I used to think that paintings of the past could be enjoyed for the beauty they express, which is clearly visible to viewers even if one doesn’t know anything about the painters, their historical and cultural milieu, their artistic models, their ideas, talent, idiosyncrasies.
But is it true?
The adage that beauty is in the eye of the beholder also holds some truth. Some people enjoy a visit to an arts gallery or an exhibition (some too much, like me!), others can’t think of nothing better than a trip to a shopping mall (my idea of hell), others enjoy a sunny afternoon drinking beer outside a pub (there’s more than one hell out there for me), and so forth.
On top of that, I now think that experiencing beauty in a painting also entails some understanding of the painting in a rational way, which underpins and heightens the enjoyment of it.
In past centuries, in particular from the 15th to the 18th century, paintings had layers of meaning that the viewers of their time would have understood and appreciated much more than the average viewer can do now. They were rife with symbolism, most of which we don’t know of anymore.
I’m tempted to ask the question of how much beauty we can really derive from an object, such as a painting, when we do not understand it at all. Or, to put it more esoterically (in a Jungian fashion?), whether the symbols do resonate with something in our subconscious which we humans share with our chromosomes.
Maybe it’s something more prosaic which has to do with the harmony of shapes and colours stimulating a part of our brain that was already well developed in the homo sapiens sapiens when it came to Europe from Africa 45000 years ago and proceeded to invade most of the lands above sea level around the globe.
I like to think it’s all of the above, and maybe more. Which is why I am fascinated by the symbols in painting: they lurk everywhere and make the paintings sometimes clearer, sometimes more complex to read.
An example is plants, which from the Renaissance were incorporated in European paintings because of their real or supposed properties (some health-giving, some deadly, some used for all manner of physical or spiritual purposes).
I discovered recently, following my trip to Belgium, that strawberry plants, for example, often appear at the feet of the Virgin or of saints in Sixteenth century Flemish paintings of religious subject. I did some research and found that the plant held several layers of meanings, based on the physical characteristics of the plant, on its medicinal properties, and on its economic and social significance at the time in the Flanders.
From the physical point of view, the red fruits represented drops of Christ’s blood, but as they point downwards, they also denoted humility.
The trilobite leaves symbolised the Holy Trinity.
The white flowers stood for purity from the original sin, and their five petals for the five wounds on Christ’s body (on the hands, the feet and the chest).
From the medicinal point of view, the entirety of the strawberry plant was used in potions to combat depressive illness: a panacea for the body, just like Christ was the panacea for the soul. Therefore the strawberry plant symbolised, by association, eternal salvation.
Finally, strawberries were a bit of an expensive delicacy and not widely cultivated at the time, therefore painting them at the feet of the Virgin or a saint indicated their value, as well as their virtue.
Here are two examples in found in Belgium:
Many years ago, during a holiday in the Alps with my family, we chanced upon some wild strawberries. Their scent and taste were so intense that it was like eating a strawberry for the first time. Remembering that experience makes me think that the strawberry would indeed be a fruit fit for Paradise.
And here is my own homage to the strawberry fruit and to spring, which has finally arrived in London after a very long winter. And before you ask: yes, I did them myself!
