I've used the word "Byzantine" for years without knowing what it really meant. I assumed it had
something to do with Turkey (it does), but had no idea it described an
area that stretched across most of the Mediterranean. Though the
geographical boundaries shrank and expanded many times over the
centuries, at its height (6th century) it included parts of modern Spain, all of Italy, Greece, Turkey, parts of northern Africa, Egypt, Palestine, Armenia, Syria, Lebanon, and all the various islands in the Mediterranean.
Here's some notes taken from explanatory plaques at the museum: It was initially a multireligious (largely pagan) state. The name derives from the fact that in the 4th century, Emperor Constantine moved his capital from Rome to a city that had been known as Byzantium (changed to Constantinople). The practice of Christianity was legalized and the official language shifted from Roman (Latin) to Greek. What in the Roman Empire had been an urbanized culture slowly transformed to more agrarian settlements. The Emperor was considered the highest representative of both earthly and spiritual leadership.
This theme is relevant to the development of Byzantine art over many centuries. In this stunning mosaic (the figures are close to life-size) the Emperor (in the center) appears with the kind of halo one associates with saints. (Sorry about the odd perspective...I was holding the camera as high as I could, but it was still lower than the top of the mosaic, hence the sense that the figures are tipping toward one another.)
Part of the movement to suppress religious practices counter to Christianity led to "decontaminating" ancient temples by turning them into places of Christian worship. When they couldn't be changed, pagan works of art or places of worship were demolished or defaced.
"The Parthenon, the preeminent symbol of the ancient world, was transformed into . . . a basilica . . . and damage was inflicted on much of the . . . sculptural decoration. . . [It] became an important shrine of the Virgin and . . .was used as the cathedral of Athens" (text abridged from a plaque at the museum).
Another expression of the ascendancy of Christianity was the movement toward "iconlclasm"--literally, breaking icons (for two distinct periods totaling about 80 years, mostly in the 8th century). "The veneration of icons bearing depictions of religious personages" was considered heretical and those that "appeared on public buildings were destroyed and replaced with the symbol of the cross . . . The eventual triumph of those who supported the use of icons was considered a victory for Orthodoxy. This development had a lasting effect . . . on art . . . and Byzantine culture."
My colleague, Alexis Kokkos, who accompanied us to the museum, is very knowledgeable about art. He pointed out the ways in which Byzantine art was a product of the social, political, and religious contexts. There is a very constrained, "static" feeling. For example, though painted by various artists over many different years, images tended to be very repetitious.
Byzantine artists were more than a century behind the Europeans in discovering the "vanishing point"--so their painting appear flat and without depth for far longer. In other words, while Michaelangelo was painting the vibrant, energetic figures on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, Byzantine art continued to depict quiet, tight, standardized compositions that reflected the hierarchical organization of public and private life--and the enormous role of religion.
Within those constraints, however, many artists produced stunning work.
I forget which saint this is (I don't think it's Christ). It is painted on wood, not canvas. I took a closeup of the face, as well.
And here is a Virgin and Child. Though there is some sense of depth, the composition is still static. What caught my eye are the gold parts of the painting (also on wood). The artist used some kind of pointy tool (maybe just a nail and a hammer?) to create astonishing texture. You can see it in the closeup of the pillow.
And here's a final issue not directly related to Byzantine art. The flooring of the museum is made of "end-cut" lumber, so that you see a cross section of the grain--i.e., the "growth rings" of the wood. All the wood flooring I've ever seen is cut lengthwise--with the grain instead of across it. As a result, the grain is less visible. Each section of this flooring was about the size of a 3 x 5 index card. Put together it made a wonderfully lively, yet unobtrusive pattern. I loved it! I included my foot so you could get a sense of the size of the pieces. Then I tried to get a closeup of the grain, so you can see how interesting the pattern is.
Here's some notes taken from explanatory plaques at the museum: It was initially a multireligious (largely pagan) state. The name derives from the fact that in the 4th century, Emperor Constantine moved his capital from Rome to a city that had been known as Byzantium (changed to Constantinople). The practice of Christianity was legalized and the official language shifted from Roman (Latin) to Greek. What in the Roman Empire had been an urbanized culture slowly transformed to more agrarian settlements. The Emperor was considered the highest representative of both earthly and spiritual leadership.
This theme is relevant to the development of Byzantine art over many centuries. In this stunning mosaic (the figures are close to life-size) the Emperor (in the center) appears with the kind of halo one associates with saints. (Sorry about the odd perspective...I was holding the camera as high as I could, but it was still lower than the top of the mosaic, hence the sense that the figures are tipping toward one another.)
Part of the movement to suppress religious practices counter to Christianity led to "decontaminating" ancient temples by turning them into places of Christian worship. When they couldn't be changed, pagan works of art or places of worship were demolished or defaced.
"The Parthenon, the preeminent symbol of the ancient world, was transformed into . . . a basilica . . . and damage was inflicted on much of the . . . sculptural decoration. . . [It] became an important shrine of the Virgin and . . .was used as the cathedral of Athens" (text abridged from a plaque at the museum).
Another expression of the ascendancy of Christianity was the movement toward "iconlclasm"--literally, breaking icons (for two distinct periods totaling about 80 years, mostly in the 8th century). "The veneration of icons bearing depictions of religious personages" was considered heretical and those that "appeared on public buildings were destroyed and replaced with the symbol of the cross . . . The eventual triumph of those who supported the use of icons was considered a victory for Orthodoxy. This development had a lasting effect . . . on art . . . and Byzantine culture."
My colleague, Alexis Kokkos, who accompanied us to the museum, is very knowledgeable about art. He pointed out the ways in which Byzantine art was a product of the social, political, and religious contexts. There is a very constrained, "static" feeling. For example, though painted by various artists over many different years, images tended to be very repetitious.
Byzantine artists were more than a century behind the Europeans in discovering the "vanishing point"--so their painting appear flat and without depth for far longer. In other words, while Michaelangelo was painting the vibrant, energetic figures on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, Byzantine art continued to depict quiet, tight, standardized compositions that reflected the hierarchical organization of public and private life--and the enormous role of religion.
Within those constraints, however, many artists produced stunning work.
And here is a Virgin and Child. Though there is some sense of depth, the composition is still static. What caught my eye are the gold parts of the painting (also on wood). The artist used some kind of pointy tool (maybe just a nail and a hammer?) to create astonishing texture. You can see it in the closeup of the pillow.
And here's a final issue not directly related to Byzantine art. The flooring of the museum is made of "end-cut" lumber, so that you see a cross section of the grain--i.e., the "growth rings" of the wood. All the wood flooring I've ever seen is cut lengthwise--with the grain instead of across it. As a result, the grain is less visible. Each section of this flooring was about the size of a 3 x 5 index card. Put together it made a wonderfully lively, yet unobtrusive pattern. I loved it! I included my foot so you could get a sense of the size of the pieces. Then I tried to get a closeup of the grain, so you can see how interesting the pattern is.
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