{"title":"‘I know of but one art’: Alfred Stevens, the Michelangelesque and intermediality","authors":"Ciaran O’Neill","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.4.04","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.4.04","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-12-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48544888","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Lorenzo Bartolini’s British patrons and sitters: some new discoveries","authors":"David Wilson","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.4.03","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.4.03","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-12-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46873795","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
A sculpture that is more than five metres high and constructed from laser-cut painted steel, Marco Cianfanelli’s Shadow Boxing (2013) refers to a photograph taken by Drum photographer Bob Gosani in 1957 that shows a young Nelson Mandela sparring with Jerry Moloi, a boxing champion. Placed outside the Magistrates’ Court in Johannesburg, where a young Mandela defended his clients, Shadow Boxing is also just opposite Chancellor House, where Mandela and fellow activist Oliver Tambo had their law offices between 1952 and 1960. Functioning together with the space, Shadow Boxing invokes a sense of Mandela’s experiences in the 1950s while simultaneously encouraging insights and reflections about the ways in which apartheid histories have had impact on the present. Inviting a metaphorical reading of Mandela’s engagement with the law by being placed outside the Magistrates’ Courts as well as his own law offices, Shadow Boxing, it is suggested, also encourages associative interpretations through its formal and material properties. It is argued that, while it depicts a well-known individual on a large scale, Shadow Boxing encourages a more participative and mnemonic engagement than is usual in public statuary.
Marco Cianfanelli的《影子拳击》(Shadow Boxing, 2013)由激光切割的彩绘钢材制成，雕塑高度超过5米，参考了鼓手摄影师Bob Gosani于1957年拍摄的一张照片，照片中年轻的纳尔逊·曼德拉正在与拳击冠军杰里·莫洛伊对打。“影子拳击”位于约翰内斯堡地方法院外，曼德拉年轻时曾在这里为他的客户辩护。“影子拳击”也就在总理官邸对面，曼德拉和他的活动家奥利弗·坦博在1952年至1960年间曾在这里开过律师事务所。“影子拳击”与空间一起发挥作用，唤起了曼德拉在20世纪50年代的经历，同时鼓励人们对种族隔离历史对当前影响的方式进行洞察和反思。通过将曼德拉置身于地方法院和他自己的律师事务所之外，以隐喻的方式解读他与法律的接触。有人建议，《影子拳击》也通过其形式和物质属性鼓励联想解释。有人认为，虽然它描绘了一个知名的个人在很大程度上，影子拳击鼓励更多的参与和记忆参与比通常的公共雕像。
{"title":"A bout with the law: Marco Cianfanelli’s representation of Nelson Mandela in Shadow Boxing","authors":"B. Schmahmann","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.06","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.06","url":null,"abstract":"A sculpture that is more than five metres high and constructed from laser-cut painted steel, Marco Cianfanelli’s Shadow Boxing (2013) refers to a photograph taken by Drum photographer Bob Gosani in 1957 that shows a young Nelson Mandela sparring with Jerry Moloi, a boxing champion. Placed outside the Magistrates’ Court in Johannesburg, where a young Mandela defended his clients, Shadow Boxing is also just opposite Chancellor House, where Mandela and fellow activist Oliver Tambo had their law offices between 1952 and 1960. Functioning together with the space, Shadow Boxing invokes a sense of Mandela’s experiences in the 1950s while simultaneously encouraging insights and reflections about the ways in which apartheid histories have had impact on the present. Inviting a metaphorical reading of Mandela’s engagement with the law by being placed outside the Magistrates’ Courts as well as his own law offices, Shadow Boxing, it is suggested, also encourages associative interpretations through its formal and material properties. It is argued that, while it depicts a well-known individual on a large scale, Shadow Boxing encourages a more participative and mnemonic engagement than is usual in public statuary.","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"44062549","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
This article studies a remarkable statue of Neptune atop the public fountain of the municipal palace of Senigallia, a fortified town that was once part of the ancient Duchy of Urbino, on Italy’s Adriatic coast. Despite its high quality and prominence, this sculpture in Istrian stone has not yet sparked the interest of art historians. Instead, it has been confined within the field of local studies that have misinterpreted it as a Roman antiquity repurposed on a seventeenth-century basin. Using both published and unpublished documents related to the patronage of fountains and aqueducts in the Marches at the end of the Della Rovere duchy, this article places the Neptune in context. Stylistic comparisons and study of the artistic exchange between Venice and the Marches in the late Renaissance suggest an attribution of the Neptune to Girolamo Campagna. This artist is known to have worked for the Della Rovere, and in 1604 he was called ‘the best [sculptor] in Venice, if not the best available at present in Italy’ by one of Duke Francesco Maria II’s correspondents.
{"title":"‘Quos ego’ in the Adriatic: a Neptune by Girolamo Campagna","authors":"Luca Siracusano","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.02","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.02","url":null,"abstract":"\u0000This article studies a remarkable statue of Neptune atop the public fountain of the municipal palace of Senigallia, a fortified town that was once part of the ancient Duchy of Urbino, on Italy’s Adriatic coast. Despite its high quality and prominence, this sculpture in Istrian stone has not yet sparked the interest of art historians. Instead, it has been confined within the field of local studies that have misinterpreted it as a Roman antiquity repurposed on a seventeenth-century basin. Using both published and unpublished documents related to the patronage of fountains and aqueducts in the Marches at the end of the Della Rovere duchy, this article places the Neptune in context. Stylistic comparisons and study of the artistic exchange between Venice and the Marches in the late Renaissance suggest an attribution of the Neptune to Girolamo Campagna. This artist is known to have worked for the Della Rovere, and in 1604 he was called ‘the best [sculptor] in Venice, if not the best available at present in Italy’ by one of Duke Francesco Maria II’s correspondents.","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48825240","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Alice Channer, Alisa Baremboym, Nicolas Deshayes, K. Mooney, Tania Pérez Córdova, A. Wilding
The machines didn’t stop – there was no bright red alarm button.1 In response, I’ve invited a group of five artists, Alisa Baremboym, Nicolas Deshayes, K. R. M. Mooney, Tania Pérez Córdova and Alison Wilding, whose work and relationship to sculpture I admire, to imagine, on their own terms, the theme of process. Last August we shot my first video, Birthing Pools. The camera-eyes were suspended over four hypnotic, bubbling tanks in a chroming factory near where I live in south-east London. I have taken metal things there to be expertly skinned and armoured in glamorous chrome for over a decade now; often forms cast from clothing, as well as plant and animal bodies. What pulls me back isn’t so much the ‘finished’ sculptures I’m ostensibly making, but rather the process itself, which is seductive and disturbing. Especially the electroplating tanks, their raging surfaces criss-crossed with metal bars from which jigs are hung, submerging parts beneath and within liquid surfaces for specific periods of time (fig. 1). During lockdown I often thought of the churning, primordial pools in the factory, and the bodies that move fluidly around them. I couldn’t imagine them stilled and my intuition was right – tanks and bodies never stopped simmering; production was continuous. We filmed the copper (blue), nickel (green), hexavalent chromium (black and orange) and rinse (clear) baths over several hours as they produced a pleated chrome skin on multiple, jigged, sand-cast and vapour-blasted aluminium parts for a sculpture, Seahorse. What can such artistic strategies achieve if the production line never stops? What does it mean to author sculpture on these compromised terms? What agency do we have as artists in relation to industrial production and the late-stage global capitalism that drives it relentlessly and lethally? I think we can be honest, making, on our own terms, these deliberately obscured processes visible in our work. This is what I mean by twenty-firstcentury process art; we can punch holes and make ruptures in smooth, hard, continent, complete and totalizing surfaces. This is what happens when, for example, naked spider and brown crab shells, their bodies ‘ill acknowledged by vertebrate production chains’,2 are loaded into a planetary system. A planetary system is a large, rotating, steel structure made to hold hundreds of identical plastic parts (for example, car headlamps) while they are being coated in a thin layer of aluminium in a vacuum metallizing chamber. Planetary System (Kolzer DGK63”) is also the title of a sculpture I made in 2019 (fig. 2). The multiple crustacean bodies infest a machine ostensibly used to Artist-edited feature
机器没有停止——没有亮红色的报警按钮作为回应，我邀请了五位艺术家，Alisa Baremboym, Nicolas Deshayes, K. R. M. Mooney, Tania psamez Córdova和Alison Wilding，他们的作品和与雕塑的关系我很欣赏，以他们自己的方式来想象过程的主题。去年八月，我们拍摄了我的第一个视频《分娩池》。在伦敦东南部我住的地方附近的一家铬化工厂里，摄像机的眼睛悬挂在四个催眠的、冒着泡泡的罐里。十多年来，我一直把金属物品带到那里，让它们熟练地剥皮，并穿上迷人的镀铬盔甲;通常由衣服、植物和动物的身体铸造而成。把我拉回来的并不是我表面上所做的“完成”的雕塑，而是过程本身，这是诱人的和令人不安的。尤其是电镀槽，它们狂暴的表面与悬挂着夹具的金属条纵横交错，在特定的时间内将零件淹没在液体表面下或液体表面内(图1)。在封锁期间，我经常想到工厂里翻腾的原始水池，以及在它们周围流动的身体。我无法想象他们会安静下来，我的直觉是对的——坦克和尸体从来没有停止过沸腾;生产是连续的。我们拍摄了铜(蓝色)，镍(绿色)，六价铬(黑色和橙色)和漂洗(透明)的几个小时，因为他们在多个，跳跳，砂铸和蒸汽喷砂的铝部件上制作了褶皱的铬皮肤雕塑，海马。如果生产线永远不停歇，这样的艺术策略能达到什么效果呢?在这些妥协的条件下创作雕塑意味着什么?作为艺术家，我们在工业生产和后期的全球资本主义中有什么代理机构，这些资本主义无情而致命地推动着它?我认为我们可以诚实地，用我们自己的方式，在我们的作品中，把这些刻意模糊的过程呈现出来。这就是我所说的21世纪工艺艺术;我们可以在光滑的、坚硬的、大陆的、完整的和整体的表面上打洞和破裂。例如，当裸蜘蛛和棕蟹壳被装载到一个行星系统中时，它们的身体“不被脊椎动物生产链认可”。行星系统是一个巨大的、旋转的钢结构，用来容纳数百个相同的塑料部件(例如，汽车前照灯)，同时它们在真空金属化室中被涂上一层薄铝。行星系统(Kolzer DGK63”)也是我在2019年创作的一件雕塑的标题(图2)。多个甲壳类动物的身体寄生在一台表面上用于艺术家编辑功能的机器上
{"title":"Sand in the Vaseline: on twenty-first-century process art","authors":"Alice Channer, Alisa Baremboym, Nicolas Deshayes, K. Mooney, Tania Pérez Córdova, A. Wilding","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.07","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.07","url":null,"abstract":"The machines didn’t stop – there was no bright red alarm button.1 In response, I’ve invited a group of five artists, Alisa Baremboym, Nicolas Deshayes, K. R. M. Mooney, Tania Pérez Córdova and Alison Wilding, whose work and relationship to sculpture I admire, to imagine, on their own terms, the theme of process. Last August we shot my first video, Birthing Pools. The camera-eyes were suspended over four hypnotic, bubbling tanks in a chroming factory near where I live in south-east London. I have taken metal things there to be expertly skinned and armoured in glamorous chrome for over a decade now; often forms cast from clothing, as well as plant and animal bodies. What pulls me back isn’t so much the ‘finished’ sculptures I’m ostensibly making, but rather the process itself, which is seductive and disturbing. Especially the electroplating tanks, their raging surfaces criss-crossed with metal bars from which jigs are hung, submerging parts beneath and within liquid surfaces for specific periods of time (fig. 1). During lockdown I often thought of the churning, primordial pools in the factory, and the bodies that move fluidly around them. I couldn’t imagine them stilled and my intuition was right – tanks and bodies never stopped simmering; production was continuous. We filmed the copper (blue), nickel (green), hexavalent chromium (black and orange) and rinse (clear) baths over several hours as they produced a pleated chrome skin on multiple, jigged, sand-cast and vapour-blasted aluminium parts for a sculpture, Seahorse. What can such artistic strategies achieve if the production line never stops? What does it mean to author sculpture on these compromised terms? What agency do we have as artists in relation to industrial production and the late-stage global capitalism that drives it relentlessly and lethally? I think we can be honest, making, on our own terms, these deliberately obscured processes visible in our work. This is what I mean by twenty-firstcentury process art; we can punch holes and make ruptures in smooth, hard, continent, complete and totalizing surfaces. This is what happens when, for example, naked spider and brown crab shells, their bodies ‘ill acknowledged by vertebrate production chains’,2 are loaded into a planetary system. A planetary system is a large, rotating, steel structure made to hold hundreds of identical plastic parts (for example, car headlamps) while they are being coated in a thin layer of aluminium in a vacuum metallizing chamber. Planetary System (Kolzer DGK63”) is also the title of a sculpture I made in 2019 (fig. 2). The multiple crustacean bodies infest a machine ostensibly used to Artist-edited feature","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"41834448","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Between 1969 and 1970, the first international retrospective devoted to Constantin Brancusi was hosted by the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Art Institute of Chicago and Gemeentemuseum den Haag. In 1970 the first retrospective of Brancusi’s work in his native Romania was held at Muzeul de Artă R.S.R., Bucharest. This article establishes for the first time that these exhibitions were part of a single project, facilitated by an unprecedented exchange of loans between American museums and the institutions of a socialist republic. Based on extensive archival research, the article details the conflicting interests of the scholars, curators and state officials involved in the project, the geopolitical moment that made it possible, and the ideological contest over the meanings and values represented by Brancusi’s sculpture that lay at its very core. In particular, it brings to light the compromised position occupied by the exhibition’s curator, the American Brancusi scholar Sidney Geist, and the research he conducted in Romania in the mid-1960s; the diplomatic efforts of the Guggenheim’s director Thomas M. Messer, working in concert with members of the US State Department; and the peculiar status of Brancusi as a cultural figure under Nicolae Ceauşescu.
1969年至1970年间，纽约所罗门·R·古根海姆博物馆、费城艺术博物馆、芝加哥艺术学院和哈格美术馆举办了第一届康斯坦丁·布兰库西国际回顾展。1970年，Brancusi在其祖国罗马尼亚的第一次作品回顾展在布加勒斯特的Muzeul de ArtăR.s.R.举行。这篇文章首次证明，这些展览是一个单一项目的一部分，这得益于美国博物馆和社会主义共和国机构之间前所未有的贷款交换。基于广泛的档案研究，这篇文章详细描述了参与该项目的学者、策展人和国家官员之间的利益冲突，使其成为可能的地缘政治时刻，以及围绕布兰库西雕塑所代表的意义和价值观的意识形态之争。特别是，它揭示了展览策展人、美国布兰库西学者西德尼·盖斯特所占据的妥协立场，以及他20世纪60年代中期在罗马尼亚进行的研究；古根海姆博物馆馆长托马斯·M·梅塞尔与美国国务院成员合作的外交努力；以及布兰库西作为尼古拉·齐奥塞斯库领导下的文化人物的特殊地位。
{"title":"Brancusi, Romania and the United States: a love story in the summer of ’69","authors":"J. Vernon","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.05","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.05","url":null,"abstract":"\u0000Between 1969 and 1970, the first international retrospective devoted to Constantin Brancusi was hosted by the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Art Institute of Chicago and Gemeentemuseum den Haag. In 1970 the first retrospective of Brancusi’s work in his native Romania was held at Muzeul de Artă R.S.R., Bucharest. This article establishes for the first time that these exhibitions were part of a single project, facilitated by an unprecedented exchange of loans between American museums and the institutions of a socialist republic. Based on extensive archival research, the article details the conflicting interests of the scholars, curators and state officials involved in the project, the geopolitical moment that made it possible, and the ideological contest over the meanings and values represented by Brancusi’s sculpture that lay at its very core. In particular, it brings to light the compromised position occupied by the exhibition’s curator, the American Brancusi scholar Sidney Geist, and the research he conducted in Romania in the mid-1960s; the diplomatic efforts of the Guggenheim’s director Thomas M. Messer, working in concert with members of the US State Department; and the peculiar status of Brancusi as a cultural figure under Nicolae Ceauşescu.","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"45021157","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Editorial","authors":"E. Marchand, E. Foster, T. Kittler, Emma M. Payne","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.01","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.01","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42854163","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Known only through published and archival documents, John McHale’s Constructivist Kit series (1954) captures the artist’s conceptual concerns in the mid-1950s with the creative potential of the machine, the supposedly democratizing value of mass production, and the need for British society to acclimatize to the materials and systems of the post Second World War environment. In requiring audience participation, the do-it-yourself artworks undermined conventional viewing practices and challenged the hegemony of visual perception, tapping in to discourses coming out of sculptural aesthetics about haptic and visual modes of engagement and the educational function of art.
{"title":"John McHale’s participatory art: the Constructivist Kit series","authors":"Rachel Stratton","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.04","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.04","url":null,"abstract":"\u0000Known only through published and archival documents, John McHale’s Constructivist Kit series (1954) captures the artist’s conceptual concerns in the mid-1950s with the creative potential of the machine, the supposedly democratizing value of mass production, and the need for British society to acclimatize to the materials and systems of the post Second World War environment. In requiring audience participation, the do-it-yourself artworks undermined conventional viewing practices and challenged the hegemony of visual perception, tapping in to discourses coming out of sculptural aesthetics about haptic and visual modes of engagement and the educational function of art.","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49604826","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
The monuments in St Paul’s Cathedral, nearly three hundred objects, include large-scale marble and bronze sculptures as well as works of humbler design and/or materials. Much of the scholarship devoted to these memorials centres on impressive monuments by famous sculptors that venerate high-ranking military heroes as well as significant political and cultural figures. In contrast, this article investigates the monument to Men Murdered in the Sinai Desert (1883), a brass panel by the London-based firm Hart, Son, Peard & Co., to call attention to this understudied genre of monuments in the cathedral. Known at the time as the Palmer Expedition, the events commemorated by the panel seized the public imagination as a precursor of Major General Charles Gordon’s fall at Khartoum in 1885. Resurrecting a long-forgotten story through archival sources and press accounts, this article sheds light on a hitherto overlooked work concerned with British involvement in the Middle East, specifically Egypt and Sudan. The panel thus serves as a lens to reveal the significance of Orientalist visual culture in St Paul’s pantheon. The analysis of this panel, which is dedicated to spies rather than soldiers, aims to reshape our understanding of the way the monuments in St Paul’s memorialize different types of service and project notions of valour.
{"title":"The monument to Men Murdered in the Sinai Desert: empire and Orientalism in St Paul’s Cathedral","authors":"M. Hewitson","doi":"10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.03","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2022.31.2.03","url":null,"abstract":"\u0000The monuments in St Paul’s Cathedral, nearly three hundred objects, include large-scale marble and bronze sculptures as well as works of humbler design and/or materials. Much of the scholarship devoted to these memorials centres on impressive monuments by famous sculptors that venerate high-ranking military heroes as well as significant political and cultural figures. In contrast, this article investigates the monument to Men Murdered in the Sinai Desert (1883), a brass panel by the London-based firm Hart, Son, Peard & Co., to call attention to this understudied genre of monuments in the cathedral. Known at the time as the Palmer Expedition, the events commemorated by the panel seized the public imagination as a precursor of Major General Charles Gordon’s fall at Khartoum in 1885. Resurrecting a long-forgotten story through archival sources and press accounts, this article sheds light on a hitherto overlooked work concerned with British involvement in the Middle East, specifically Egypt and Sudan. The panel thus serves as a lens to reveal the significance of Orientalist visual culture in St Paul’s pantheon. The analysis of this panel, which is dedicated to spies rather than soldiers, aims to reshape our understanding of the way the monuments in St Paul’s memorialize different types of service and project notions of valour.","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-06-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47094976","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
This article reports on findings concerning the use and understanding of marble in the eighteenth century, as uncovered by a team of geologists and conservators at the Department of Engineering Technology at the Technical University of Munich. While researching a group of marble objects in Bayreuth in order to devise suitable conservation methods, it became apparent that the eighteenth-century understanding of ‘marble’ was different to how we define the stone today. This earlier definition of marble was based on colour, pattern and the ability to shine when polished. However, by the end of the eighteenth century, there was a shift to a focus on the different grain sizes of the stones, while the previously defining quality of colour became less important. Such developments advanced towards the recognition of limestone and marble as two different types, enabling the distinction between sedimentary limestone and its metamorphic product marble to be drawn in the first half of the nineteenth century. At the same time, the exploration of local sources caused the exclusivity of marble to dwindle. Once a building and decorative material for the elite, it now became more widely available. Marble was still the material of sovereigns - proudly presented as locally found - but it simultaneously became accessible to a wider market for household utensils or collectors’ items. This is demonstrated through the exploration of a range of German sources, including encyclopaedias and lexicons with their inherent aim of accumulating the universal knowledge of their time, a ‘marble’ compendium, and a description of the prison and workhouse in St Georgen in Bayreuth, which had marble works on its premises.
{"title":"The term ‘marble’ in eighteenth-century encyclopaedic literature: from colourful and exclusive to grainy and popular","authors":"Margreta Sonnenwald","doi":"10.3828/sj.2021.30.2.8","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.3828/sj.2021.30.2.8","url":null,"abstract":"\u0000This article reports on findings concerning the use and understanding of marble in the eighteenth century, as uncovered by a team of geologists and conservators at the Department of Engineering Technology at the Technical University of Munich. While researching a group of marble objects in Bayreuth in order to devise suitable conservation methods, it became apparent that the eighteenth-century understanding of ‘marble’ was different to how we define the stone today. This earlier definition of marble was based on colour, pattern and the ability to shine when polished. However, by the end of the eighteenth century, there was a shift to a focus on the different grain sizes of the stones, while the previously defining quality of colour became less important. Such developments advanced towards the recognition of limestone and marble as two different types, enabling the distinction between sedimentary limestone and its metamorphic product marble to be drawn in the first half of the nineteenth century. At the same time, the exploration of local sources caused the exclusivity of marble to dwindle. Once a building and decorative material for the elite, it now became more widely available. Marble was still the material of sovereigns - proudly presented as locally found - but it simultaneously became accessible to a wider market for household utensils or collectors’ items. This is demonstrated through the exploration of a range of German sources, including encyclopaedias and lexicons with their inherent aim of accumulating the universal knowledge of their time, a ‘marble’ compendium, and a description of the prison and workhouse in St Georgen in Bayreuth, which had marble works on its premises.","PeriodicalId":21666,"journal":{"name":"Sculpture Journal","volume":null,"pages":null},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2021-11-01","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"41475630","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"艺术学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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