The Power of Imagery

 

The Power of Imagery (Day 22 : Buñuel to Tudela)

It’s been the usual long day in 90+f temperatures during the sun-glazed afternoons.

In the Catholic cathedrals, standing at the bannister that separates the altar from the worshippers, I see awesome artistic displays of saints and sinners, Jesus and God, suffering and joy, death and resurrection.

The comparisons of Protestantism and Islam religious displays to Catholicism are striking.

When it comes to mosques, I think of Islam and why there are no human or animal images. There are strict prohibitions on these representations, because of the potential for idolatry. In the now converted mosques of Spain, Islam’s stunning geometric tiles were often left in place. Perhaps because they have the effect of pulling in the worshiper - or the visitor. Nonetheless, they are striking as you walk along them.

I remember my trip to Wittenberg, Germany to explore the start of Protestantism. I stood before the door of the church where Martin Luther supposedly posted his 57 Thesis to deliver his observations and rejections of practices of the time of the Catholic Church. Post-Reformation, Protestant churches are simplistic without gilded icons; they have plain altars and an absence of imagery. 

Deb and I have reached Tudela, and are now headed to the Cathedral of Tudela. This is not our first cathedral on this trip, nor will it be the last.

We plan to take in more than a millenia of history from a single building, for the majesty of its style, for the relief its cool interiors will bring from the heat, and for the power of the imagery, the art and the message within.

The cathedral of Tudela has origins that go back to the Umayyad Caliphate, presumably sometime after the start of the 8th century. The site began as the principal mosque of the time and the area. After the Reconquista, construction of the cathedral started on the site of the mosque.  Blended into and on top of the site of the mosque, the cathedral was built in a mix of Romanesque (thick walls and very few windows) and Gothic (long narrow windows, architectural buttressing and more light) styles. With its blending of Romanesque and Gothic styles, the cathedral has somewhat larger windows and a more spacious and lighter interior, although not as well-lit as later fully Gothic churches.

Once inside we walk among the pillars holding up the 400 foot long nave, the 150 foot-long transept, the 135 foot-high vault - the arched structural system of stone that supports the ceiling, and stroll under the crossing, where above us the 340 foot-high tower reaches skyward. It is big, and an architectural marvel. How did they accomplish this?

We walk along the aisles looking up at the stained glass representations of saints and marvel at the now-expected ornate, gold-shielded iconic representations of God, Jesus, saints and sinners, battles of good and evil, images of condemnation and redemption and the downfall and saving of man.

I come across a powerful painting. I let my imagination run wild in the attempt to understand what it all means.

I see angels on-high to the left and right, blowing their horns to summon us. Another angel carries the cross of Jesus, but I can’t decide if he is going to heaven or down to earth. Is the cross, without Jesus on it, headed towards reunion with God, or is something more dramatic happening? Perhaps, the faithful are being summoned for the Final Judgment.

With the angels it is bright blue, and beautiful. With the people below, it is brown, dirty brown, horrible and a nightmare. I can not miss the sudden, dramatic, eye-catching color change. 

Who is that on the left with the full beard, the penetrating look and the book in his hands? What is he holding? There are many possibilities. Maybe it is the Bible. Maybe it is the book of Judgments, the book of everyone’s life, the book of sins committed and the book of charities performed. 

Who is he? St John? One of other apostles? A prophet? 

What is he doing? Maybe he is reading the list of those bound for heaven and those bound for hell. Maybe this is the rapture or the Second Coming or the Last Judgment. 

Depicted are both the living, represented by fully formed bodies, and the dead, represented by the skeletons.

Am I among those souls? Why are they all men? In the moment this scares me, frightens me, disturbs me. 

Have I lived my life worthy of Redemption? What is in that book to speak for me to get to heaven? To speak against me and send me to hell?

In the blue with the angels, there is room to fly and soar. In the brown we are cheek to cheek, body to body, crowded and chaotic. If I were to see this 500 years ago, I would be scared. I would try to find someone to be a witness for the defense.

But it is 2025. I have training in mathematics and science to explain the world around me. I have medical technologies to take the place of miracles of sight, sound, smell, taste and touch. I have climbed to heights where eagles soar, and flown like the angels with the help of a parachute. I have dove to black depths of the ocean where there is no guiding light.

I don’t have to live in the basement, the cellar, the dirty ground reeking of peat moss without electricity, modern medicine and companionship that goes no further than the distance I can walk in a day.

So I am disturbed by this painting. I am upset. But I am not influenced. 

I wonder if this is great art. I think it is. It made me think and feel. 

Is it educational? I see what people must have thought, believed and felt in the past hundreds of years ago. 

Was it influential? Most likely. Is it influential now? I don’t think so. Nothing in my behavior will change because of seeing this work of art. 

Or so I like to think. Because we, humanity, were like that once; and we could be like that again.