From Leonardo to limoncello …

… which is not to say that I am working through an Italian encyclopedia, as much as I enjoy reading such works, and as much as I need to start revising my Italian. It is simply an apt summary of my day.

I used to go to the National Gallery and National Portrait Gallery in London as much as humanly possible. I would breathe them in as though my life depended on it, and did get miserable if I wasn’t able to visit them for a few weeks. Until today, I had not visited either of them in over a year, so I was blissfully happy to spend a few hours in the National Gallery, in the Sainsbury Wing’s collection of paintings from 1250 to 1500. As a self-proclaimed medieval geek, I am considerably embarrassed to have to admit that it was my first prolonged visit to that department. I now dread a knock at my door to request that I relinquish my membership of the Guild of aforementioned Medieval Geeks.

Thanks to several childhood summers spent partly in the castles, churches and museums of Northern Europe, I subsequently developed a love of medieval images in books, paintings, sculpture, stained glass, and tapestry. Similarly, as a devout worshipper of the printed book, I have always loved to look at pictures of people reading; for others of my faith, I recommend the collection of works of art showing women reading, entitled Women who read are dangerous, London: Merrell, 2008 – ISBN 9781858944654. I came across an article on Project Muse, written by Kathryn Ready, called ‘Reading Mary as Reader: the Marian art of Dante Gabriel and Christina Rossetti‘, in Victorian Poetry, 46(2), Summer 2008, pp. 151-174, during some recent research; Ready discusses how Rossetti disputes the idea of Mary as being able to read and having access to reading material. Since reading the article about the Rossettis take on the trope of Mary as reader, I have had a particular interest in the relationship of the Virgin Mary to a book or books in Annunciation images. My beloved National Gallery did not let me down.

The Annunciation, by Duccio (1311), at the National Gallery, London

One of the first works that I saw, in Room 51, was Duccio’s Annunciation, from 1311, created as part of his Maesta, to be placed in Siena Cathedral. Herein Mary stands, as though having been frightened during her reading – she stands back, seemingly cringing, under the shelter of the family’s roof, her book still open in one hand. down by her side.

The Burlington House Cartoon, Leonardo da Vinci, c.1499-1500, at the National Gallery, London.

It was at this moment that Leonardo da Vinci drew me from the path using his cartoon of the Virgin Mary, her mother, Saint Anne, and the infants Jesus and John the Baptist; it is known as the Burlington House Cartoon. The women’s smiles are captivating, and to my mind are considerably more intriguing than that of the Mona Lisa, who is their younger by some three or four years. I could have sat looking at that drawing for hours, but family and medieval geekery drew me on.

The attributed artist, Clarisso Maester, of The Virgin and Child, painted about 1265-75 and also in Room 51, includes a very small Annunciation, painted on either side of the curve of the arch above the central image. Here again, Mary holds her book down at her side and her other arm is placed almost defensively, protectively across her chest, as in Duccio’s version. The National Gallery website states that The Virgin and Child “was probably influenced by a Byzantine icon” (see the above link to the work for further information). If such Byzantine icons contained images of Mary reading – I have not yet looked into this – how far back in time lie the origins of the “Mary as Reader” trope?

The Coronation of the Virgin, 1367, by Giusto de’Menabuoi, at the National Gallery, London.

Giusto de’Menabuoi’s Coronation of the Virgin triptych (in Room 52) depicts on the upper panels of the interior of the left and right doors the Annunciation. On the right, Mary, again, has been disturbed from her reading. She is sitting in front of a desk on which a book is open on a reading stand; more books can be seen tucked into an alcove at the side of her desk. One hand again covers her chest.

My final Annunciation of the day – having seen several other paintings as well, to be discussed at some point in the future – was that painted by Fra Filippo Lippi in c.1450-1453, to be found in Room 54.

The Annunciation, by Fra Filippo Lippi, 1450-53, at the National Gallery, London.

Yet again, Mary has been reading, her book still lying open on her lap, and one arm is again moving to cover her chest. Sitting or standing, such a gesture seems to be part of the “Mary as Reader” trope. Again, further research is needed, but at present I need to be taking life easier, so this blog post is as far as such research can go for now.

We left the National Gallery not much later, in search of sustenance. Caffe Vergnano, o how I love thee! Its hot chocolate is so rich and thick that it is a meal in itself, and did itself proud in keeping me going on a long walk up Whitehall via the Cenotaph, Horseguards’ Parade and Westminster Abbey, before heading for a train. On said train journey, it was unanimously agreed that we were too tired to cook dinner, so we headed out to a local restaurant and happily ended the evening with a complimentary Limoncello.

Days don’t get much better than this, and I need more such days.