Gold. There is something magic about this material. This morning a radio show reported on the content of the Swedish gold reserve with some excitement, but of course I started thinking of  gold in art. There is an idea of sustainability of value in both context. Nations keeps gold as a safe capital stock, while in art it is a material that never change or gets old. It just glitters on, and this has also been used symbolically in religious art. I will focus on two examples.

During late Middle Ages, as in the Pietà-sculpture  from Klockrike church (Östergötland), it was used in the clothing of holy characters in order to make them shine. Gold makes the illusion of light coming from the image, instead of the usual effect of light falling on the image. Virgin Mary and the saints could also be covered in gold as the material symbolizes goodness, chastity and virginity.

A golden background is also common in religious art. There is a heavenly and timeless quality to the space the gold creates, as can be seen in Arne Olsson's untitled painting  (a donation to Umeå university). It opens up the surface to a pure place with no borders, just light. In medieval art gold was often contrasted to ultra marine or other shades of blue, since it deepened the effect of both colors. Olsson puts black abstract figures on the shining background, and by painting the vertical figures more shiny than the horizontal he gives the painting a three-dimensional sensation. Minimalistic and very striking.

This week I have been having fun in the archive with one of my research colleagues, Cecilia. The interesting thing with archives is that you do not really know what to find. Usually you have some idea or expectation, but then you realize that the collectors and keepers of the archive might have had other plans. Researchers wants the archived documents to be keepers of truth. And this might very well be the case, but there is also stuff that is completely useless for your work — or the archives may lack materials that you expected. Pieces of the puzzle that for some reason was never kept as they were not considered important.

Architecture historian Beatriz Colomina touched upon this in her book Privacy and Publicity: Modern Architecture as Mass Media (1994), since the archives of the architects Le Corbusier and Adolf Loos were each others opposite. Le Corbusier kept everything for the afterworld (literary everything, from blueprints to laundry notes), while Loos sorted out everything he thought useless (basically just the finished drawings were kept). Both practices are of course problematic for researchers.

Cecilia and I had a creative time working with material on one of the medieval churches of Uppland. School teachers, church wardens and people responsible for restorations of the church all played part in a most dramatic story of sold/stold doors, a Marian altarpiece found under the floor of a barn, the lost and partly destroyed head of the baby Jesus (both stored before restoration in the school's material shed - not out of reach of the pupils curious fingers). But the work also brought us new interesting questions that, hopefully, will end up being answered in both an article and a digital installation. Just be patient!

Just a quick note reminding everyone that today we celebrate Saint Luke. He is the patron saint of painters since he is believed to have made a portrait of the Virgin based on a vision. The icon of the Madonna with child in Rome's Santa Maria Maggiore, called Salus Populi Romani, was believed to be by Luke's hand (together with a few other icons). This illumination of Saint Luke is from a Book of Hours belonging to Maria von Burgund from 1477, where we also find the ox that is his symbol as an evangelist.

When doing a simple google search I found that this is one of the most popular images of the Virgin Mary since it was top of the list (I mean who knows the secrets behind search engines?). Search engines are text based, so this could mean that the image is often used as an illustration in texts that concerns the Virgin Mary. It is called "The Immaculate Heart of Mary" and is believed to have been made in the nineteenth century. What kind of image is it?

The motif is based on the devotional name of The Immaculate Heart of Mary, where her emotional virtues and experiences as the Mother of God is recognized, particularly her love of God, her Son and all Christians. We can see a burning heart with a band of white roses in front of her chest, sending rays of light that reflects on her left hand. As an art historian (I am a secular Protestant in case you are wondering) analyzing this depiction of the Virgin I also notice her appearance. Her young beautiful face, with a compassionate expression. Blue eyes and light brown hair. She wears her traditional colors of red and blue, together with a white vail. She points with her right hand towards the burning heart, that also is the symbol of Christ and his eternal love.

This image is probably made for private devotion, where the Virgin is the intermediator between man and Christ. She listens to your prayers and worries, points to the solution that is loving her Son. She is compassionate and angelic, a friend in need and not judgmental. You can also contemplate on her life and mission, use it as an inspiration for your own if you chose and believe in her existence. I think the picture is popular because it reflects multiple ideas of the Virgin, and that makes it useful for devotion. It also gives her the most common look — the sum of her most popular expression in modern visual culture.

Something that tends to get lost in art historical writing is the situation of the analysis. Maybe one should not go so far as to add your playlist on Spotify as an appendix, even though it might have some influence on your work (I am listening  NINs "Hestitation mark" right now in case you are wondering). The reasons why the situation is left out can be many, not least traditions of academic writing or the fact that you tend to revisit the place of an art work at many occasions. Literature historian bell hooks was the first author I read that included situations of her writing in the texts as an experiment (Now a heavy noise of drilling in concrete drowns my thoughts and NINs music). But also an art historian, T. J. Clark have tried to use the situation as a method in his study on Poussin, The sight of death (2006). He found that his daily journal was more exiting and enlightening of the process of analysis than the more conventional academic prose. In this book one can read of different light conditions due to the weather, how he experiences the art work in the solitariness of a closed museum, when he is disturbed by "the sounds of squeeking Nikes" of a school class and of how the postcard reproductions on his desk finally solves an enigma. I am not sure how this kind of study can give new knowledge of the art of Poussin, I do not have the required competence of the artist to be able to judge that, but it does reveal the complex and sometimes contradictory processes of an art analysis. I have tried to include aspects of situations in texts on methods and academic writing, as illustrations of what can happen with an analysis under different circumstances. Still I have to find ways of illuminating the situation more in my work, because it is a vital part of the experience of art that has impact on your analysis. Just think of how an exhibition can be more interesting if you have a friend along to discuss the art with. (Now the drilling has stopped and piece has returned to my office).

Sometimes my work is fantastic, like today. I will begin with alterations on an article on illustrations of Christmas celebrations that has been on review. Then I will write a proposal of a new article on Virgin Mary and medieval death for a small research group on my department with an interest in Death Studies. Finally I will make the final preparations for the lecture on Surrealism tomorrow morning. All days are not like this, I guess they would loose some of the attraction if they were. But it shows how stimulating academia can be at its best.

The image of the author Christine de Pisan comes from Feminae: Medieval Women and Gender Index: https://inpress.lib.uiowa.edu/feminae/Default.aspx
Here one can find images, journal articles, book reviews and lots of other interesting material on women and medieval studies, so go and have a look.

I always tell my students that as an art historian you learn how to see. One actually becomes quite good at observing details and notice things in a room that, perhaps, others might not pay attention to. Still the fantastic thing with most art is that there always seems to be something left to discover. The more you look, the more you see. This became apparent to me during this week when working on a forthcoming guide of the art at Umeå university. Almost daily for the past decade or more I pass a grand textile called Livets träd (Tree of Life) by the artist Berta Hansson from 1960. And as common for textile art the artist made the original for a weaver to execute. I always thought this particular work was made by one of the most famous studios in Sweden, so I was looking for their brand when I found something else. A beautiful signature with the initials GB inside a loom. Who was this? 

It turned out to be a weaver that Berta Hansson collaborated with on many occations, and who also made her own original work - Gunn Leander-Bjurström (1922-2008). Here she is working with another piece by Berta Hansson, Skapelsen (The Creation). Gunn Leander-Bjurström made mostly tapestries for public spaces all over Sweden, but also in other techniques. Indeed; the more you look, the more you learn!