Opening the Doors to Heaven: Lion Head Doorknockers from the Treasury of Freckenhorst Church

Maria Gordusenko, PhD History of Art, University of Edinburgh

Figure 1. Church of St Bonifatius in Freckenhorst, Westphalia, Germany.

Photo: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bf/Freckenhorst_St._Bonifatius_Stiftskirche.jpg

The Treasury of Freckenhorst Church in Westphalia (Germany) possesses two doorknockers cast in bronze. They were produced for the doors of the main portal of this Church at the end of the eleventh century (figure 1). Originally set at the church doors, the Freckenhorst doorknockers were not only handles with a merely practical function: their significance expanded far beyond. These doorknockers are made in a form of lion heads that hold ring-shaped handles in their teeth (figure 2). The handles are notable for an inscription mentioning a man by the name ‘Bernhardus.’ Its position at the doorknockers’ handles suggests that the maker wanted the faithful to notice the inscription and read it, think about their souls, pray for the said Bernhardus, and then enter the Church. This inscription resembles a pious petition[1]:

‘HAS IANVAS GENTEM CAVSA PRECIS INGREDIENTEM,’: ‘IXPC REX REGVM FACIAT CONCENDERE CAELVM BERNHARDVS ME FECIT.’

[‘May Jesus Christ the King of kings see to it (faciat) that the people who enter (literally entering) these doors to pray (for the sake of prayer) ascend to Heaven. Bernhardus made me.’] 

Figure 2. Lion Head Doorknocker, ca 1085. Treasury of Freckenhorst Church, Westphalia, Germany. Photo:  A. Legner, Der Artifex: Künstler im Mittelalter und ihre Selbstdarstellung: eine illustrierte Anthologie (Cologne: Greven, 2009), p. 226, fig. 300.

The symbolic nature of lion head doorknockers is rooted in antiquity. The continuity of this motif can be traced from the fifth century BC up to the Christian Middle Ages. Christian artists adopted, rethought and enriched the images of lions and their symbolism. Since antiquity, lion’s masks with rings in their mouths were commonly used to decorate doorknockers or handles of chests. A lion was regarded as an embodiment of strength and as a symbol of the sun. That is why the manes of lions head doorknockers were often modelled to look like flames (Vermeule 1988, p. 127).

In various contexts, references to lions occur in the Bible. The lion, as the strongest of the beasts, was referred to as a positive symbol of power and royalty (Proverbs 30:30). Images of lions decorated the throne of Solomon (1 Kings 10:18-20). When depicted with a book of Gospels, the Lion is associated with the Evangelist St Mark. Sometimes it can even be regarded as an image of Christ. In the Revelation, the Lion of Judah (as the symbol of the Jewish tribe) is used as a direct reference to Christ (Revelation 5:5).

The doorknockers from Freckenhorst, just like other examples, symbolise Christ and deliverance from sins (Mende 1983, p. 151). In this respect, rings held by lions in their teeth can also be interpreted as important elements. In pagan Germanic cultures a ring was recognised as a symbol of an oath or law; knights took or reaffirmed oaths on rings (Bley 1990, pp. 190-191). Rings at the doors of ancient temples and Christian churches were symbols of asylum. For instance, a fugitive clasping a ring at the doors of a temple or a church would have been granted protection from his chasers. Metaphorically, Christ was seen by the faithful as a refuge, as one of the Psalms says: ‘The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, My God, my rock, in whom I take refuge’ (Psalm 18:2). In this respect, a doorknocker in a form of a lion head, holding a ring in its teeth would have been associated with Christ the lawgiver and formed a strong reference to church as an asylum for the faithful.

The conception of a church as an asylum, where the faithful can shelter from sin and the devil, is reflected at Hildesheim Cathedral on its bronze doors and in the Freckenhorst doorknockers. The Bernward Doors at Hildesheim have a representation of the Hand of God, which is paralleled to a master’s hand. It appears exactly at the level of the ring of the lion head doorknocker, and is shown as if it is going to clasp it claiming for an asylum inside the church (figure 3). This may convey the maker’s message that he repulses sinful life and wishes to stay in the church and to be saved by Christ. 

Figure 3.Bernward Doors, ca 1015. Fragment with the Hand and the Ring of the Doorknocker. Hildesheim Cathedral, Germany. Photo: https://workofartists.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/bernwardstc3bcr_21.jpg

The position of Bernhardus’s inscription on the ring-shaped handles of the Freckenhorst doorknockers ensured that it followed their circular shape and allowed a parallel to be drawn between Bernhardus’s words and an oath. Being reaffirmed endlessly, like the shape of a circle, an oath would never be broken and Bernhardus’s petition will be reiterated permanently. But there is also another important aspect to Bernhradus’s doorknockers and inscription. It is related to the reception of bronze as a special material, which is able to animate images or make inscribed petitions sound and reach Christ in a sonorous form. For medieval minds, bronze was resonating, ever-changing composite material that possessed almost magical power; and some medieval treatises emphasise the significance of material qualities of bronze objects to resonate and sound (Weinryb 2016, pp. 98-99).

The distinct echoing sound of the Freckenhorst bronze doorknockers would literally signify Bernhardus’s name and his petition being pronounced. In other words, the text inscribed by the artist at the handles would acquire signification through sound. As a result, the person who used Bernhardus’s doorknockers and heard their sound would have recalled the maker and, supposedly, pray for him. But, most importantly, the sound of the doorknockers would be addressed directly to Christ, whom Bernhardus had mentioned in his inscription. Metaphorically, it may be equated to knocking on the doors of Paradise and asking for salvation.

The position of Bernhardus’s petition to the Saviour at doorknockers of church doors was not an accidental choice; in the medieval period church doors were assigned various symbolic meanings. A church was perceived as an asylum from sin, whereas liminal spaces, the entrance to a church and its doors, were commonly associated with the Gates of Heaven and with the Saviour (figure 4). As Christ said: ‘I am the gate. If anyone enters through Me, he will be saved’ (John 10:9). Similar to many other artists and bronze casters, Bernhardus meant his doorknockers and the inscription on them as a manifestation of his petition to Christ and believed that his work may open him the doors to life eternal (Frazer 1990, p. 273). 

Figure 4. Bernward Doors, ca1015. Fragment with the Hand and the Ring of the Doorknocker.  Hildesheim Cathedral, Germany. Photo: http://www.dom-hildesheim.de/en/content/redesigning-cathedral-interior

Works Cited

 
Bley, H. ‘'Bernhardus me fecit': die romanischen Löwenkopf-Türzieher in Freckenhorst,’ Westfalen 68 (1990): 185. 
Frazer, M. ‘Church Doors and the Gates of Paradise Reopened,’ in Le porte di bronzo dall’antichita al secolo XIII, ed. S. Salomi, 271-279, (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia italiana, 1990), 273.  
Mende, U. (1983). Die Bronzetüren des Mittelalters, 800-1200. Munich: Hirmer.
Vermeule, C. (1988). Sculpture in Stone and Bronze: Additions to the Collections of Greek, Etruscan, and Roman Art, 1971-1988, in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. Boston: The Museum.
Weinryb, I. (2016). The Bronze Object in the Middle Ages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.


[1] I am grateful to Dr Patricia Brignall for her advice on the translation of this inscription.

Towards the Freedom of Self-Representation in the Twelfth Century: Liutprecht – the Sculptor from the Crypt of St Corbinian at Freising Cathedral

Maria Gordusenko, PhD History of Art, University of Edinburgh

The reconstruction of Freising Cathedral after a great fire in 1159 was completed only in 1205. It was an important step in proclaiming the city of Freising as a pilgrimage destination. The new enlarged Crypt was built by 1161, in a fairly short time span because of the necessity to accommodate the Sarcophagus and altar of St Corbinian.

The Crypt has reused old columns with simple capitals, and new columns with decorated capitals. Embellished with foliage and floral motifs, they create an atmosphere of a magical forest inhabited with various creatures, fantastic birds and griffins, and anthropomorphic characters. Taking into account the semi-darkness of the hall, with its flickering candlelight, it is possible to envisage what effect such decoration might have had on the medieval pilgrims descending into the Crypt.

Figure 1. The Crypt of St Corbinian, Freising Cathedral. Photo by Klaus Rommel.

The motifs of vine and transformation demonstrate the central idea of the sculptural programme in the Crypt of St Corbinian. It is an idea of a spiritual journey to God and salvation that Christians undertake by freeing themselves from sins and vice. Some capitals have figures of men entwined with floral stems, probably symbolising the sins restricting their freedom. This metaphorical idea of spiritual rebirth is reflected in a signed capital of a column in the Eastern part of the Crypt. The floral stems in it transform from bonds to gracefully curved vines; one of the two bearded men represented at the capital holds a bunch of grapes that indicate Eucharistic connotations. Placed directly above the representation of the second bearded man, the name LIVT / PRECHT is broken into two syllables by the angle of the abacus; it completely follows the structure of the capital. This makes a firm association with the figurative representation. The man’s individualised face and thoughtful expression stand out among all the fantastic creatures found on other carved capitals and allow suggesting that it may be an image of a sculptor or a donor.

Figure 2. The Capital signed: LIVT / PRECHT (detail). Ca 1159 – 1160. Crypt of St Corbinian, Freising Cathedral. Photo: Legner 2009, p. 293. 

The column with Liutprecht’s capital is located next to the most important object in the Crypt, the Sarcophagus of St Corbinian. When facing the Sarcophagus, the viewer would see the column to their right and exactly at an angle that would permit them to observe Liutprecht’s face and read the inscription of his name. Thus, Liutprecht has purposely selected a very specific audience that would have been able to see his name. It is what a praying priest or a pilgrim would notice while standing in front of the Sarcophagus and altar of St Corbinian. This guaranteed that Liutprecht will be remembered and that his devotion to St Corbinian will be expressed permanently, securing him a place in Heaven.

Figure 3. Bishop Prof Dr Reinhard Marx praying in front of the Sarcophagus of St Corbinian. Note the column with the capital signed LIVT/PRECHT. Freising Cathedral, Crypt of St Corbinian. Source.  

On the contrary, people wondering in the Crypt would instead notice fragments of his name LIVT or PRECHT, depending upon the direction from which they approached the column. This attempt to humbly conceal his name from a wider audience shows that Liutprecht was concerned with religious values rather than gaining recognition among people. All these factors reveal complex spatial thinking, artistic intelligence, and spirituality of the sculptor.

Figure 4. The Capital signed: LIVT / PRECHT (detail). Ca 1159 – 1160. Crypt of St Corbinian, Freising Cathedral. Source.

The Christian male name Liutprecht can be interpreted as the light (brightness) of people, where liut stands for people and associates with the pilgrims visiting the Crypt, and precht, in Old German, means the bright and glorious (Steub 1870, p. 66; Yonge 1884, p. 430). In the darkness of the Crypt this would have had an even more special significance, as it interconnects with the symbolism of light associated with pious life and God.

The name Liutprecht is rarely cited in medieval documents from around the time when the works in the Crypt took place and Liutprecht’s capital was carved. However, the First Necrolog of Kremsmünster Abbey (beginning of the 12th century - end of the 13th century) mentions a certain Liutprecht among those commemorated and honoured by the Abbey. He is listed as a conversi or lay bother, of the Benedictine Abbey of St Lambrecht at Styria, now Austria (Altinger 1897, pp. 22, 128). The manuscript also commemorates the bishops of Freising, and clergy and lay brothers from other Benedictine monasteries in the neighbouring areas. It indicates that there existed good connections between the Benedictine abbeys in this region.

The period covered by the Necrolog coincides with the time of restoration works in the Crypt of St Corbinian. Taking into account the rarity of the name Liutprecht, its presence in the manuscript and in the Crypt suggest that it actually might refer to the same person, who was active at that particular period and in that specific area. In addition, a long-standing tradition of communication and exchange between the Benedictine abbeys around Freising makes it is feasible that Liutprecht may have become engaged in works on Freising Cathedral. Being a conversi, and not a regular monk, Liutprecht had more possibilities to travel, was likely to be involved in manual labour, such as sculpting, and would have had more freedom in manifesting his authorship with a signature (Dohme 1877, p. 51).

It was quite common for conversi to be architects, masons, carpenters and sculptors (Hélyot and Bullot 1863, p. 462 ; Johnston 2000, p. 748). The lay brothers, or conversi, in the Benedictine Order were those who renounced the world in adult life (‘Lay Brothers’, The Catholic Encyclopedia). According to the rule for conversi, they had to dedicate themselves to hard manual labour, wear simple habits, and have beards (sometimes conversi were referred to as laici barbati). They were not allowed to have a tonsure, could not enjoy the privileges of regular monks, and were required to remain illiterate (Johnston 2000, p. 748). The latter might explain the simplicity of Liutprecht’s signature: as an illiterate conversi, he may have known how to write his name, but was evidently unable to compose long inscriptions in Latin.

The image of Liutprecht at the capital shows him as a mature bearded man. These details are vital and might indicate that it is indeed a representation of a conversi, or, at least, of a layman. Just like any conversi, he must have renounced the world and entered religious life as a mature man. The overall idea of sculptural decoration in the Crypt showing the conversion from a pagan (or a sinner) to a pious Christian, who aspires to salvation, may interconnect with Liutprecht’s personal life choices. This, however, did not restrict his freedom in travelling for work and producing self-representations.

Works Cited

Altinger, A. (1897). Die zwei ältesten Nekrologien von Kremsmünster. Wien: Gerold.
Dohme, R. (1877). Kunst und Künstler des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit: Biographien und Charakteristiken. Volume 1, Part 1. Leipzig: E.A. Seemann.
Hélyot, P. and Bullot, M. (1863). Dictionnaire des ordres religieux ou, Histoire des ordres monastiques, religieux et militaires, et des congrégations séculières. Paris: Chez l'éditeur.
Johnston, W. M. (2000). Encyclopedia of Monasticism. London: Fitzroy Dearborn.
‘Lay Brothers.’ The Catholic Encyclopedia. http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/09093a.htm. Accessed December 9, 2015.
Legner, A. (2009). Der Artifex. Cologne: Greven Verlag.
Steub, L. (1870). Die oberdeutschen Familiennamen. München: R. Oldenbourg.
Yonge, C. M. (1884). History of Christian Names. London : Macmillian.

The Iconography of Queenly Identity: The Balthilde Ring Bezel and the Depiction of Coitus

Stephenie McGucken - PhD History of Art 

The Balthild ring bezel is a beguiling small (12mm in diameter) gold bezel, found in Norfolk by a metal detector in 1999, dating from the seventh century. Scholars agree that the bezel belonged to Balthlid, Queen of Neustria in the mid-seventh century.

Figures 1 & 2. The Balthild Ring Bezel, Obverse & Reverse. Images: Norfolk Museums & Archaeology Service.

Balthild was born in Anglo-Saxon England around 626 and was sold into slavery in Neustria after she was captured during a raid. She was purchased by Erchinoald, the mayor of the palace, who later tried to seduce her. She refused, and Erchinoald eventually gave her to Clovis II in marriage. When Clovis II died in 655, Balthild became regent for her eldest son, Chlothar III. As regent, she worked to correct ecclesiastical abuses and encouraged bishops and abbots to follow a monastic rule, all while expanding her influence with both the aristocracy and the church. In 664, Balthild retired to Chelles at the so-called request of the Frankish aristocracy, and was there until she died in 680.

The obverse of the bezel shows a frontal portrait. The lower half of the figure has been interpreted as both stylised drapery and as a body executed on a smaller scale. It is most likely the top of a garment, as the composition makes little sense as a body (with a fifth appendage).

Anna Gannon has identified the portrait as Christ, and Leslie Webster has agreed (pers. comm. July 2014). The cross shaft merges with the figure’s nose, and could be a way of identifying the figure as Christ. However, it can also be seen as the queen herself. The connection between and conflation of Christ and the queen is an intentional one: the ring stylises Balthild as Christ’s chosen queen, whose duty to her earthly King, Clovis, are second only to her duties to the heavenly king.

Figure 3. Drawing of the Balthild Ring Bezel. Image: Courtesy of the Norwich Museums Service.

The reverse image shows two figures facing each other; they stand under the sign of a cross. Both figures’ eyes are wide and their mouths are open, with their heads tilted back. The Norwich Castle Museum presents the reverse as a ‘stylised image of a man and woman making love.’ Webster and Gannon argue for a different reading: rather than a couple making love, they see it as a couple holding hands in the tradition of Byzantine betrothal rings. While the ring does draw on this tradition, it does not show them holding hands. Rather, the “hands” between the lower part of the figures represents outer walls of the labia extended to take in the penis.

Figure 4. Byzantine Betrothal Ring. Image: Christie’s.

The cross on the reverse serves as a substitute for Christ on the Byzantine ring. It represents divine approval of the marriage, and ultimately the rule – an idea that was gaining momentum in this period.

Another object type that should be considered is the Swedish and Danish guldgubbers, small gold-foil figures dating between 500 and 800 AD (Fouracre 2004). In a particular type, a couple is shown clearly embracing and kissing. While not overtly sexual in nature, this type of guldgubbers has been shown to reference marriage rites (Ratke 2006). As queen and wife, Balthild’s marriage would have implied a sexual union with the king to produce his heirs, arguably the queen’s most important role. The physical embraces represented social contract and partnership in similar, yet subtly different ways.

Figure 5. Guldgubber. Image: Sharon Ratke.

For Anglo-Saxon comparanda we have to look slightly forward to the mid-tenth century. In the representation of the story of Lot in the Old English Hexateuch, we are given two illustrations of Lot having sex with his daughters who have gotten him drunk in order to try to conceive so that mankind does not die out.

Figure 6. Old English Hexateuch. British Library Claudius B IV, fol. 33v. Image: British Library.

This image, unlike the ring, serves a narrative purpose, rather than a symbolic one. Bede, in his commentary on Genesis, explains this symbolism. He excuses Lot’s daughters because they did not commit incest out of lust, but as a way to ensure the human race’s survival. Bede goes on to say ‘the daughters of the blessed Lot represent the carnal thoughts of even the noblest men’ and ultimately ‘the fact that we are saved from dangers is certainly owing to God’s illuminating grace.’

In terms of the Balthild bezel, such a scene might introduce a negative light to the sexual reading, but that negativity is negated by the sign of the cross above the couple. Rather than committing a sin, they are upholding their duty to their kingdom and, ultimately, Christ.

In her book Visual and Other Pleasures, Laura Mulvey argues that the female is defined by the male’s view of her, and that she is consistently ‘tied to her place as bearer, not maker, of meaning.’ Mulvey’s assertion that the ruling ideology that ‘the male figure cannot bear the burden of sexual objectification’ is demonstrated and overturned in the bezel.

I believe that the bezel, and its now-lost ring, was given to Balthild by Clovis around the time of their official betrothal. At the moment of giving, it presented a meaning established by the king. However, upon Balthild’s acceptance of the ring and her place, the power of the gaze is inverted. No longer is the ring a sexual image of the king and queen given to the queen to remind her of her duties. The ring upon giving is transformed, as it shifts from the possession of the male gaze to the female gaze, becoming a female conception of sex and queenly responsibility (to bear the king’s heirs, an idea implied by the sex). The Balthild bezel, then, represents an Early Medieval image of power through sexuality.

Selected Bibliography

‘Balthild, Queen of Neustria.’ In: Jo Ann McNamara, John Halbog, and Whatley, eds.

Sainted Women of the Dark Ages, pp264-178. London: Duke UP, 1992.

Capelle, T. “Siegelring.” Reallexikon Der Germanischen Altertumskunde. Berlin:

Walter de Gruyter, 2005.

Colgrave, Bertram, and Roger Mynors, eds. Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the

English People. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993.

Fouracre, Paul. “Balthild’s Ring: A Find Against the Odds or A Case of Mistaken

Identity.” Norwich Castle, January 22, 2004.

Geake, Helen. Anglo-Saxon Swivelling Seal Matrix from Postwick, Norfolk.

Supporting Information for the National Art Collections Fund Application, n.d.

Hadjadj, Reine. Bagues Mérovingiennes: Gaule Du Nord. Paris: Éditions Les

Chevau-légers, 2007.

Karras, Ruth Mazo. Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others. London:

Routledge, 2005.

Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” In Visual and Other

Pleasures, 14–27. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1989.

Nelson, Janet. “Queens as Jezebels: The Careers of Brunhild and Balthild in

Merovingian History.” In Medieval Women: Essays Dedicated and Presented to

Professor Rosalind M. T. Hill, 31–77. London: Blackwell, 1978.

Ochota, Mary-Ann. “Baldehildis Seal.” In Britain’s Secret Treasures, 2013.

Ratke, Sharon, and Rudolf Simek. “Guldgubber: Relics of Pre-Christian Law

Rituals?” In Old Norse Religion in Long Term Perspective: Origins, Changes, and

Interactions, edited by Anders Andrén, Kristina Jennbert, and Catharina Raudvere,

259–64. Lund: Nordic Academic Press, 2006.

Webster, Leslie. Gold Swivelling Ring Bezel from Postwick, Norfolk. Treasure Report,

1999.

Wemple, Susan Fonay. Women in Frankish Society: Marriage and the Cloister 500 to

900. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981.

‘Signet Ring.’ http://norfolkmuseumscollections.org/collections/objects/1104558758.html.

Beyond Good and Evil - The Image of Jews and Muslims around 1100

Fabian Bojkovsky - PhD Candidate History of Art

In my research I am looking at the larger corpus of representations of Jews and Muslims in Christian Spanish art. In this post I will present one of my case studies, the Girona Creation Tapestry, and introduce my reading in short. The embroidery (even though it is actually an embroidery it is usually called a tapestry) is dated between 1050 and 1110. The tapestry shows Christ and scenes from the Genesis centrally in a medallion. Cosmological and biblical figures are depicted on the edges. Below the central medallion is the invention of the True cross, which shall be our main point of interest on the tapestry.

 Photo: Fabian Bojkovsky

It begins on the left with Helena standing in front of a vaulted building and conversing with Judas Cyriacus. Behind him two Jews are displayed next to Jerusalem. All figures are identified by inscribtions. Next to Jerusalem we can see the top piece of a large cross. It is all that remains of the figure that was holding it, now lost, and its interpretation remains controversial and will be discussed later. To the right of the cross-end Judas Cyriacus is praying to find the true cross which results in a sweet smell at the site of Golgotha. This scene is followed by Judas digging up the three crosses and afterwards testing which is the true cross by touching a dead body. The 'True Cross' would then miraculously resurrect the body.

Photo: Fabian Bojkovsky

 

The Jewish figures in the narrative are not distinguished by any visual markers (Patton, 2012, 17-18). While we might be inclined to argue that this is evidence of a fairly neutral representation, we should consider that the legend of the True Cross and Judas Cyriacus itself had several clearly Anti-Jewish aspects. In the legend Helena forces Judas to help her by leaving him in a well for several days without food. Further the legend ends with Judas conversion to Christianity after he witnessed the miracles of the 'True Cross'. While the tapestry does not illustrate these parts of the narrative, we might suspect that the audience knew of them as this version of the story was quite popular.

While the identity of the figure with the cross that is now lost is controversial, I would suggest that the recent suggestions by Barabra Baert, that it originally showed Herclius is convincing (Baert, 1999, 122-123). His inclusion would have important implications for the meaning of the tapestry. The Byzantine emperor was associated with the fight against Islam due to his success in battle against the Persian king Chosroes II in the early seventh century. While historically incorrect, later Christianity identified Chosroes and his kingdom as Islamic therefore making Heraclius an important figure of Christian-Muslim conflicts in the history of the world (Baert, 1999, 124-125). His presence in the cosmographical program would have to be understood in reference to the contemporary battles against Islam on the Iberian Peninsula while also reassuring Christian victory.

The references to Jews and possibly Muslims within the tapestry localise them within the Christian cosmos, however in very different ways. While Jews are presented as ambiguous part of the Christian world and its history, the hypothetical reference to Islam portrays Muslims as enemies that, in the tradition of Heraclius, need to be purged off the Christian world fabric.

Photo: Pol Mayer / Paul M.R. Maeyaert
 

Other imagery of Jews and Muslims can be found throughout the Iberian Peninsula. One example is the tympanum of San Isidoro in León. While a lot could be said about this work I will summarise  a possible reading for this piece. The figures of Ishmael and Hagar, depicted on the bottom left, can be understood as representations of Islam (Williams, 1977, 3-14) and more specifically reflect the idea of Islam as essentially a Christian heresy, thus portraying Islam's point of departure from the 'true' church in the tympanum. Another example, a capital in Santo Domingo de Silos, shows hybrid creatures with headscarves that appear to allude to Muslims. Its position in the program and connections to other capitals suggests that these Muslim hybrid figures need to be understood as the evil side of the moralising program of the cloister (Valdez del Álamo, 2012). On the basis of textual evidence, such as the Vita Dominici Exiliensis, I would suggest that they also connect to monk's perceptions of and experiences with Islam.

Photo: Monestirs Puntcat

In summary, representations of Jews and Muslims within Christian spaces seem to have taken very different forms around 1100. It may not surprise that these images show very different faces of the Other, but are these differences due to their individual context, signs of the flexibility of the image of Otherness or due to regional differences among the Iberian kingdoms? These are just some further questions that will be considered in my work on the representation of Jews and Muslims in these objects.

Selected Bibliography:

Baert, Barbara, 'New Observations on the Genesis of Girona (1050 - 1100). The Iconography of the Legend of the True Cross', in Gesta 38 (1999), 115-127

 

Castiñeiras, Manuel, The Creaion Tapestry (Girona: Cathedral of Girona, 2011)

De Palol, Pere and Hirmer, Max, Early Medieval Art in Spain (London: Thames and Hudson, 1967)

———. , 'Une broderie catalane d'époque romane. La Genése de Gérone. 1', in Cahiers archéologiques 8 (1956), 175-214

———. , 'Une broderie catalane d'époque romane. La Genése de Gérone. 2', in Cahiers archéologiques 11 (1957), 219-237

 

Patton, Pamela Anne, Art of Estrangement: Redefining Jews in Reconquest Spain (University Park, Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2012)

Valdez del Álamo, Elizabeth, Palace of the Mind: The Cloister of Silos and Spanish Sculpture of the Twelfth Century (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012)

Williams, John, 'Generationes Abrahae. Reconquest Iconography in Leon', in Gesta 16.2 (1977), 3-14