The pages of medieval manuscripts abound in birds so I had no trouble finding a different one to sketch each day last week. You could say this fourth week of #INKtober was for the birds! I started with the lark because of its perching on that teal branch. It was one of several scattered in the margins, all in different poses, all on a teal branch. They have been calling to me since day one. Their role in medieval times was dual, both as ingredient in pate and as a domesticated song bird. It was associated with several natural cycles, including the daily cycle because it sang at sunrise: "The lark takes its name from praise of the day. It is never mistaken about the dawn, even when this arrives early. It makes regular circles high in the air, it varies its agreeable song with a suave diversity. It is said that it marks each hour of the day with joyous trills. By devoting itself completely to songs of praise, it earns its name, which derives from Laudo." That triangular headcrest helps identify it from similar bird depictions in illuminations. There are examples in 13th century religious orders sermons using the lark to evoke those devoted to a life of religious contemplation: "This bird reproaches idlers for their lethargy and represents the zeal of those given to contemplation. It never feeds on impure things, just as decent men avoid indecent things." Apparently, nothing bad to say about a lark.
The stork was seen as a "model of filial and parental love," and was much discussed by medieval interpreters of the natural world. The way they watch over their nest, never leaving it unattended, was presented as a figure for spiritual vigilance to Christians who might become lax in their prayers. Its devotion to its young was likened to "the master's love for his disciples." There are examples of less favorable characteristics, of course, as in the fable of the stork and the fox, where the stork takes advantage of the fox because of its long beak, or stories of them being "merciless judges of members of their own kind that are suspected of adultery." Sigh . . .
I think most of us are familiar with the image of the phoenix rising from flames in a show of renewal. But I don't think I've ever seen one depicted before the transformation, as it endures those painful flames. That's what drew me to this illumination of The Phoenix on Its Pyre. By the time its legend had been passed down and elaborated upon, those of the Middle Ages using it in manuscripts showed it as having characteristics of a large raptor, although it may be inspired by a real bird, the purple heron that had golden plumage on its back and neck, which may have stimulated observers' imaginations contributing to the legend. The myth tells of a creature that is immortal, who at the end of its 500 year lifespan "collects fragrant substances from the four corner of the earth in order to build a funeral pyre in Heliopolis, the city of the sun. When the pyre is completed, the phoenix alights upon it and stokes the flames with its wings. As the bird is consumed, its ashes produce a little worm that metamorphoses into another bird as it grows, an exact duplicate of the original creature. Hence the mythical bird became a symbol of immortality, or at least of extreme longevity." It is easy to see how Christianity could conscript this story to represent the resurrection of Christ and thus the use of the phoenix in illuminations and Christian art in general is widespread.
The stork was seen as a "model of filial and parental love," and was much discussed by medieval interpreters of the natural world. The way they watch over their nest, never leaving it unattended, was presented as a figure for spiritual vigilance to Christians who might become lax in their prayers. Its devotion to its young was likened to "the master's love for his disciples." There are examples of less favorable characteristics, of course, as in the fable of the stork and the fox, where the stork takes advantage of the fox because of its long beak, or stories of them being "merciless judges of members of their own kind that are suspected of adultery." Sigh . . .
I think most of us are familiar with the image of the phoenix rising from flames in a show of renewal. But I don't think I've ever seen one depicted before the transformation, as it endures those painful flames. That's what drew me to this illumination of The Phoenix on Its Pyre. By the time its legend had been passed down and elaborated upon, those of the Middle Ages using it in manuscripts showed it as having characteristics of a large raptor, although it may be inspired by a real bird, the purple heron that had golden plumage on its back and neck, which may have stimulated observers' imaginations contributing to the legend. The myth tells of a creature that is immortal, who at the end of its 500 year lifespan "collects fragrant substances from the four corner of the earth in order to build a funeral pyre in Heliopolis, the city of the sun. When the pyre is completed, the phoenix alights upon it and stokes the flames with its wings. As the bird is consumed, its ashes produce a little worm that metamorphoses into another bird as it grows, an exact duplicate of the original creature. Hence the mythical bird became a symbol of immortality, or at least of extreme longevity." It is easy to see how Christianity could conscript this story to represent the resurrection of Christ and thus the use of the phoenix in illuminations and Christian art in general is widespread.
The hoopoe is a bird I hadn't heard of but was attracted to because of that big woodpecker-like crest. Apparently that is one of its features, along with its pinkish beige, black and white plumage, that attracts females and can be used to frighten off an enemy when fanned out (see some great photos of this here on Wikipedia). By virtue of how often it shows up adorning margins of late Middle Ages manuscripts, it appealed to medieval tastes, even though there wasn't much else to sing its praises about. Written sources are divided on whether it was a good or bad example, some seeing it as unclean and repellent due to its habits concerning excrement and thus a negative symbol in the writings of moralists (likened to sinners who are defiled by sin and who derive great pleasure from their filth), others seeing it as a symbol of human compassion for others because of its tendency to frequent cemeteries and the belief that it was mourning the dead. Another tradition dating back to the Greek Physiologus associates the hoopoe with a model of filial affection and moralizing that its practice of taking care of the aging hoopee by its young birds should be an example "to those perverse offspring who turn their aged parents out of doors and refuse to care for them in their old age, although the parents took care of them when they were children."
Bestiaries describe the coot as the most placid of birds, nesting in one spot all its life and never using its wings. In general, coots today have weak wings but that doesn't keep them from flying, and strong legs which makes them good runners on land. No telling where the bestiaries came up with this description. But it did make the coot prime subject matter to symbolize good Christians who remain faithful to the church all their life, unlike heretics who randomly follow their whims. Others knew that they sometimes built their nests on rocks, which could then be linked to the parable of the wise and foolish builders with the rocks symbolizing Christ, a firm foundation for one's faith. There are plenty of coots swimming the waters around the area where I live, and perhaps the worst story I've heard about them and their placid nature (or is it more stupidity?) is that in winter they often freeze in place overnight as they rest on the water. Unable to move, they become easy prey for eagles who swoop down and snatch them up.
According to Isidore of Seville, ercinee birds were named after the big primal forest in Germany, and bestiaries explained that in this forest they were "distinguished by their luminous wings: travelers can use their feathers to plot their path so as not to get lost on the way back in the night, or can send out the bird as a pathfinder . . ." J. Andre identified this bird with the Bohemian waxwing that spent its winters in central Europe. Its beige and salmon pink plumage is tipped in what looks like dots of red wax which may be why medieval observers thought these birds luminous. The one I've drawn here is from the only bestiary that contains an illustration of an ercinee that comes close to looking like the Bohemian waxwing.
The swan was popular in medieval manuscripts, not only for its ornamental qualities but also for its symbolism going back to antiquity. The best known legend tells of the song it sings as it dies, thought to be the most beautiful in the world and leading to the expression "swan song" for the final masterpiece of a dying artist. No matter that swans do not actually sing in spite of this and other legends of swans singing. But leave it to our religious friends to find something negative about the beautiful and admired swan. Its "pride of swimming . . . is compared to the haughty air of one who pursues sin until the very end . . . just as the swan is stripped of its plumage and set to roast on a spit, the sinner will end up stripped of his glory to burn in the flames of hell." Another reference citing the white feathers covering a black skin sees the swan as "the symbol of impious hypocrites who feign chastity while indulging in a life of debauchery." Poor swan.
My swan has a very unswanlike beak and a curvy long neck that's a bit out of control, but a swan it is. It is one of a group of swans in an illustration of a story from Virgil's Aeneid: "To this Juturna [the nymph, beloved of Zeus] added an impressive deed: from the height of the heavens she sent a sign, and never was there an omen more likely to dismay and crush the spirits of the Romans. Zeus' eagle, flying through the heavens' crimson light, was chasing a noisy flock, a throng of river birds, when, plunging suddenly into the water, the cruel raptor seized in his clenched claws the most splendid swan. The Romans held their breath as all the birds, with a cry, took flight - an astonishing spectacle, darkening the sky with their wings, forming a cloud, they forced their enemy into the air; finally , overwhelmed by the force of their attack, the eagle let fall back into the river the prey that it gripped in its claws and took flight, disappearing into the clouds."
I can't believe October has 5 weeks, so I have one more week, albeit only a 5 day one, to go. Well, I did mark more than 31 potential subjects and I know just the ones I want to draw as Inktober comes to a close.
Bestiaries describe the coot as the most placid of birds, nesting in one spot all its life and never using its wings. In general, coots today have weak wings but that doesn't keep them from flying, and strong legs which makes them good runners on land. No telling where the bestiaries came up with this description. But it did make the coot prime subject matter to symbolize good Christians who remain faithful to the church all their life, unlike heretics who randomly follow their whims. Others knew that they sometimes built their nests on rocks, which could then be linked to the parable of the wise and foolish builders with the rocks symbolizing Christ, a firm foundation for one's faith. There are plenty of coots swimming the waters around the area where I live, and perhaps the worst story I've heard about them and their placid nature (or is it more stupidity?) is that in winter they often freeze in place overnight as they rest on the water. Unable to move, they become easy prey for eagles who swoop down and snatch them up.
According to Isidore of Seville, ercinee birds were named after the big primal forest in Germany, and bestiaries explained that in this forest they were "distinguished by their luminous wings: travelers can use their feathers to plot their path so as not to get lost on the way back in the night, or can send out the bird as a pathfinder . . ." J. Andre identified this bird with the Bohemian waxwing that spent its winters in central Europe. Its beige and salmon pink plumage is tipped in what looks like dots of red wax which may be why medieval observers thought these birds luminous. The one I've drawn here is from the only bestiary that contains an illustration of an ercinee that comes close to looking like the Bohemian waxwing.
The swan was popular in medieval manuscripts, not only for its ornamental qualities but also for its symbolism going back to antiquity. The best known legend tells of the song it sings as it dies, thought to be the most beautiful in the world and leading to the expression "swan song" for the final masterpiece of a dying artist. No matter that swans do not actually sing in spite of this and other legends of swans singing. But leave it to our religious friends to find something negative about the beautiful and admired swan. Its "pride of swimming . . . is compared to the haughty air of one who pursues sin until the very end . . . just as the swan is stripped of its plumage and set to roast on a spit, the sinner will end up stripped of his glory to burn in the flames of hell." Another reference citing the white feathers covering a black skin sees the swan as "the symbol of impious hypocrites who feign chastity while indulging in a life of debauchery." Poor swan.
My swan has a very unswanlike beak and a curvy long neck that's a bit out of control, but a swan it is. It is one of a group of swans in an illustration of a story from Virgil's Aeneid: "To this Juturna [the nymph, beloved of Zeus] added an impressive deed: from the height of the heavens she sent a sign, and never was there an omen more likely to dismay and crush the spirits of the Romans. Zeus' eagle, flying through the heavens' crimson light, was chasing a noisy flock, a throng of river birds, when, plunging suddenly into the water, the cruel raptor seized in his clenched claws the most splendid swan. The Romans held their breath as all the birds, with a cry, took flight - an astonishing spectacle, darkening the sky with their wings, forming a cloud, they forced their enemy into the air; finally , overwhelmed by the force of their attack, the eagle let fall back into the river the prey that it gripped in its claws and took flight, disappearing into the clouds."
I can't believe October has 5 weeks, so I have one more week, albeit only a 5 day one, to go. Well, I did mark more than 31 potential subjects and I know just the ones I want to draw as Inktober comes to a close.
1 comment:
Really….. WOW…….inspiring and impressive!
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