Since it is March 25 it is perhaps not a surprise that there would be a blog post on the Annunciation — the celebration of the Virgin Mary receiving the message through the angel Gabriel that she would conceive the Son of God. When she accepted this message the Incarnation could happen, that is God could become man. The story is being told in the Bible, Luke 1:26-38, and since the Incarnation is a most fundamental part of Christianity the story of the Annunciation have also been central in Christian art.

I first became fascinated with depictions of the Annunciation during a Ph D-course in Italian art history at the Istituto Svedese in Rome 2002. There were so many variations on the theme depending on what part of this short story the artist was focussing on together with the context of the image itself. Both the Virgin and the angel had different looks, various gestures and activities, and the scene was set in diverse places. Before this I thought the Annunciation strictly just followed both scripture and a given models for images. It kind of does, but especially from the renaissance on there are some interesting renditions of the motif. In this short post I can only present two of my Annunication favorites.

Above you find a medieval relief from a baptismal font of Grötlingbo parish church (Gotland, Sweden) made c. 1200. The angel approaches the Virgin from the left side with a palm leaf in "his" hand (angels are not human, and therefor also of no particular gender). The Virgin Mary is standing on the right side, facing the viewer frontally with her hands folded in front of her. Usually this is understood as a receiving gesture, as sign of how she accepts the angel's message. Her slightly tilted head shows that she is listening to "him" and her gaze to the ground depicts how she actually did not see the angel. Since Gabriel is shown in profile with the feet visible, we can read in some activity in this character. Compare it with the feet of the Virgin and we can see how she is depicted as standing still. Since this sculpture has so much fine detail (even if its color is gone) it is very decorative and moving. The problem is how one should interpret the Virgins expression. It is very easy to fall into anachronistic speculations because it seems so vivid.

Below you find a Annunciation of Antoniazzo Romano painted c. 1500 in Santa Maria sopra Minerva (Rome). It depicts a scene full of different characters but the angel Gabriel still approaches the Virgin Mary from the left, and she … well, what is she doing? Hardly listening or even noticing what is going on, even if we can see how God is sending the dove of the Holy Spirit to make her pregnant with the Son of God. Instead a man and a group of girls are getting the Virgin's full attention, and she is giving one of the girls a bag full of money. It was made for the chapel of a fraternity called Compania della Santissima Annunziata. It was founded by the depicted cardinal, Juan de Torquemada, and the aim of the fraternity was to collect money for dowries to poor women in Rome (and these were given to the selected women on March 25 - sometimes by the Pope). Antoniazzo Romano has combine the two narratives into his depiction of the Annunciation.

If you are curious of learning a bit more of this last image you can find a paper presentation I gave at Leeds International Medieval Congress in 2006 here (together with other interesting papers from other members of Umeå Group of Premodern Studies): http://www.org.umu.se/ugps/eng/working-paper-series/ Then remember to look for images of the Annunciation on your future church visits and discover all the fascinating variations - in looks, gestures, expressions, activities, locations and other characters.

Fragments of history... Doing historical research is often compared to solving puzzles, since finding clues to a problem is basically what research is about (and accidentally many academics I know do like crime fiction). Depending on your line of research the sources differ, but in my current work the main focus is on the medieval images (primarily mural paintings and sculpture in wood and stone). Sometimes the artifacts are fragmented in various ways. Long after the reformation images were forgotten, destroyed or just neglected, then from the late nineteenth century onwards removed, restored or manipulated. The question of authenticity occasionally creeps in, especially if something is almost too good to be true.

From the initial study of an image I compare my readings with texts (medieval revelations, prayers, sermons, theological teachings etc.) that give clues to the narrative and meaning, but also with documents from archives (for instance inventories, old photographs, and reports from restorers) that, together with previous research, bring information on the history of the artifact. This is when I find out if something was too good to be true. And when you discover that the painting or altarpiece you found so interesting have been heavily restored or, even worse, is an included original piece by the restorer  — you might get a little pissed off. The intention behind the manipulations is usually that the restorer wanted to give the viewer a more authentic experience of the image: to make it more medieval but also more beautiful.

Here I will present two short examples of how the restored authenticity might look like in the material I use: both are of a workshop from Gotland called "Passionsmästaren". Above you find a detail of a Presentation from Öja parish church, with the inclusion of a consecration cross.  The original painting have been partially destroyed when restored from the later white-washing, but then a few red lines have been added to give an idea of what it probably looked like originally. The addition is obvious in a sense, and if you have seen other murals by the same workshop you can also believe its authenticity. In my research I can only use it in comparison with better preserved example.

Below there is another example of a Presentation in Hemse parish church, but this one is restored in a different way. In this case the restorer wanted to present a complete work of art in order to present a full experience of a medieval church interior. It was criticized almost immediately, but one can read the restorer's long defense in archives. He claimed to have both studied other better preserved examples of the workshop and used the expertise of a local priest. If the intention is to give visitors an idea of what this church might have looked like in another age it might be ok (and I like it even better if information of the history of the interior and its paintings are available), but it is difficult to use this material in art historical research where attention to details are central for a close reading. You have to be honest, a bit creative, use it with great care, and, once again, base your study on other better preserved examples. Only then can this material also be used as fragments in solving the puzzle.

Art can make you experience new places if you actively participate and enter inside the frame. At BildMuseet in Umeå a piece by Thilo Frank is really making visitors interact and communicating their experiences visually.The installation that makes visitors wait in line to enter is called The Phoenix is closer than it appears from 2010. It is a room of made of mirrors and light, and inside there is a silver colored swing so you can get a sense of weightlessness movement in this open/closed space. Only one visitor at a time is allowed to be inside the box, otherwise the impact of the installation would be lost. For more info and images of this piece (the exhibition will unfortunately end already on Sunday) visit: http://www.bildmuseet.umu.se/en/exhibition/thilo-frank/12043

I had the chance of walking into this quite magical space earlier this week. It was like being inside of both Dante's Paradisio and the Matrix at the same time. Beautiful like a jewel and a bit scary in the sense that the usual points of orientation is lost. All that is reflected is light and you - many, many versions of you (and I do not think that is what is expected of Paradisio). The perception of the installation is based on movement, the impression changes if you walk around, sit or swing. I noticed how my movements became slower in order to really see and experience what happened because of my motions. And I was very cautious on the swing, not ready to leave solid ground completely.

All visitors before me were leaving the installation smiling, and I probably did this as well. Why? Maybe it is just the new experience, both unique and something we want to share with others (check out "Thilo Frank" at Instagram — it will turn all green from all photos from visitors of BildMuseet), full of light, clean and magical. It is a space that I probably will return to as a memory of a moment and a special place I have visited — making it a new point of reference.

This morning I wanted to start off with something really beautiful and heart-warming, and the film "My name is Oona" by artist Gunvor Nelson from 1969 is always a treat to watch. You can find this ten minute piece via this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pe8O5h9EEs

The film is a portrait of the artists daughter, Oona, and it shows her playing, riding, mock-fighting with a boy and basically doing the things a little girl does. She is active and natural, not directed or modeling in front of the camera. The first time I saw it, the looping soundtrack almost made me go crazy, but if you think of it as some kind of mantra it works better. Nelson was inspired by Steve Reich's experiments with looping sounds and music. It is beautifully shot, sound and images intertwines in the expression, and it all ends with a Swedish lullaby.