Left at the Altar

To make the grand churches of medieval Europe even grander, and to focus the altar as the true center stage, the greatest artists created works on commission to celebrate those holy spaces. Along with Jan van Eyck, Rogier van der Weyden created some of the greatest religious images of the Netherlandish school between his birth sometime in 1399 and his death on June 18, 1464. Weyden’s Deposition (above, from 1435) captures the imagination in several ways. First of all, its sheer size (over six feet tall and nearly 8 feet wide) dominates the altar area. Secondly, the colors of the nearly life-sized figures’ garments strike us with their brilliance almost six centuries after they were first applied. Finally, our eye begins to unravel the fugue of movement enacted by the figures. Each figure plays out some small narrative that adds up to the total effect. Christ and his mother, the Virgin Mary, seem to fall in tandem—he clothed in only his marble-like skin and her in a brilliant blue gown of intricate folds. Saint John pulls Mary to the left while Joseph of Arimethaea pulls the dead Jesus off to the right, perhaps echoing the act of the protective doors of the altarpiece opening to reveal this central scene. The action is as high keyed as the color, but there’s no sense of frenzy. Rather, everything seems carefully orchestrated, like different voices all singing at once in a scene from an opera. Or, more aptly for the time, each character “sings” a theme in the great polyphony of action just like the polyphonic music played in the cathedral around it.

The Deposition is the earliest work attributed to Weyden, who would have been in his mid-30s at the time. No work can be conclusively linked to Weyden through documentation. Only traditions tell us that he painted The Deposition and other works, such as the Crucifixion Triptych (above, from 1445). The common theme that drives art historians to attribute such works to Weyden is the signature color, energy, and composition. Weyden unifies all three pieces of the triptych by extending the landscape left and right, although the central scene can easily stand on its own. Mary Magdalene, on the left, and Saint Veronica, on the right, literally stand in the wings, painted on the reverse of the doors normally left closed to protect the central crucifixion panel. The Crucifixion Triptych is less crowded than The Deposition, but there is still a great sense of balance within the interplay of the figures. Christ physically and theologically centers the work, while the women in the wings balance one another out as if they were standing upon a great scale with the cross itself as a fulcrum. My favorite part of this work is the dark little angels in the distance, flitting in the air like musical notes and rhyming with the ends of Christ’s loincloth dancing in the breeze. Again, Weyden demonstrates great musicality in this work, but, in contrast to the active contrapuntal themes of The Deposition, we “hear” here a more restrained, somber adagio.


In The Last Judgment Polyptych (above, from 1446-1452), Weyden uses the multiple doors to visually drag us down to Hell or rise with us to Heaven. We begin in the center, where the risen Christ sits in judgment. Moving to the right, we progress deeper and deeper into the darker ranges of Hell itself. Unlike, say, in the works of Hieronymus Bosch, who paints after Weyden, we see little of Hell’s horrors here. Moving to the left, however, we ascend to the realm of the elect. Weyden elects to accentuate the positive in this depiction of the Last Judgment, which would literally unfold before the eyes of viewers as the doors of the fifteen panels were opened one after another. Weyden painted this polyptych for a chapel for a large hall for the poor and the sick. Just as Matthias Grünewald’s Isenheim Altarpiece inspired patients suffering from skin diseases to bear their burden like Christ bore his cross, Weyden’s Last Judgment inspired patients to accept their suffering as the path to greater glory in Heaven. I like to think of the great unfolding of the multiple panels of this polyptych as an unfolding of the church’s “arms” to embrace these unfortunate souls who found little reward on Earth. In this installment of the “soundtrack” of Weyden’s art, you might hear a joyful chorus doing their best to be angelic in singing a song of praise and, through that praise, consolation for humanity.

Faces in the Crowd

If there’s an uglier portrait than Quentin Matsys’ A Grotesque Old Woman (above, from 1525-1530) out there, I don’t think I want to see it. One of the founding members of the so-called Antwerp school, Matsys kept alive the style and technique of earlier Flemish artists such as Dirk Bouts, Hans Memling, Roger van der Weyden, and Jan van Eyck and links that tradition to the great artist of the generation after his—Peter Paul Rubens. Matsys died on September 16, 1530 (and was born around 1466), leaving a legacy of stylish, if often grotesque art. Like Rembrandt a century later later, Matsys found endless material in the faces of the Antwerp crowds, both the beautiful and the ugly. So many of those faces found places within not only his secular works but also in his religious works, which showed the great depth of his religious feeling, albeit a faith marked by a profound understanding of the rough and tumble world.

Matsys’ St. John Altarpiece (above, from 1507-1508) seems less a religious work than a misplaced painting by Hieronymus Bosch, whom Matsys may have known and admired. On the left, Salome offers the decapitated head of John the Baptist to Herod. On the right, Saint John cooks in a cauldron of boiling oil. In the center, Joseph of Arimathea asks the Virgin Mary if he may bury the broken body of Christ in his tomb. All three panels shows horribly grotesque scenes from the New Testament full of death, when all hope seems to reach its nadir. Yet, within each scene there is a glimmer of hope for those who believe—John’s death followed by Christ’s mission, Saint John’s martyrdom by the promise of heaven, and Christ’s entombment by the Resurrection. Despite the dark scenes depicted, Matsys keeps hope alive by painting each of these scenes with bursting color, introducing an element of life in this world of death. The faces in the different scenes offer a virtual catalogue of humanity, from the innocent to the guilty, from the selfish to the selfless.

In Ecce Homo (above, from 1526), Matsys surrounds the mocked Christ with fascinating characters. Hook-nosed Pilate turns away from Christ in the background, visually washing his hands of the situation. A well-dressed man in a turban shuns Christ, too, raising his hands as if the very touch of the victim would soil him. Only the man on the right keeps his eyes on Christ, and they’re full of insane hatred and lust for blood. Matsys captures so many mental states perfectly in these faces in the crowd that you almost lose sight of the stars of the show. Even Christ seems psychologically accurate, turning his eyes to the ground, despairing momentarily over the fate he sees before him. Sir Joshua Reynolds praised one of Matsys’s paintings by saying, "There are heads in this picture not exceeded by Raphael, and indeed not unlike his [early] manner of painting portraits, hard and minutely finished." Sadly, Matsys’ name has faded, usually outshone by the brighter lights that came before and after him, but a close inspection of the faces in Matsys’ crowds will make you realize that this artist should never be lost in any crowd.

Tough Act to Follow

It’s always tough following a great opening act. In fifteenth-century Netherlandish art, Hans Memling had to follow on the heels of Jan van Eyck and Rogier van der Weyden, two of the greatest early innovators in painting. Before he died on August 11, 1494 (born sometime after 1430), Memling created a large body of beautiful religious works full of imagination, such as the central panel of his Last Judgment Triptych (above, from 1467-1471). Christ returns on the Day of Judgment seated upon a rainbow (interestingly, and accurately, depicted as a ring) while Saint Michael weighs the scales and separates the saved from the damned below. The heavenly host gathered around the Savior and the risen dead scattered about the armored angel form another larger circle, creating a rippling effect with Christ at the center. Unfortunately, Memling copied much of this composition from one of van der Weyden’s altarpieces. Memling may have studied under van der Weyden, so imitation doesn’t seem that outrageous. However, because of modern expectations of originality, Memling stands accused of unoriginality, a charge he never faced in life.

In fact, during his life, Memling enjoyed a large and wide reputation. The Medici commissioned The Last Judgment Triptych shown above, although events conspired against its delivery to Italy. Wealthy patrons from as far away as England paid Memling handsomely to create works for their churches, always with an eye on getting the best painters to include their images in the works so that everyone knew who was footing the bill. But not all of Memling’s religious works were for-hire devotionals. In 1489, Memling completed his Saint Ursula Shrine (above, from 1489), a gilded wooden reliquary said to hold personal artifacts of the saint herself. The paintings on the sides tell the tale of Saint Ursula, daughter of a Christian king who agreed to marry a pagan prince only if he converted. No patrons appear anywhere on the work. This reliquary appeared before the public only on Saint Ursula’s feast day each year, making it a rare treasure made more for piety than praise.

But even Saint Ursula’s Shrine may have been based on another, perhaps solid gold model. Memling, however, did sometimes look forward rather than back. In the front panels of his Triptych of Earthly Vanity and Divine Salvation (above, from 1485), Memling sexes up the vanitas theme that would become commonplace a century later. An alluring nude appears sandwiched between skeletal Death and bedeviled Hell. She holds a mirror up to her face, enjoying the view. The Devil to her left, with a face leering from its torso, seems like something out of Hieronymus Bosch until you realize that Bosch comes after Memling. Did Bosch see such works by Memling or were such innovations simply “in the air” at the time? In a period in which attribution alone is difficult, influence seems even sketchier. The monster eating the damned beneath the two-faced devil may have risen up from Memling’s imagination whole or been just another “borrowed” idea from contemporaries. The sexuality of the central nude, however, seems chronologically out of place, more modern than anything else, albeit with the wide-hipped conventions of beauty of the time. Perhaps our modern, vainer times make Memling’s vain lady seem strikingly one of us. Memling suffers from the expectations of later times, doomed to play second banana to his predecessors and unappreciated for the variations he played on those themes.

Identity Crisis

Perhaps the only fact about the life of Rogier van der Weyden that we can be certain about is the date on which he died—June 18, 1464. Born either in 1399 or 1400, van der Weyden and Jan van Eyck stand as the two pillars of fifteenth century Netherlandish painting, but not a single work can be attributed to van der Weyden with absolute certainty. Some may actually be by the hand of Robert Campin, who may have been van der Weyden’s teacher, a guess based solely on the closeness of their styles. One look at a work such as The Annunciation (above, from 1440) makes you long to know more about the maker, whoever he may have been. The central panel of one of the many triptychs attributed to van der Weyden, The Annunciation shows the bravura style of the painter, especially in the gold brocade of the Archangel Gabriel’s clothing, based on the elaborate liturgical dress of a priest of the period down to the huge clasp holding the outer garment together. The artist offsets that majesty with the simplicity of Mary, whom the angel has interrupted in the middle of reading a book that almost flies from her hand in surprise. Throughout the rest of the painting, the tiny details all reference iconography now only known by specialists but that was the lingua franca of its day. In many ways van der Weyden’s art parallels that of Shakespeare, another figure more legend than fact today but whose wide range of artistry continues to give him life.

So what do we know of van der Weyden? We know that other artists of the time, including Albrecht Dürer, felt greatly moved by his works. Some documentary evidence of commissions still exists, even if the works they refer to do not. Although van der Weyden ran a large workshop, he left no students of note. Younger artists of the next generation of Dutch painting, including Dirk Bouts and Hans Memling, sang his praises in later years, spreading his influence across Europe, yet by the nineteenth century van der Weyden’s name had almost disappeared. Twentieth century artistic archeological work on such pieces as the Crucifixion Triptych (above, from 1445) has slowly resurrected van der Weyden’s name and art. The composition of this triptych shows an amazing intricacy of design, with the three panels unified by a single horizon that goes back seemingly forever in never-ending layers of depth. Christ’s loincloth almost playfully dances in the wind, giving the static poses of the figures a sense of motion. The religious figures, from the Virgin Mary and St. John at the foot of the cross to Mary Magdelene and St. Veronica in the wings, seem as real as the works’ patrons inserted into the scene, immortalized in their adoration. van der Weyden’s works contain such depth of content and composition that the digging may never end.

What makes van der Weyden (or the artist we know as van der Weyden today) so fascinating to me is his paradoxical modernity. Take away the period dress and hairstyle, and the face of van der Weyden’s Portrait of a Lady (above, from 1455) could walk the streets today. The lines of her folded hands continue the lines of her black dress, which continue or contrast the lines of her headpiece—all adding up to an architecture of portraiture as complex and fascinating as anything found in the triptychs. The young woman’s pouting lips and downcast eyes add a psychological touch that saves the portrait from being simply a bloodless arrangement of forms. (The young woman may have been the illegitimate daughter of Philip the Good of Burgundy, giving her good reason to be sad.) It’s tantalizing to think that a document may still exist out there, waiting to be found, that will unlock the mystery of van der Weyden and finally add his name to all those works he left unsigned, but I’m not sure that such proof is wholly necessary for those who look and believe.

A Fresh Perspective

While Piero della Francesca created his amazing works of perspective in Italy, Dirk (or Dieric) Bouts the Elder performed his own feats of perspective magic in The Netherlands. Bouts, who died on May 6, 1475, and della Francesca were both born in 1412, when such illusionary tricks were being used more and more to convey a sense of depth and realism in painting. Bouts’ Altarpiece of the Holy Sacrament (above, from 1464-1467) shows The Last Supper at the center of the work, surrounded by scenes from the Old Testament presaging the Eucharist, including the gathering of the manna. Using these peripheral scenes and the single-point perspective of the central panel, Bouts draws every eye to the face of Jesus, creating a powerful nexus of divinity at the crucial moment when the bread became Christ’s body. Rather than focus on the moment when Judas betrays Christ, Bouts focuses on the moment when Christ bestows his gift of Communion upon the Apostles and all believers to follow. In that positive, life-affirming image, Bouts breathes life into Christology and frees it from the blood and gore of the Medieval period.

It’s really amazing how Bouts brings everything together on the face of Christ, seen better in the closeup of The Last Supper panel (above). Even the crossed panels of the window behind Christ’s head meet at the point between his eyes. The perfect trapezoidal white table leads you right to the face of Jesus like a runway. All the characters eyes, including servants peeking through a hatch in the back of the room, focus on Christ’s gestures. Artists such as Jan van Eyck and by Rogier van der Weyden had already worked wonders with perspective and greatly influenced Bouts, but Bouts takes their example and runs even further with it, creating a whole, complex world while they confined themselves mainly to interiors. Take a glimpse through the windows on the left, mere slivers of landscape, and the open window to Christ’s left showing a garden outside and recognize just how far Bouts takes his quest for perspective as a painterly equivalent for the theological idea of Christ’s own role as the center of the universe.

In this quest for realism through pictorial illusion, Bouts still maintains that surrealist touch found in many devotional works. Freud once told Dali that he always looked for the rational in modern Surrealist paintings and for the surreal in Old Master works. Bouts’ The Ordeal by Fire (above, from 1460), a panel from the diptych The Justice of Emperor III, shows a scene even Dali would have been proud of. When the Emperor’s wife fell in love with a count, approached him, and was spurned, she accused the count of assaulting her honor. The Emperor had the count beheaded. The count’s wife appears here with her husband’s head under her arm like a football, appealing to the Emperor to clear his name. The Emperor agrees to clear the count’s name if the countess accepts the ordeal by fire, shown here as a red-hot iron bar she holds in her hand. When the countess is unharmed, to the astonishment of those gathered before the throne, the Emperor knows that God has revealed that the Empress is a liar. The elongated figures and elaborate dress of the court members adds to the nightmarish quality of the image. Bouts, like della Francesca, remains one of those fascinating figures of the fifteenth century whose old works still strike us with their modern touches.