The Magdalene Review

Church of Mary Magdalene Tour

Here is something worth checking out. In Jerusalem, on the Mt. of Olives, there is a Russian Orthadox church, complete with large golden onion domes, that is dedicated to Mary Magdalene. I’ve never had the good fortune to visit (someday!), and I’ve always wanted to get a better look at it. There are a few photos scattered around online, but nothing fantastic.

Until now, that is.

GoJerusalem.com has just put up a virtual tour of the Church of Mary Magdalene. There is an interior 360-degree view and a view just outside what look to be the main doors. The lovely garden outside makes me feel like I’m sitting on the hill overlooking the city – it’s a magnificent view! Inside (the chapel?), be sure to point the view upward to get a look at the four Mary Magdalene paintings on each wall – two Noli Me Tangere scenes, a crucifixion with MM weeping at the foot of the cross, and my favorite, a painting that appears to be of Mary Magdalene appearing before Pilate in the legend of the red egg.

Be sure to take a look: The Church of Mary Magdalene — Virtual Tour!

Mary Magdalene and an Afghan girl…

Today I stumbled across a post by Mark Vallen in his blog, Art For A Change, in which he compares a modern icon of Mary Magdalene by Robert Lentz (at left) with the famous National Geographic 1984 photograph of a young Afghan girl by Steve McCurry (February 28, 2006: Mary Magdalene is from Afghanistan?).

I hadn’t thought of the similarity of these two pictures before, but the icon does bear a striking resemblence to the photograph. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if it did turn out to be the primary inspiration for Lentz’s icon.

Definitely worth checking out for the side-by-side comparison of the images.

Good Friday and crucifixion art

For another forty-five minutes, here on the West Coast of the United States, it is still Good Friday. It has taken me until now to get time to scan a couple of images and post them. With my love of Passion art combined with my recent interest in Romanesque and medieval Spanish art, I wanted to post a crucifixion image from that region. The trouble is, however, Mary Magdalene rarely showed up in crucifixion art before the 13th century.

For quite some time I believed that the earliest painting to depict Mary Magdalene at the foot of the cross was by Cimabue, a Franciscan painter of the 13th century. (This piece is shown at left.) Upon closer inspection, however, I believe that she is one of the group of woman standing to the far left, behind the Virgin. The figure kneeling at the foot of the cross, although difficult to see due to the state of the mural, clearly has a tonsure hairstyle; shaved at the crown like a monk. Surely this figure is Francis of Assisi. The woman standing near the cross, arms in the air, is a mystery. Although Mary Magdalene has been shown in similar attitudes of grief, there is no halo on this woman. My guess is that she is an anonymous mourner, an “orant” figure.

Mary Magdalene’s appearance at the foot of the cross had much to do with the devotions of the Franciscans, focus on penitence and “observing” the crucifixion through the eyes of one who was there. Coupled with the fact that her presence in that position appears earliest in works of Franciscan-influenced painters establishes a clear relationship between the monastic group and the artistic trend.

As Bonaventura says in his Arbor vitae (Tree of Life):

O my God, good Jesus,
although I am in every way without merit and unworthy,
grant to me,
who did not merit to be present at these events
in the body,
that I may ponder them faithfully
in my mind
and experience toward you,
my God crucified and put to death for me,
that feeling of compassion
which your innocent mother and
the penitent Magdalen experienced
at the very hour of your passion.(1)

Perhaps 60 years after Cimabue’s crucifixion, Pietro Lorenzetti presented a well-formed vision of the Descent from the Cross, with a woman in red kneeling at the foot of the cross kissing Jesus’ feet. Although there is a similar model in the painting, the fact that the woman at the foot of the cross wears red identifies her as Mary Magdalene. The Virgin cradles Jesus’ head. Although Mary Magdalene’s position in similar images would vary, the “Virgin at the head, Magdalene at the feet” theme would be replayed throughout the Renaissance. This formula occurs so often, in fact, that one modern mystical Mary Magdalene author suggests that Mary Magdalene’s place at Jesus’ feet is a hidden allusion to her sexual intimacy with him. (I don’t make this stuff up, I promise.)

The imagery we typically think of during Good Friday, of Jesus hanging on the cross, of the loving hands taking him down, has evolved a great deal through the centuries. Mary Magdalene’s presence was, for the most part, anonymous until Franciscan devotions at the foot of the cross came along. So powerful was this trend among them and, in fact, other mendicants, that the idea seeped into medieval culture at large. Dante even included a reference in his Paradiso; not only does Mary appear at the foot of the cross with Francis and Lady Poverty, she actually places herself upon it with Christ:

Naught it availed being constant and undaunted,
So that, when Mary still remained below,
She mounted up with Christ upon the cross.

But that too darkly I may not proceed,
Francis and Poverty for these two lovers
Take thou henceforward in my speech diffuse. (2)

Now that Mary Magdalene is no longer a penitent, I suppose that such devotions are now obsolete. But penitent or not, she will likely always remain now at the foot of the cross.

* * *
(1) Bonaventura, Bonaventure: The Soul’s Journey into God, The Tree of Life, The Life of St. Francis, trans. Ewert Cousins (New York: Paulist Press, 1978), as cited by Jansen, Katherine Ludwig in The Making of the Magdalen: Preaching and Popular Devotion in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000).

(2) Dante, The Divine Comedy (Paradiso: Canto XI), translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. http://www.ccel.org/d/dante/paradiso/para.txt

Holy Thursday and the Last Supper

Today is usually recognized as Holy Thursday (or Maundy Thursday), commemorating the day when the Eucharist was first instituted by Jesus during the Last Supper. This seems like a good opportunity to discuss Leonardo da Vinci’s famous painting The Last Supper, a mural (technically not a fresco) that covers a large wall in the refectory of Convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie, Milan, Italy.

A rumor has been spreading now for many years, made popular by Dan Brown in his 2003 book, The Da Vinci Code, that the person sitting to Jesus’ right (our left) is not the disciple John, but Mary Magdalene. Contrary to popular belief, Brown didn’t come up with this on his own, and neither did his art historian wife, Blythe. I’m not actually sure who first suggested this, but the earliest mention of the idea I recall coming across was in Lynn Picknett and Clive Prince’s 1998 book, The Templar Revelation: Secret Guardians of the True Identity of Christ. This title is, not surprisingly, also mentioned in The Da Vinci Code.

The $64,000 question: is Mary Magdalene in Leonardo’s Last Supper?

After giving it a great deal of thought, spending way too much time looking at scans of the painting as well as reproductions made before it had deteriorated, and reading many opinions on the matter, I’ve come to believe the following:

1. If the person to Jesus’ right could have been mistaken for a woman by the monks who commissioned the painting in the 16th century, they would have rejected it. We have no record that this was the case.

2. Many other paintings of the Last Supper created during the Renaissance depicted John as a “youth” who was quite feminine. Depicting young men in this fashion was not uncommon at all, and examples can be found in secular art as well.

3. It has become common to view art completely outside of the cultural context in which it was created, leading people to read into paintings what they understand of the world during their own time and in their own society. Since DVC especially, we’ve begun to remove paintings from their context entirely, treating them as conspiracies needing to be solved. This is unfortunate. It’s true that some artists conveyed heterodox ideas, inserting symbolism into their work to thumb their noses at someone or something, but we need to consider them within a broader field of work. Compare “mysterious” paintings to other works by the same artist, to other pieces by contemporary artists in the same culture, and even to earlier pieces depicting the same subject. Usually, such exercises can lead to a great deal of insight and a better understanding of what an artist was trying to do. I believe that the current obsession with the notion that Mary Magdalene is present in the Last Supper is the result of viewing the piece way, WAY out of context.

So no, I don’t believe that Mary Magdalene is pictured in Leonardo’s Last Supper, as much as many people want to believe it, and as fascinating as it would be if it actually was her. The recent interpretation of this figure in this painting is another example of a general distrust of traditional scholarship and a desire for mystery. Now that Mary Magdalene mysticism has registered with such a large audience, I anticipate that we’ll see many more bizarre manifestations of such thinking in the years to come.

MM delivers the news

This is by far one of the coolest images of Mary Magdalene that I’ve come across. The scene being depicted is when Mary Magdalene tells the disciples, Peter in particular, of the resurrection and is disbelieved. She points upward with her right hand to indicate that Jesus is risen, and holds her jar of ointment in the left. Most notable about this relief though is the expression on her face; she doesn’t look happy, in fact, far from it.

From the cloister of the cathedral of Pamplona, c. 1145. Pamplona, Museo de Navarra.
Early Medieval Art in Spain, by Pedro de Palal (New York: H. N. Abrams, 1967), plate 143.

Detail

Last week I endured Zeffirelli’s “Jesus of Nazareth” mini-series in one sitting. It was painfully long (six hours), but I’ve been told so many times that Anne Bancroft’s portrayal of Mary Magdalene is such a classic that I felt I could no longer avoid it. It wasn’t disappointing. The last scene in which she appears is the same scene depicted in the pillar capital here. There is probably a good reason why this scene is so rarely reproduced; it requires the artist to acknowledge how Mary Magdalene must have felt to be disbelieved when delivering such important news. And not by just anyone, but by Jesus’ own followers! If anyone in the world would believe her, it would be them, but unfortunately, this wasn’t to be the case.

So how would she have felt? The artist of this pillar capital makes it clear that she was angry. Her eyebrows are deeply furrowed, the whites of her eyes are stark compared to the rest of those in the image. She appears forceful, assertive. Zeffirelli and Bancroft portray her simlarly; hurt, and angry, resentful, disappointed, and finally, resigned. After defending herself loudly, she almost whispers her last lines: “He asked me to tell you. And so I have.” Mary Magdalene leaves the disciples thus.

Mary and the Grail images, update

In a post from last month, Mary and the Grail (02/22/06), I discussed some 12th century images of the Virgin Mary holding a radiant vessel. These depictions are found only in one region of Spain according to Joseph Goering, author of The Virgin and the Grail, and I questioned whether it’s possible that the woman could represent a composite figure of Ecclesia, the Virgin, and Mary Magdalene.

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve looked at hundreds of pieces of medieval Spanish art, and have determined that:

1. There are at least two more images of Mary holding a mysterious object that Goering didn’t include in his study. Neither of them is clearly a vessel though, which might be why they were excluded. One is a kind of a glowing orb, and the other is perhaps a crown, held on its side at an odd angle. Unfortunately, there are no notes available in my sources about either of these objects.

2. Both images are of Catalan origin, though one was found quite some distance from the others. It appears in a missal (not a painted panel as the others) from a church in the Tarragona province. The others appear in village churches in the Pyrenees.

3. It wasn’t uncommon at all for the Virgin Mary to be identified as “Sancta Maria,” or “SCA Maria” using the nomina sacrum for “Sancta.” There are many examples of this kind of inscription on images that are very clearly the Virgin, as in pictures of the annunciation, the visitation, the nativity, the presentation at temple, etc.

I’m still curious about the possibility that Ecclesia, the Virgin, and Mary Magdalene could have been understood collectively. I found two additional ivory panels that are part of the same set as this early 12th century “Noli Me Tangere” that give me pause. One depicts the crucifixion, the other depicts the three women at the tomb. The crucifixion has only the Virgin and John beneath the cross, so I’m able to compare a figure who is definitely the Virgin with figures who should represent Mary Magdalene. In both the “Noli Me Tangere” and the panel with the women at the tomb, the woman who is Mary Magdalene looks the same as the Virgin in the crucifixion. Her clothing is the same, and more interestingly, the halo around her head is the same. Hers alone of all of the other figures is empty; the others contain elaborate decoration. (I will try to scan these other panels and put them online soon for comparison.)

Just to be clear, it would be unusual for the Virgin to be conflated with Mary Magdalene as late as the 12th century. But in light of the fact that these images are so unique, that they have yet to be adequately explained, and that they share some similarities with my other figures-of-interest, it seems worth pursuing.

Mary and The Grail

This image was part of the apse in the church of St. Clement at Taüll, in the Spanish Pyrenees. She appears beneath a triumphant ascended Christ, amid the college of apostles. Her name is inscribed as only “Sancta Maria.” Several similar images appear in churches in this general region and as far as anyone knows, no where else in the Christian world. But here’s the real kicker: it dates to the earliest part of the 12th century. For anyone who keeps track, that’s before Chretien de Troyes wrote the first romance of the Grail.

Joseph Goering, in his book, The Virgin and the Grail: Origins of a Legend (Yale, 2005), argues that this is an image of the Virgin Mary in a veiled reference to the Pentecost. The fact is that since being discovered, scholars have suggested all sorts of interpretations, and Goering’s is only one possibility out of many. The value of his work is in making a case for the possibility that these images of Mary holding a mysterious radiant vessel served as an inspiration for the Holy Grail story invented by Chretien.

Richard Barber, author of The Holy Grail: Imagination and Belief (Harvard, 2004), also mentioned these images, but did not include any photos in his book. His analysis was intriguing; he believes that they are the last stage in an evolution of portrayals of Ecclesia, a personified figure of the Church. Ecclesia sometimes appears in medieval crucifixion images, occasionally holding a vessel in which she catches Christ’s blood. These depictions were not uncommon from about the 9th century onward.

My interest, of course, is in whether the woman portrayed in these paintings could be Mary Magdalene. Goering says that he considered the possibility and dismissed it based on the authority of art scholars and the fact that Mary Magdalene was typically identified by her long hair. While this is true in later art, it isn’t necessarily so in art during that period and in that region. In fact, a depiction of the “Noli Me Tangere” in ivory from the same period of time (early 12th century), also Spanish, shows Mary Magdalene with her head completely covered, wearing robes very similar to the woman in the grail paintings. Furthermore, I find it interesting that the inscription with the “grail” paintings never identifies the Virgin by her nomina sacrum as in other medieval art, but instead refers to her as “Saint Mary.” (Nomina sacra are abbreviations that were used to identify holy figures in art and in sacred texts.)

To me, there are a few possibilities. I’m not yet convinced that this woman is either the Virgin or Mary Magdalene. At the moment, I’m leaning toward a composite of the two women that might have been prevelant in that area at the time. It is possible that the artists really did intend to depict the Virgin, but gave her Mary Magdalene’s primary attribute, a jar. In a few of the grail paintings, she holds only an ordinary vessel. It is the “glowing” vessels that are problematic. Before we can even begin to construct a possible meaning for the radiance, however, I think we need to positively identify the woman.

To that end, I’ll be doing more reading on medieval Catalan and Iberian art. I’d like to find out how Mary Magdalene was typically portrayed in that area at that time, or if she was at all. I’d also like to see other depictions of the Virgin that refer to her only as “Saint Mary.” I’m also very fascinated by depictions of Ecclesia. This is an area of art research I’ve been looking at more and more frequently, and my interest has been heightened since reading Goering’s book. Given the presence of the Virgin and Mary Magdalene at the crucifixion, their respective identification as Ecclesia at various times, the personified Ecclesia’s presence in crucifixion imagery, Ecclesia’s vessel, Mary Magdalene’s jar, and the tradition of occasionally identifying the woman in John’s resurrection narrative as the Virgin, I think a case can probably be made for a synthesis of the three.

I’m writing my thoughts on these images here now, even in their undeveloped state, because as soon as the “MM as Holy Grail” enthusiasts become aware of these images, they will cite them as proof of their theories. Although I am unfriendly to Magdalene-Grail interpretations of history, I am at least willing to now consider that Mary Magdalene could have had a role in the development of the Holy Grail romances.

Earliest representation of MM in art?

A fellow emailed me to ask about the oldest known depiction of Mary Magdalene. Here is part of my answer:

The earliest known representation of Mary Magdalene is usually cited as the baptistry at Dura-Europos, which dates back to the second century. There is a fresco (perhaps two) that depicts the women approaching the empty tomb, of whom one was Mary Magdalene. This is how she is portrayed in the earliest Christian art, as an undistinguished member of a group. You can find an image in Susan Haskins’ book, Mary Magdalen: Myth and Metaphor, with further information.

Another early piece of art that depicts a woman who was assumed to be Mary Magdalene is the Ruthwell Cross, from the seventh or eighth century, which shows Luke’s anonymous sinner woman anointing Jesus’ feet. Again, however, she isn’t actually named as Mary Magdalene.

I know that she appeared as herself in the popular “Noli Me Tangere” images of the Middle Ages, the earliest of which I can think of at the moment is from the twelfth century.

She didn’t take up residence at the foot of the cross in crucifixion images until the 13th century. Previous to that, if she appeared in crucifixion images, she was part of the retinue of women “watching from afar” or supporting the Virgin near the cross.

In addition to the above, I would add that she also appears as a member of a two-person group in the Chairete scene from the Gospel of Matthew, in which Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary” meet the risen Christ on the road, take him by the feet and worship him. Often, the “other Mary” is the Virgin, but Mary Magdalene is always assumed to be the other woman present even though she is often undistinguished otherwise. (Here is a late example.)

Art from the New Yorker article

While at the newsstand tonight, I picked up a copy of the current issue of The New Yorker for my collection, and to see what kind of art was reproduced with the article. Two of my favorites, which gives me an excuse to post them here:

Pieta, or Deposition, by Fra Bartolomeo (1511-12). According to the New Yorker caption, “The Magdalene cradles Christ’s feet.” Let’s get a closer look:

Are you seeing what I’m seeing? There is blood on her sleeves. Mary Magdalene’s passion certainly wasn’t lost on Fra Bartolomeo; I don’t see any blood on the Virgin’s sleeves.

The second work presented in the article is Titian’s famous St. Mary Magdalene:

The caption reads, “Titian’s painting of the Magdalene in her grotto, from 1530-35. In the Renaissance, she became a ‘Venus in sackcloth.’”

Mary Magdalene Preaching

In my 12/28/05 post, “The Golden Legend”, I discussed Diane Apostolos-Cappadona’s interpretation of a boat in a 16th century painting of Mary Magdalene preaching to a group of people in Gaul. Oddly, I just came across another reference to the same painting in a completely different book that contains the same exact observation.

The book is Mary Magdalene and the Drama of Saints: Theater, Gender, and Religion in Late Medieval England, by Theresa Coletti (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004). The painting is reproduced on page 137, and the accompanying text on page 136 says:

The preaching scene is situated in a wooded area; visible in the background on the left, the image of a sailing vessel alludes to the holy woman’s legendary transport to Marseilles and thereby situates the panel’s representation of the sain’t preaching in relation to her entire life.

That’s all that is said of the boat, but it’s enough. I find it odd that scholars who are otherwise familiar with The Golden Legend of Jacobus de Voragine could completely miss the figures who appear in the background with the boat. I thought at first that Coletti inherited this oversight from Apostolos-Cappadona, but she’s not listed in Coletti’s bibliography.

Granted, this particular misreading is not a very big deal, it’s something that just stands out to me now that I’ve noticed it. I haven’t read Coletti’s book yet, I just came across this while thumbing through it. The book looks promising otherwise.