What's in a kiss, anyway?

Just at the end of Spring semester this year, I was preparing a paper for a workshop I was co-organizing on Gender, Emotions and Material Culture in Scandinavian History. The workshop was hosted by UGPS Umeå Group for Premodern Studies, UCGS Umeå Centre for Gender Studies (both Umeå University) and ARC Centre of Excellence for the History of Emotions (University of Western Australia), and it was an intimate explorative workshop with specially invited participants. My paper put forward some reflexions and questions on the theme 'The sulking saint and the headless Jesus: Aspects of materiality and emotions on material sacredness and sacred heritage in post-Reformation Sweden', and while researching and putting together my presentation I was struck by the number of kisses and sensual gestures that (unexpectedly, to me) emerged from my material. 

'Kissing the Relic', oil painting by Joaquín Sorolla (1893)

In the implementation of the Reformation in Sweden, and particularly after the parliament of Västerås in 1544 where a number of Catholic items and practices - lighting devotional candles, burning incense, the use of monstrances and Holy Water, etc - were explicitly forbidden, a new and dramatically different approach to sacred materiality developed. These changes also mirror quite well the heritagisation effects on holy matter: from touching to no touching (if not with white gloves), from sensuality to material preservation, from interaction and communication to one-direction information, from dialogue with material sacredness to cultural or historical admiration. And: from kissing to respectful distance. 

Devotional kissing of the relic of Virgin Mary's girdle while on display in Moscow (normally to be found on Mount Athos)

Facing all those examples in written sources, paintings, satires etc on a sensual past long gone and replaced by a more intellectual view on holy matters, where control of the body, senses and general appearance were major virtues, I had to ask myself: What does it do to a culture when sensuality is banned - in religion, or elsewhere?

Mocking the kissing of the Pope's foot. Satire woodcut by Lucas Cranach the Elder from 'Passionary of the Christ and Antichrist', early 16th century.

The sources for my Master thesis in History of Ideas and Science touched upon this a little. In the Swedish national inventories for antiquities, performed by order of the King from 1666 throughout the century and mostly executed by the local clergy, Catholic practices are mentioned and mocked. One example are the monks said to have been dancing in a field every year before a pilgrimage to Trondheim in Norway, and so violently that the marks in the ground could still be seen decades later. Or another, where the priest giving the report in late 17th century describes how the boards of a liturgic coffin where a wooden Christ was laid during the Holy Week liturgies, were 'licked with the lips so that it was smooth and worn'. I wonder, and presently without a clear answer, where all this kissing and devout relationship to sacred materiality went after 1544 and the eventual establishment of the Reformation?

 Girl kissing a relic of S:t Clare on the Saint's feast day in Monastery of Poor Clares, Laguna, Philippines

Were the physical means of expressing emotions all intellectualized with the change of religious teachings? And in any case, for my research interest: How did the travelers from this (in a religious context) non-kissing country up North react to the physical and emotional expressions in Italy and in Catholic practice? Fact is, I have already found a number of sources giving interesting information on this... but I won't give away every juicy part of my dissertation before it is finished, so I'll get back to you on that topic. Stay patient!

So. What's in a kiss, anyway? Beyond doubt a kiss is so much more than the general romantic kiss between lovers, but is it even always a good thing? It can be soaked in symbolic meaning, far beyond the visual, like the kiss of peace, the kissing of a ring or the feet of someone as an act of subjection, or it can be a kiss of betrayal.

Humble and symbolically charged kissing. Pope Francis kissing the foot of an inmate at juvenile detention centre of Casal del Marmo in Rome, Holy Thursday liturgy 2013. (Photo: The Globe and Mail)

Betrayal kissing. The kiss of Judas, oil painting by Caravaggio (1602)

I would like to wrap up these thoughts on kisses, kissing and sensual experience of strongly charged objects, and the possible effects when this dimension is removed, by giving you some lines from a favorite poem. It is by e e cummings, voices to voices, lip to lip (Read the whole poem here, and a short interpretation here. I recommend it.):

(While you and i have lips and voices which

are for kissing and to sing with

who cares if some oneyed son for a bitch

invents an instrument to measure Spring with?

each dream nascitur, is not made...)

why then to Hell with that: the other; this,

since the thing perhaps is

to eat flowers and not to be afraid.

Come closer! Creating improved access

Coming closer: Dr. Cecilia Lindhé at Umeå university HUMlab using digital visualizing methods to approach medieval images of Virgin Mary in new ways. Learn more about the project here.

When setting up this blog a little more than a month ago, I mentioned that the whole blogging adventure was initiated by the PhD course in Digital History I am following this semester. Within this course, we are required to design and build a visualization project related to our dissertations, and this is why my thoughts now and then have moved beyond my regular 17th century source material to dwell upon the Why's, What's and How's of this task. (For this reason, and general technology nerdiness, of course.)

The coming two weeks I will be a guest blogger at K-Blogg, the blog of Swedish National Heritage Board (have to warn you, though: It's in Swedish). The National Heritage Board is working with and collaborating in many digitizing projects to improve access to cultural heritage, like Kringla (Swedish collective museum search), K-samsök or SOCH, and Europeana. Digitizing what is labeled as the national heritage has been a priority in Swedish cultural politics for almost two decades now, and the primary aim is to create an improved access to this shared physical and immaterial fund of (imagined) shared memory for a broad audience. 

These efforts, corresponding to similar projects internationally, have created a possible overview and countless entries to collections, databases and categories that were accessible only to specialists before. However, I believe that a true and equal access of this kind not only requires efforts concerning the range of databases and on-line availability, but also concerning the receiving part, i.e. the users. Many questions pop up in my head: 

- What prerequisites with the user are necessary for her/him to actually benefit from and make use of all these new and almost unlimited possibilities? Basic knowledge of Swedish and European history and geography? Basic knowledge of culture and religion(s)? Knowledge of colonialism, cultural influences, art history, etc..? Or no prerequisites at all?

Coming closer to the material medieval Marys, here placed in a circle as if talking to each other, in Swedish History Museum's exhibition on Virgin Mary in 2008. Physically closer, but also fragmented, and further from the original content and understanding. (Photo: Christer Åhlin/SHM)

- What do we actually mean by 'improved access'? Is it the possibility to look at and come closer to objects and environments that are normally locked away or closed to visitors? Is it going closer, and aided by digital tools on screen seeing details that were previously - when locked up behind glass in a museum counter - invisible to the eye?

- What values does the digital exhibition (potentially) add, and what values are (potentially) lost with the loss of the physical encounter? An example of an, in my opinion, interesting and innovative on-line exhibition is the Metropolitan Museum's (New York) blog 82nd & Fifth, where the knowledgeable experts in the staff each have picked an item and talk about it. Close-ups of the object are showed, but the strongest impression is, I think, hearing the voices and very personal stories told by people who know their subject well and has a vibrant passion for it. So - judging from this example, at least true passion can be mediated through the web.

- What are the relations between digital exhibitions/digitized objects, the Real McCoy (i.e., the real objects and environments), and authenticity? Is it at all possible to experience authenticity when encountering objects etc. on a screen and not in physical reality, or is the authenticity actually perceived as stronger in a close-up perspective - and will this question be totally irrelevant for coming generations..?

The unsurpassed way to coming very, very close: Touching.

These questions are debated in the museum world, for educational as well as for financial reasons, and a key issue - I presume - must be the future role of the costly storage, care and displaying of authentic objects and environments. Whatever the outcome of these discussions, the importance of education and knowledge with the presumed beneficiaries of the great digital and conservation efforts being made in the growing heritage field is crucial. If basic knowledge is not there, a visitor to the Bode Museum in Berlin will not see a Pietà, the emblematic scene of Virgin Mary mourning her dead son, also according to Christian belief the Son of God who has died to save mankind from eternal condemnation and who will resurrect and conquer Death after three days - s/he will see what is actually physically there, and only that: Two old heads on a wall. The improved access in this scenario can be debated, I think. 

Opinions on this?

(Update 24/10/2103:)

I remembered I wanted to link to this article in The Independent, Tuesday 22 Oct, touching on the subject of basic knowledge and education. The bottom line is that a film like Monty Python's 'Life of Brian' (a film where I have to admit I know most of the lines by heart) would have been impossible in Britain of today. Why? According to the article, because this film is based on references to the Bible and Christian history, and people today would not catch a fragment of the jokes being made since they are religious illiterates. If this is the case, I will safe guard my old Monty Python collection with extra care, since it appears to be on the endangered species list.

Close-up on a fragmented Pietà in Bode Museum, Berlin. The parts left out are filled in by our imagination - given that we have the required knowledge. If not, the two heads make very little sense.

Roman Workday

Yes. I wish this were the regular work look for a Museology researcher in Rome, but, alas: Sweating, no regular motorino driving, sadly no Gregory Peck, and good walking shoes is more like it.

Installed in - at least to a Scandinavian - hot and humid Rome, all children safely arrived as is my research material. Renting an apartment that turned out to be without wifi, we were reminded of how large a part of our lives that is dependent on internet: communication, school, work, banks, information, newspapers, timetables, ticket offices, data storage, and so on. Quite annoying, but we will work it out and try to remember what we used to talk about before smartphones and ipads entered our lives.

Installed also in what will be my work desk until May next year: a table in the beautiful and quiet library of Istituto Svedese di Studi Classici, the Swedish Institute for Classical Studies, in Northern Rome near the Villa Borghese park. Here, the foreign research institutes for art, archaeology, history, architecture, and other humanistic fields are flocking in what was once the outskirts of Rome, but now is regarded as rather central and elegant quarters. The history behind the accumulation of foreign institutes here is quite spectacular; Mussolini decided he wanted foreign states to establish research institutes in Italy, and he offered a piece of land in this Northern part of town to states who promised to build a beautiful and prestigious building and fill it with scientific activity, and also to offer a correspondent piece of land in their respective capitals. The Swedish Institute in Rome was founded in 1925, supported by the Crown Prince Gustav Adolf (later King Gustaf VI Adolf) who had an ardent interest in archaeology. In 1939 the present building in Via Omero, designed by famous Swedish architect Ivar Tengbom, was inaugurated and decorated with furniture and art signed by the most prominent Swedish designers and artists at the time.

Istituto Svedese in Via Omero, 14

Starting out with a classical profile in archaeology and classical studies, the Swedish Institute now has broadened its scope and houses also researchers in Art history, Architecture, Philology, as well as Heritage Studies and other more recently emerged disciplines. Working in this environment means a lot of benefits; first and foremost, a possibility to work in a beautiful and calm environment specially designed for this kind of work, and near the rich sources of historical layers, archives, libraries, buildings, art collections and other such things that make a nerd's eyes sparkle. But also, and not less important, a possibility to meet and talk with a vast range of other researchers from all over the world. In the few days I have been here, I have already met a couple of very good scholars working on journeys to Rome in Premodern time, i.e. with interests quite close to mine - where else would we meet, but here?

Work desk in 1930's design, carrying 2012 computer showing a 17th century diary. A Roman Mille Foglie ('thousand sheets') cake of historical layers.

And then, finally, the magic of authenticity, touching, following the footsteps of... We live very close to the Porta del Popolo, which was the regular entrance to Rome for travelers from the North in 17th century. Though surrounded by cars, motorinos, restaurants, trams and electric light, it is still there. From dusk til dawn and late night, I like to take a walk there just to imagine for a while what it was like to arrive there at different times of the day (as described in the 17th century diaries I study), after what was sometimes a hard journey, and after weeks and months of anticipation - finally there. 

And for me: Finally here.

Porta del Popolo, late 18th century engraving by Giuseppe Vasi

It all started with a headless Jesus

Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus. 15th century sculpture in Strängnäs cathedral (Sweden)

Every so often in the enigmatic world of Academia, when confronted with the arduous work of clever colleagues, a question springs to mind: How on earth did s/he come up with this topic? And what in it was so thrilling, so tickling, so calling out to be explored that it was considered worth spending at least four years of hard work on? Not that it doesn't seem interesting (it often does), it is just the level of specialization that might have a deterrent effect on the non-specialists in the field in question - i.e., sadly, almost everyone.   

For me, it all started with a headless Jesus. The time and place were the end of the 1990’s in the medieval brick cathedral of Strängnäs, Sweden, and I was presented to an image showing Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus. The sculpture was medieval, made of wood and displaying clear signs of neglect and being out of fashion during the past centuries - not a unique state for Catholic objects that for some reason were spared after the Reformation. Now, however, the image not only was given a prominent position in the cathedral, but even honored with a fresh rose and a living candle placed before it on a small altar. All in all, the signs were clear: This was a living relation, a devotion of and an interaction with the divine. ”—We have brought Mary back into the church!”, the Lutheran parish priest stated. It was when I approached and actually looked more closely on the Virgin that I discovered the headless state of baby Jesus. In an instant I discovered that I reacted in a number of habitual ways: as interested in the heritage field and historical matters in one way, as a former museum emplyee in another, and as a frequent visitor to Catholic churches in yet another way. 

The worn, historic image of Mary with a headless baby Jesus in her arms and candles and a flower placed before it sent out, at least to my mind, mixed signals: Was this a historical object to be regarded with nostalgia, was it part of a national or ecclesiastical heritage to be interpreted as sheer materiality, or was it the sacred image it was once made to be, and – despite the headlessness – still a relevant object for devotion? Or, I asked myself, could it actually be all these things at the same time – a state of hybridity, dependent on the beholder and its gaze, prerequisites and convictions? Standing there in the dusky church, a process started that eventually led to studies in Heritage politics, to a Master thesis in History of Ideas and science, and to the topic for the dissertation I am presently working on.

Skokloster Castle 17th century library, Sweden. (Photo: Bengt A Lundberg)

A clue to the ambiguous relationship to materiality, authenticity and sacredness that I became aware of when meeting the headless Jesus might be the years I worked in the rare book collection at Skokloster Castle. When being bought by the Swedish state in 1967 and transformed into a museum, Skokloster also formed a practice and a view on conservation that is still valid in heritage environments. Here it was actually possible to follow and understand the original building process from start to finish, through the books in the library, through letters ordering tools from Holland and other countries, through the same tools still preserved, and through the woodworks, ceiling constructions and lime mortar that were produced on the building site. Conservation was performed by using these original and authentic methods, and the golden rule was to add as little as possible - just to keep the old parts together. How this practice, with the carefully re-glued flakes of paints on the walls, sometimes clashes with the expectations of the visitors is quite vividly illuminated by the crass statement by an American tourist: "This place needs fixing.".

Being educated in this view, the supremacy of material authenticity, I had no problems with heritage objects looking really scruffy - as a matter of fact, the scruffiness just added to my belief in the authenticity. No, the problem with the headless Jesus was something else: it touched upon sacredness and the claims of being "alive" in its original function, as a devotional object. Could this work, even without a head?

In an article, presently under publication (November 2013, Gotländskt Arkiv), I explore the use of medieval religious materiality and practices on Gotland, Sweden, in premodern time and up to now. Without giving away too much of the article, it can be said that the general attitude towards sacred matter presently out of fashion has been severely unsentimental, down-to-earth and utilitarian, and that the appreciation of immaterial values in this category emerged with Romanticism, Piranesi's etchings of Roman ruins and the entrance of the Artist as a major character.

Today, authenticity and sacredness seem to merge in a highly subjective narrative, not primarily based on historical or theological facts, but on what might very well be the most influential currency of our time: Emotions. In this perspective it is hardly surprising that many visitors to the medieval church ruins of Visby, Gotland, express that they experience a particularly strong authenticity during the annual Medieval Festival ('Medeltidsveckan') when the former Franciscan church of S.t Catherine is filled to the brim with reenacting visitors watching jesters performing a fire show. The former sacred building has transformed into a live scene for medieval reenactment, and the result is experienced authenticity and - for some - even a sense of sacredness.

Returning to Mary and her headless baby Jesus, one question seems inevitable: Sacredness - is it objective, or is it all in the eye of the beholder?

Jester from performance group 'Trix' performing a fire show in S.t Catherine's church ruin, Visby. (Photo: Helen Simonsson)