Sacred Art 101 (3 of 4): East vs. West
Introduction
Armed with the terminology and distinctions defined in the first post and exemplified in the second, we are ready to explore Christian sacred art specifically.
In the next post, the last of this series, we will analyze more deeply what it means for a work of visual art to be sacred, and how such works differ from other religious-themed paintings. But, for now, let it suffice to say that the purpose of Christian sacred artwork is to depict the glory of God in heavenly beings; to convey spiritual realities; to draw the supernatural realm into the viewer’s sensible experience; and thereby to provoke a prayerful sense of awe at the transcendent mysteries of Christian faith.
Both Eastern and Western traditions have generally recognized that this purpose requires that priority be given to eschatological vision over earthly experience. This effectively rules out Realism as the predominant mode for sacred artwork. In addition, both traditions achieve a sense of the other-worldly by depicting figures which are (a) not confined by earthly space, (b) not constrained by earthly limitations, and (c) not afflicted with human imperfection. In accomplishing these ends, however, the Eastern Iconographic tradition (along with its junior cousin in the Medieval West) employs means which differ significantly from those of the West following the Middle Ages.
It is important to note that both approaches have their strengths and weaknesses. Because of Eastern Iconography’s long history, established theological foundations, and well-honed formalism, however, contemporary commentators versed in the theory behind sacred artwork often lean towards the view the Eastern/Medieval is more sublime and therefore superior. My intent in the foregoing is to affirm this sublime character of the Iconographic tradition but at the same time to defend Western Illusionism as equally equipped, at least in principle, to achieve the proper ends of sacred art.
East
Let us begin by understanding the approach taken by the East, which generally lets its rigidly formal, highly Stylized approach do the heavy lifting in conveying a sense of the other-worldly.
In order to dissociate its sacred scenes from the world of mundane experience, and to remove them from the confines of space-time, Eastern Iconography deliberately flattens three-dimensionality. Architectural elements are used sparingly and their perspective deliberately distorted. Backgrounds are frequently flat, on the same plane as the figures, and rendered in unnatural monochromatic colors such as gold.
Annunciation, anonymous (early 14th c.)
St. Philip, anonymous (early 19th c.)
To liberate scenes from the limitations of earthly physics, the figures lack a sense of weightiness and frequently appear to be hovering on their seats or resting lightly on their toes. Similarly, the Stylistic approach to drapery linearizes complex wrinkles and turns the natural curves of hanging fabric into sharp angles that reflect but do not faithfully reproduce the effects of earthly gravity.
Finally, Eastern Iconography employs a style that systematically distorts human proportions and range of movement in order to emphasize spiritual ideals rather than perfection of physique. For example, the figures’ large eyes convey religious enlightenment, their lack of human emotions reflects sobriety of soul, and their disconcerting intensity of gaze (sometimes looking at but never really engaging the viewers, as if seeing beyond or through them) denotes contemplation of a higher reality.
Virgin of Vladimir, anonymous (early 12th c.)
John the Baptist, anonymous (1408)
St. George, anonymous (early 16th c.)
In sum, in embracing the Idealism necessary to depict sacred realities well, the East rejects Illusionism, conveying its Idealistic mode by means of a particular Stylized approach to representation.
East vs. West
We saw in preceding posts in this series, however, that Illusionism of style is not necessarily opposed to Idealism of mode, as the Eastern tradition might have us believe. In fact, the era that saw the greatest flowering of Western Christian artistic achievement, from the fifteenth through the eighteenth centuries, sought to bring a certain degree of Illusionistic Idealism to the depiction of sacred subjects.
Of course, this degree varied from time to time, from place to place, and from artist to artist, some of whom (the Mannerists in general and El Greco in particular spring to mind) took rather different tacks. But on the whole the West from the era of the Renaissance into the nineteenth century employed styles that gravitated toward the Illusionistic end of the spectrum as compared to the East.
This competing approach was motivated by a number of historical, practical, and theoretical factors. One driver, however, seems to have been the determination of early-modern Western artists to depart from mundane reality by moving in a greater, rather than a lesser, direction.
For example, if 3D perspective is too earthly, it is one thing to reduce it to 2D, but Western sacred art has often attempted instead to convey a sense of four-dimensionality.
If mundane clothing is too imperfect, it is one thing to make it look like a hard surface with linear etchings, but Western sacred art has often attempted instead to convey a heightened suppleness that is somehow more perfectly cloth-like than real fabric.
If natural sunlight is too this-worldly, it is one thing to set neutrally lit figures against a monochromatic backdrop, but Western sacred art has attempted instead to conjure up the credible visual effect of supernatural light sources, from glowing hearts to celestial “God rays.”
If ordinary people are too blemished to be bearers of eschatological glory, it is one thing to flatten and distort them, but Western sacred art has attempted instead to elevate them to a certain perfection of Classical proportions, serenity of expression, and effortlessness of movement.
The East’s Stylistic approach to Idealization is highly effective and for good reason has stood the test of time. The price paid by this approach, however, is that it unavoidably distorts human and other forms. In order to convey a sense of what heaven is “like,” it presents the viewer with scenes that, to the untrained eye, can easily come across as flat, stiff, and artificial. And, while we may debate what heaven is “like,” we can all agree that it is not flat, stiff, or artificial.
Having recognized the distinction between Idealization and Stylization, Western sacred art, by contrast, is free to use Illusionism to highlight the truth of the spiritual reality conveyed, an approach more in keeping with how our eyes ordinarily distinguish between what is real vs. what is not and which is thus more accessible to the uninitiated viewer. This avenue is not available to traditions that rely on formal Stylistic conventions, rather than mode and content, to abstract away from mundane realities.
This is not to say that the West’s approach is better or more successful than the East’s, but it is an attempt to explain, at least partially, why the Western tradition has taken on such daunting technical and conceptual challenges—and in so doing pushed the boundaries of visual expression more than many other cultures. Representing four-dimensionality, physically impossible light sources, and figures and fabric that defy gravity, all with credible Illusionism, is a tall order, and numerous practitioners have failed. But it is an ideal for which many Western sacred artists during the early modern era seem to have been striving.
West
Let’s consider some examples of Western art that at least attempt to achieve the sense of mystery and transcendence so characteristic of Eastern Iconography, but without sacrificing the striking effect imparted by Illusionism of style.
I indicated above that much Western sacred art aims to visualize a fourth spatial dimension—that of the heavenly realm, bursting like a cosmic worm-hole into the terrestrial world of 3D space. Excellent examples of this artistic achievement abound in the canon of Western Christian art.
A well-known instance is Raphael’s masterful Ezekiel’s Vision, in which the earthly sky is torn open to reveal a portal to the divine realm.
Ezekiel’s Vision, by Raphael (ca. 1518)
Education of the Virgin, by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (ca. 1732)
Or consider Tiepolo’s Education of the Virgin, in which a subject that could easily be mundane—the instruction of a young child—is infused with supernatural significance by the cloud and heavenly beings intruding upon the earthly architectural setting in a manner that is at once visually credible and yet resistant to 3D spatial analysis.
Luca Giordano’s Dream of St. Joseph features an especially dramatic example of this effect.
Dream of St. Joseph, by Luca Giordano (ca. 1700)
The everyday world of our spatial, physical, and dimensional experience in the lower register is inundated by the ethereal light, gravity-defying cherubs, and rolling clouds of a divine theophany. The terrestrial world is variously illumined and overshadowed by this visitation but, while deeply affected, remains distinct from it.
We also mentioned Western sacred art’s sophisticated approach to the portrayal of supernatural light. While the Iconographic style designates the heavenly realm by means of a monochromatic golden sky, the West indicates sources of grace, revelation, or spiritual enlightenment by Illusionistically bathing its subjects in dramatic illumination from unusual, non-natural, or impossible sources.
This can take the form of a mystic struck from above by a raking beam that leaves the surrounding terrestrial world strangely unaffected, as in Mattia Preti’s St. Paul the Hermit.
St. Paul the Hermit, by Mattia Pretti (ca. 1660)
Or it can involve a warm radiance emanating from a figure (e.g., the Christ Child), object (e.g., the cross), animal (e.g., a dove), or body part (e.g., the Sacred Heart). (Taken to an extreme, this can become what I call the “blinding baby” motif of Christmas art, epitomized by Antonio Balestra’s Adoration of the Shepherds, which, despite the amusing spectacle of the onlooker having to shield his eyes from the radiance of the manger, remains effective at conveying a spiritual truth.)
Adoration of the Shepherds, by Antonio Balestra (ca. early 18th c.)
Meanwhile, Western sacred art indicates that saints and angels in glory transcend natural limitations by showing their Classically proportioned frames in elegant, ballet-like poses—relaxed, effortless, and often unbound by gravity, as with both Mary and especially Gabriel in Giovanni Battista Pittoni’s Annunciation.
Annunciation, by Giovanni Battista Pittoni (1758)
It is not only bodies that are glorified in these works; saints’ garments are also idealized in a way that exceeds physical constraints. Instead of being flatter and stiffer, as in Eastern Iconography, they are often more billowy—simultaneously lighter in weight and more substantive in form. This is hard to describe in words, but a good example is the orange robe of Guido Reni’s St. James the Greater.
St. James the Greater, by Guido Reni (ca. 1637)
Though convincingly rendered in an Illusionistic style, the fabric has characteristics that depart subtly from our mundane experience. It is not as heavy as it should be and retains the form of the simplified folds in a way that captures the essence of drapery better than a real toga ever could.
Similar effects, this time for a fabric in motion, can be seen in this detail from Anton Raphael Mengs’s Adoration of the Shepherds.
Adoration of the Shepherds (detail), by Anton Raphael Mengs (ca. 1770)
East vs. West, Revisited
All four of these elements of the West’s transcendent Illusionism—four-dimensionality, supernatural light sources, idealized clothing, and figures liberated from earthly constraints—are well represented in Jean-Baptiste Marie Pierre’s Nativity, and it is instructive to compare this quintessentially Western version of the scene (left) with the most famous Eastern rendition (right), often attributed to the Russian master Andrei Rublev.
Nativity, by Jean-Baptiste Marie Pierre (late 18th c.)
Nativity, attr. to Andrei Rublev (ca. 1405)
In Rublev’s icon, space and time have collapsed to the point that they are almost unintelligible. While there is some sense of a landscape progressing from foreground to background, the scale of the figures seems to have more to do with their relative importance than with any spatial perspective, and sequential events are telescoped into a single frame (note the Homunculus laying in the manger in one register and being washed by midwives in another). Meanwhile, the reverent formalism of the idealized human figures contrasts incongruously with the cartoonish expressions on the faces of the stable animals.
The whole effect is to leave the viewer with an initial impression of disjointed fragments. Only once the viewer begins to appreciate the coherent symbolism and spiritual unity of the work does the sense of fragmentation begin to resolve. And this, of course, is the point. Rublev wants us to be discomfited in our unexamined focus on the externals of the sensible world and to feel invited to look beyond it to a deeper reality. The Stylistic distortions force us to grope for non-literal meaning, and in so groping we will hopefully encounter something sacred and transcendent.
Now consider Pierre’s version. Here, the heavenly realm (represented by clouds and gravity-defying putti) thrusts itself upon the natural, realistic world of the stable (with its stone floor rough-hewn and its wooden gates rotting), yet there is nothing unnatural or strange about this juxtaposition of stark contrasts. The scene is metaphorically illuminated more by the Christ Child than by the moon, but, again, this is rendered so convincingly that we are not disconcerted by the physically impossible properties of the light source.
Finally, as the heavenly visitation descends to envelop the earthly setting, the figure of the Virgin, who sits at the intersection between the two realms, takes on a highly idealized form, her expression serene and her drapery light and airy. Even though no real person would ever appear so perfect, beneath Pierre’s masterful brush the whole effect seems so fitting as to be almost inevitable.
By depicting the non-natural in a way that seems so “natural” (or, perhaps more precisely, so “not unnatural”), the painting imparts the beauty and attendant truth of the supernatural realm, a realm made accessible through the Incarnation. Pierre’s composition makes clear that this event—the union of the Divine and human—transcends the natural order yet is part of a higher, cosmic purpose: an unfathomable mystery in the light of which all else in heaven and on earth becomes intelligible.
Pierre achieves this powerful sense of the sacred in the context of a credible Illusionism that irresistibly draws the viewer into an immersive experience of the mystery. Note how different this is from Rublev, who conveys mystery by means of stylistic devices so alien to everyday experience that the viewer is forced to keep a respectful distance.
One aim is not inherently superior to the other, but I would argue that Pierre’s is just as valid an approach to communicating transcendent truths and sacred beauty as Rublev’s. It is certainly less esoteric, and thus in some contexts and for some audiences it may be more effective at achieving its purpose.
What’s Next
By comparing and contrasting Illusionistic sacred art in the Western tradition with its more Stylized counterparts in the East, we have explored a number of the key ingredients that make a work of art sacred.
In the next and final post in this series, we will define this category more precisely in relation to other forms of religious-themed art.
Further Reading
Hart, Aidan. “The Renewal of Sacred Art: Timeless Principles and Contemporary Challenges.” Lecture given at St. Mary’s University College, Calgary, Canada, 30 May 2013. <Link>
Kimball, Virginia M. “Mystery in the Ancient Nativity Icon Tradition.” Catholic Digest 19 Dec 2019. <Link>
Krause, Paul. “The Miracle of Western Art.” Crisis Magazine 7 Aug 2021 <Link>
Lev, Elizabeth. How Catholic Art Saved the Faith: The Triumph of Beauty and Truth in Counter-Reformation Art. Manchester, NH: Sophia Institute Press, 2018.