significance of this literary trial, Dr McLoughlin concluded by noting that the weight of expectation on homecoming soldiers throughout history and today means that they all face trials of their own.

From Stigmata to Golf: Praying through the ages

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This post was contributed by Clare Brown, a student on Birkbeck’s MA History of Art. Clare blogs at Renaissance Utterances.

This was an interesting start to Birkbeck Arts Week. Given the MA Catholic reformation module, I thought it would be an on topic diversion. As the blurb said, ‘in our secular world, prayer has become unfamiliar, and past cultures where prayer was more central are harder to understand. Dr Isabel Davis (Birkbeck), Revd Dr Jessica Martin and Dr Nicola Bown (Birkbeck) discuss representations of prayer in literature and art in the Middle Ages, the seventeenth century and the Victorian period. Technique of prayer; what it is and what it is like’.

Dr Isabel Davis and her band of pilgrims set out from the late Middle Ages. For the church going population kneeling was a natural, obvious, submissive posture. And yet, where did this invented and culturally specific idea come from?

Early Christians sat, knelt or stood, nothing was prescribed. Kneeling was a gesture of defeat in Roman images of slavery. And indeed the translation of ‘doulos‘ is variously slave or servant and in Romans 1.1, Paul is a doulos of Jesus. So when we kneel to Jesus we are demonstrating our submission. Dr Davis stated that Christianity is a stigmatic religion, so as I understood it, if stigmata is from the greek ‘stigma‘ meaning brand or cut into the body, then it was an honour to be the slave of Christ and carry his mark.

So if the people are slaves to Christ then kneeling is a default position. For kings it was a gradual process throughout the middle ages; the magi went from standing, then kneeling on one knee, then both. Affected piety was all and she once again used linguistic sources. Isadore of Seville linked the Latin genua and genea :

The knees are the meeting-points of the thighs and lower legs; and they are called knees (genua) because in the womb they are opposite to the cheeks (genae)… Thence it is that when men fall on their knees they at once begin to weep. For nature has willed that they remember

Pity is the central emotional devotion so kneeling takes one the ultimate sign of piety. The cultural cloud has assimilated the multifarious meanings of kneeling. By the late Middle Ages kneeling ubiquitous in brass, stained glass, wall paintings, manuscripts. The Bolton Hours shows the family kneeling in prayer, stressing their pietate (compassion) in miniature. They are appropriately humble yet by their clothes and beautiful prayer book, extremely well to do

And then along came reformation and the Black Rubric of 1552 which made clear the controversial nature of kneeling. It’s not adoration to kneel but actually signifies humility and gratitude of the heart. Therefore for protestants, kneeling needed interpretation to change the meaning of the same action. The bread and wine is now a fixed substance…but the meaning and interpretation of kneeling has changed. This very specific Eucharistic situation had been downgraded to a memorial. It was now a created image not real presence.

In Scotland, Knox said kneeling was wrong and suggestion of real presence and he rejected catholic practices as idolatrous. However for Anglicans, kneeling wasn’t idolatry, it was the congregation being properly instructed. But just how metaphysical were these people, and did they think this through? But for Pecock in ‘The repressor of over much blaming of the clergy’ images were just images.

The second talk was by Revd Dr Jessica Martin whose focus is Public and private piety. What people did when they weren’t in church from 1530-1700. She outlined the radical reforms instituted in 1630s laudian reforms where kneeling at altar rails was introduced.

Elevation of the Eucharist was a major part of the service pre -reformation but the 1549 Common Prayer Book said there should be no elevation or adoration. These reformed practices were intensely communitarianist and authorities were suspicious about private prayer, which was suggestive of secret Catholicism. So people would do their best to show that they weren’t praying; even carrying a devotional book you could be prosecuted. So you prayed loudly as a body.

But then she stated that there was a rise in the use of spiritual diaries especially in conjunction with the availability of the vernacular bible. This is not easy to police so there would be commentary to tell you how to read it. For instance, the Geneva bible had margin notes because there were things in the bible the state didn’t want to encourage, eg. killing of kings etc. There was also anxiety about private reading groups. Are they safe reading on their own? This tension between public and private reading is quite interesting.

She speculated on private prayer; posture was your own choice. Given the lack of privacy in early modern homes, prayer was done in a prayer closet and done loudly because introspection was seen as catholic. How autonomous would this private prayer be? The devil might tempt you whilst you prayed alone. Therefore ‘praying alone’ actually means praying with others as a community. In Scotland you might go for a walk alone possibly because household prayer was inspected. A comment at the end of the evening was about linking this walking and pilgrimage, this was discounted. However they suggest that it evolved into Rousseau and solitary walks, Wordsworth and romanticism. And I would suggest modern life and golf…

For the first time in the evening, gender was brought in. At this time women started reading the bible by themselves, however, it was not really encouraged; neither was praying in the preserve closets – women should be doing the house work. Next time I am snoozing in my jam pantry, I shall claim I was praying.

During the Restoration there arose an opportunity to look at practice with Church of England and non conformists. Bishop Sanderson mediated and as he was a Calvin ceremonialist, it was thought he could bring the two sides together. Where did it fall down? Kneeling…

Finally we were on to Victorian prayer practice and possibly the most contentious talk. This was presented by Dr Nicola Brown. She works with images of people praying and when she set out on this research she assumed that pictures would have clasped hands and kneeling people. Represented by Morning prayer by Holman Hunt where her knees are resting on the bed, a locus classicus of kneeling by bed morning and night.

She found many images of single females in private prayer, they are the praying sex.The Widow’s Prayer by JF watts where her book is open and eyes closed. She pointed out that the prayer book was an important item of devotion, even if they weren’t reading it. Because non Eucharistic services like matins and evensong were so familiar, they wouldn’t have needed the words. So it was a symbol of prayer.

She did a close reading of the Three Girls Praying – I didn’t catch the artist but I got a bad snap. It is always assumed that the girl on the right, reading was praying whilst the others are distracted. However she suggests that the middle one with her abstracted gaze is the devout one. She continues this train of thought with Convent thoughts. This Pre-Raphaelite image of intense devotion shows the nun holding the catholic missal so that the viewer can see the open pages. The image of the Crucifixion is connected with fingers not eyes as she is looking at visual symbol of passion flower. She is clearly praying.

She then went through a number of images where the woman is depicted with an abstract gaze, whilst holding letters, flowers, rings and suggests that in each, the woman is praying. One had a woman leaning over a grave ‘resurgam’ holding a flower which is normally read as a decline of Christian belief. She cast doubt on this saying it was actually a high watermark of church attendance and feeling, with palpable outpouring of devotional piety. This is a woman praying, laying her doubts before god.

As the c19th draws to a close, secularisation is rising and private devotion retreats inside; psychology takes it place. She ended with Whistlers ‘Symphony in white no 2’ which she suggests is a prayer piece. The image is reverie, a psychological state, internalised abstraction and they do not hold prayer books or any sign of visible devotion.

I can’t say I liked the Victorian images and I don’t see all of the women in them lost in prayer. I think this is a both a wide and narrow interpretation and each needs to be taken individually. Some of these mawkish, sentimental pieces may just be encouraging women to be humble, enslaved and submissive, an ideal Victorian women. And that takes us back to the Middle Ages. An interesting evening and excellent to have the spread of history covered.

Mute Poetry, Speaking Pictures

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Reflections by Birkbeck experts and students on a wide range of events held throughout the year.

Tag Archives: art