Sign In Subscribe The Taming of the Tarasque, from the Hours of Henry VIII (c1500) Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2018. All rights reserved. Ariella Budick JUNE 23, 2018 Who doesn’t love a monster? Ghastly creatures are endlessly fascinating — unless of course it’s your plumbing they slither through to emerge from the shower drain, or your brain they slurp out like an oyster. A delightfully gruesome exhibition at the Morgan Library and Museum draws an implicit connection between medieval terrors and our own — between the scaly dragons of yore and Guillermo del Toro’s amphibious heartthrob from The Shape of Water. True to its title, Medieval Monsters: Terrors, Aliens, Wonders twinkles with wonderfully creepy images. Nightmare-ready visions of martyrdom, hell or distant lands animate the galleries. Adorably impossible little beings illuminate the indispensable catalogue. But the show’s curators, Sherry Lindquist and Asa Mittman, have more to offer than just geeky fantasy; they present an analysis of human fear and aspiration. The show digs into the tenderness and murderous rage with which we confront the products of own imaginations. Why do we conjure such life forms, only to kill them? Which of our psychic burdens are they born to bear? Many of the creatures in the Morgan show are lovable mashups: hairy, beaked things with untrimmed talons and size 19 paws. And yet the medieval mind took them more seriously, believed in them more fervently, and understood them more literally than we (well, most of us) do today. To them, demons really did infiltrate the minds of the mentally ill and had to be physically expelled. Portraying the tormentors of Christ as slobbering, scowling, bearded gnomes (as the Master of the Jean de Sy Bible did around 1375) made self- evident sense: surely Jews were exactly like that. And of course Africa resembled the continent in the 15th century Livres des merveilles du monde, complete with lizard-eaters and headless natives wearing their faces on their chests. These mixtures of the familiar and the fantastical make us shudder, but they should also prod us to consider what sorts of aliens we caricature or demonise in similarly ignorant and preposterous ways. Then as now, artists used grotesquerie and exaggeration to represent opposite extremes. What we know, revere and hate; what we don’t know but flinch at anyway; what we secretly wish for, invent and fear within ourselves — all these constructs of the mind translate into a menagerie worthy of Star Wars. Mutants are projections of collective anxiety. It’s revealing to see how medieval artists portrayed a particular kind of being, not foreign or alien, but familiar even to monks: women. The Abuses of the World, a book fashioned for King James IV of Scotland, stars a lethal siren, with shapely breasts, a scaly tail, and two pairs of wings. She holds a harp in one hand and a trumpet in the other, the tools of her musical seductions (though the painting is unclear on the logistics of playing them). But it’s her avian claws that reveal her true purpose, shoving men beneath the waves. Siren from 'The Abuses of the World' (c1510) More horrifying even than women were people of undetermined gender, and some of the artists represented here delighted in their misery. One decorative, disturbing scene represents the death of Saint Wilgefortis, whose father had her crucified for growing a beard. Hanging on the cross, a mauve gown covering ample hips and small breasts, she is undeniably female from the waist down, but her three- day stubble and long jaw make her resemble the crucified Jesus on a different page in the same volume. She is a trans martyr. The deformities of the demonic and the damned teach moral lessons, but so does the repulsive suffering of the pure. The Morgan devotes significant wall space to bloodcurdling martyrdoms of saints, ghoulish heroes who continue to profess their faith even with their heads tucked under their arms or their skin sloughing off. Being killed was one route to immortality; killing was another. A knight who felled a (presumably nonexistent) dragon earned glory and power, possibly even sainthood. Manuscripts abounded with images of the Archangel Michael skewering a satanic demon, and St George spearing a serpent that subsisted on a diet of human flesh. These scenes were rendered in brilliant miniature, the tiny struggles of good versus evil bordered by floral motifs. A 16th- century Book of Hours illustrated by Jean Poyer shows an unflappable St Martha, lassoing a man-crunching beast known as the Tarasque. She doesn’t break a sweat and her indigo robe, crimson mantle and white headscarf all remain — yes, miraculously — pristine. Among the most intriguing of these monstricides is Margaret of Antioch, an early Christian virgin who was tossed into prison, with Satan for a cellmate. The devil, in reptilian guise, swallowed her whole. Fortunately she went down with difficulty, clutching a cross that burst his stomach, and she emerged undigested and unbowed. (The Church considers this story dubious.) A 15th-century rendering, also by Jean Poyer, is a small masterpiece of inter-species struggle. The now-sainted Margaret kneels in prayer, a study in unblemished white and gold. Beside her lies an alligator- ish fiend, its ribcage split and torso hollowed out, eyes lifeless yet endearing. Instead of a virgin mother giving birth to a deity, here a demon gives birth to a virgin. Distressingly, she became the patron saint of pregnant women, suggesting that to gestate is monstrous. Detail from 'Tapestry with Wild Men and Moors' (c.1440) Like spiritual history, uncharted physical terrain, too, served as a fertile source of ogres and trolls. One of the most astonishing objects at the Morgan is a 16-foot Alsatian tapestry purporting to chronicle a battle scene in Africa. Wild men with long beards, big sticks and talon toes, their bodies painted with psychedelic squiggles, lay siege to a castle defended by dark- skinned Moors. The strangeness of a society beyond a European’s ken explodes into every inch of the scene: wondrous flora, whimsical towers, and a sky aquiver with quasi-Moorish patterns. The attackers might remind contemporary viewers of Maurice Sendak’s “wild things”, dancing in orgiastic abandon. His bestiary is the projections of a child’s unconscious, giving flesh to his young hero Max’s pain and powerless rage. These warriors, too, displace homegrown savagery to a safe distance. The Crusades and international trade had made Moors exotic but well-known adversaries, and in the tapestry they defend themselves with elegance and poise. The wild men, on the other hand, are both weirder and more recognisable. They might be some imaginary tribe from deep inside a mysterious continent, more terrible than any actual army. But they also look oddly familiar: brutish, whitish, and rather . . . European. That resemblance invites the most horrifying thought of all: I am the monster I fear most. Until September 23, themorgan.org 0 Please keep comments respectful. By commenting, you agree to abide by our community guidelines and these terms and conditions. We encourage you to report inappropriate comments. Newest | Oldest | Most recommended COMMENTS (1) Sign in 2 hours ago Bell47G Extraordinary and sensitive piece. One reason I keep my FT subscription is the arts section. Thank you! Report Recommend Reply Latest on Visual Arts Visual Arts Ship of Tolerance: sailing towards a better future Collecting Masterpiece London: training tomorrow’s experts Collecting The Wallace Collection: a portrait in objects Special Report FT Transact: The Future of Capital Can Big Tech’s threat to democracy be tamed? Visual Arts Manifesta 12: The world’s fair Collecting Fondation Carmignac’s new Porquerolles museum Collecting Discovery channels: where to buy affordable art online The Art Market Master influencer: Victoria Beckham shows Old Masters Follow the topics in this article Visual Arts Add to myFT Ariella Budick Add to myFT Arts Add to myFT Life & Arts Add to myFT Markets data delayed by at least 15 minutes. © THE FINANCIAL TIMES LTD 2018. FT and ‘Financial Times’ are trademarks of The Financial Times Ltd. The Financial Times and its journalism are subject to a self- regulation regime under the FT Editorial Code of Practice . Support View Site Tips Help Centre About Us Accessibility myFT Tour Legal & Privacy Terms & Conditions Privacy Cookies Copyright Slavery Statement & … Services Tools More from the FT Group Visual Arts Add to myFT Medieval Monsters at the Morgan — delightfully gruesome Fabulous beasts from the Middle Ages still throw light on human fears and aspirations Submit Comment
Welcome message from author
This document is posted to help you gain knowledge. Please leave a comment to let me know what you think about it! Share it to your friends and learn new things together.
Transcript
Sign In Subscribe
The Taming of the Tarasque, from the Hours of HenryVIII (c1500)
Copyright The Financial TimesLimited 2018. All rights reserved.
Ariella Budick JUNE 23, 2018
Who doesn’t love a monster? Ghastlycreatures are endlessly fascinating —unless of course it’s your plumbingthey slither through to emerge fromthe shower drain, or your brain theyslurp out like an oyster. A delightfullygruesome exhibition at the MorganLibrary and Museum draws animplicit connection betweenmedieval terrors and our own —between the scaly dragons of yoreand Guillermo del Toro’s amphibiousheartthrob from The Shape of Water.
True to its title, Medieval Monsters:Terrors, Aliens, Wonders twinkleswith wonderfully creepy images.Nightmare-ready visions ofmartyrdom, hell or distant landsanimate the galleries. Adorablyimpossible little beings illuminate theindispensable catalogue. But theshow’s curators, Sherry Lindquistand Asa Mittman, have more to offerthan just geeky fantasy; they presentan analysis of human fear andaspiration. The show digs into thetenderness and murderous rage withwhich we confront the products ofown imaginations. Why do weconjure such life forms, only to killthem? Which of our psychic burdensare they born to bear?
Many of the creatures in the Morganshow are lovable mashups: hairy,beaked things with untrimmed talonsand size 19 paws. And yet themedieval mind took them moreseriously, believed in them morefervently, and understood them moreliterally than we (well, most of us) dotoday. To them, demons really didinfiltrate the minds of the mentally illand had to be physically expelled.Portraying the tormentors of Christas slobbering, scowling, beardedgnomes (as the Master of the Jean deSy Bible did around 1375) made self-evident sense: surely Jews wereexactly like that. And of course Africaresembled the continent in the 15thcentury Livres des merveilles dumonde, complete with lizard-eatersand headless natives wearing theirfaces on their chests. These mixturesof the familiar and the fantasticalmake us shudder, but they shouldalso prod us to consider what sorts ofaliens we caricature or demonise insimilarly ignorant and preposterousways.
Then as now, artists usedgrotesquerie and exaggeration torepresent opposite extremes. Whatwe know, revere and hate; what wedon’t know but flinch at anyway;what we secretly wish for, invent andfear within ourselves — all theseconstructs of the mind translate intoa menagerie worthy of Star Wars.Mutants are projections of collectiveanxiety.
It’s revealing to see how medievalartists portrayed a particular kind ofbeing, not foreign or alien, butfamiliar even to monks: women. TheAbuses of the World, a bookfashioned for King James IV ofScotland, stars a lethal siren, withshapely breasts, a scaly tail, and twopairs of wings. She holds a harp inone hand and a trumpet in the other,the tools of her musical seductions(though the painting is unclear on thelogistics of playing them). But it’s heravian claws that reveal her truepurpose, shoving men beneath thewaves.
Siren from 'The Abuses of the World' (c1510)
More horrifying even than womenwere people of undetermined gender,and some of the artists representedhere delighted in their misery. Onedecorative, disturbing scenerepresents the death of SaintWilgefortis, whose father had hercrucified for growing a beard.Hanging on the cross, a mauve gowncovering ample hips and smallbreasts, she is undeniably femalefrom the waist down, but her three-day stubble and long jaw make herresemble the crucified Jesus on adifferent page in the same volume.She is a trans martyr.
The deformities of the demonic andthe damned teach moral lessons, butso does the repulsive suffering of thepure. The Morgan devotes significantwall space to bloodcurdlingmartyrdoms of saints, ghoulishheroes who continue to profess theirfaith even with their heads tuckedunder their arms or their skinsloughing off. Being killed was oneroute to immortality; killing wasanother. A knight who felled a(presumably nonexistent) dragonearned glory and power, possiblyeven sainthood. Manuscriptsabounded with images of theArchangel Michael skewering asatanic demon, and St Georgespearing a serpent that subsisted on adiet of human flesh. These sceneswere rendered in brilliant miniature,the tiny struggles of good versus evilbordered by floral motifs. A 16th-century Book of Hours illustrated byJean Poyer shows an unflappable StMartha, lassoing a man-crunchingbeast known as the Tarasque. Shedoesn’t break a sweat and her indigorobe, crimson mantle and whiteheadscarf all remain — yes,miraculously — pristine.
Among the most intriguing of thesemonstricides is Margaret of Antioch,an early Christian virgin who wastossed into prison, with Satan for acellmate. The devil, in reptilian guise,swallowed her whole. Fortunately shewent down with difficulty, clutching across that burst his stomach, and sheemerged undigested and unbowed.(The Church considers this storydubious.) A 15th-century rendering,also by Jean Poyer, is a smallmasterpiece of inter-species struggle.The now-sainted Margaret kneels inprayer, a study in unblemished whiteand gold. Beside her lies an alligator-ish fiend, its ribcage split and torsohollowed out, eyes lifeless yetendearing. Instead of a virgin mothergiving birth to a deity, here a demongives birth to a virgin. Distressingly,she became the patron saint ofpregnant women, suggesting that togestate is monstrous.
Detail from 'Tapestry with Wild Men and Moors' (c.1440)
Like spiritual history, unchartedphysical terrain, too, served as afertile source of ogres and trolls. Oneof the most astonishing objects at theMorgan is a 16-foot Alsatian tapestrypurporting to chronicle a battle scenein Africa. Wild men with long beards,big sticks and talon toes, their bodiespainted with psychedelic squiggles,lay siege to a castle defended by dark-skinned Moors. The strangeness of asociety beyond a European’s kenexplodes into every inch of the scene:wondrous flora, whimsical towers,and a sky aquiver with quasi-Moorishpatterns.
The attackers might remindcontemporary viewers of MauriceSendak’s “wild things”, dancing inorgiastic abandon. His bestiary is theprojections of a child’s unconscious,giving flesh to his young hero Max’spain and powerless rage. Thesewarriors, too, displace homegrownsavagery to a safe distance. TheCrusades and international trade hadmade Moors exotic but well-knownadversaries, and in the tapestry theydefend themselves with elegance andpoise. The wild men, on the otherhand, are both weirder and morerecognisable. They might be someimaginary tribe from deep inside amysterious continent, more terriblethan any actual army. But they alsolook oddly familiar: brutish, whitish,and rather . . . European. Thatresemblance invites the mosthorrifying thought of all: I am themonster I fear most.
Until September 23, themorgan.org
0
Please keep comments respectful. By commenting, you agree toabide by our community guidelines and these terms and conditions.We encourage you to report inappropriate comments.
Newest | Oldest | Most recommended
COMMENTS (1)
Sign in
2 hours agoBell47G
Extraordinary and sensitive piece. One reason I
keep my FT subscription is the arts section.
Thank you!
Report Recommend Reply
Latest on Visual Arts
Visual Arts
Ship of Tolerance: sailing towards abetter future
Collecting
Masterpiece London: trainingtomorrow’s experts
Collecting
The Wallace Collection: a portrait inobjects
Special Report FT Transact: The Future ofCapital
Can Big Tech’s threat to democracy betamed?
Visual Arts
Manifesta 12: The world’s fair
Collecting
Fondation Carmignac’s newPorquerolles museum
Collecting
Discovery channels: where to buyaffordable art online
The Art Market
Master influencer: Victoria Beckhamshows Old Masters
Follow the topics in this article
Visual Arts Add to myFT
Ariella Budick Add to myFT
Arts Add to myFT
Life & Arts Add to myFT
Markets data delayed by at least 15 minutes. © THE
FINANCIAL TIMES LTD 2018. FT and ‘Financial Times’ are
trademarks of The Financial Times Ltd.
The Financial Times and its journalism are subject to a self-
regulation regime under the FT Editorial Code of Practice.
Support
View Site Tips
Help Centre
About Us
Accessibility
myFT Tour
Legal & Privacy
Terms & Conditions
Privacy
Cookies
Copyright
Slavery Statement & …
Services
Tools
More from the FT Group
Visual Arts Add to myFT
Medieval Monsters at theMorgan — delightfullygruesome
Fabulous beasts from the Middle Agesstill throw light on human fears andaspirations
Submit Comment
6/24/18, 4)33 PMPage 1 of 1
Related Documents
![Robot-Assisted Feeding: Generalizing Skewering Strategies ... · strategies achieve a good degree of success [8], they require item classi cation and therefore do not generalize to](https://static.cupdf.com/doc/110x72/5fd51036792380483f7b0a95/robot-assisted-feeding-generalizing-skewering-strategies-strategies-achieve.jpg)
