Praxiteles

@Sirius wrote:

As the adjoining lands would remain part of the designated flood plane the cathedral would never be hemmed in by future development . While the cathedral would occasionally be isolated (but not inundated) by a 100-year flood, the floodwaters would soon recede, symbolising the way the Catholic Church will always be able to rise above the periodic assaults by conservative and/or conservationist zealots.

The problem with the hundred year flood in Mallow is that it comes harder and faster and more frequently nowadays. And with all the building in Mallow, the flood is more often than not an inundation.

Thanks Sangallo. That is just the thing for Mallow. If nothing else, it will certainly be noticed. As Sirius says, the flooding problem is not insurmountable. Were the great Professor Cathal O’Neill engaged to draw up plans for this one, his brief should include instructions to make it look as much like Venice as possible. The idea being that Mallow would displace Antewrp and then become the Venice of the Far-North! The stilt solution would also serve the purpose of allowing the good professor to install a marina under the cathedral to accomodate the arrival and departure of gondolas. Of course, a rather larger berth would be needed near the sacristy end to accomodate the arrival and departure of the episcopal bucentaur – but that should not be an insurmountable problem for the man who made over Drogheda railway station.

I am inclined to think that three solutions for the Mallow Cathedral site could be put to the Cloyne Historical Churches Commission (HACK) for recommedation (making sure to tell them that only one option can be chosen):

A. The fortress approach which would require the building of some rather grim fortifications against the Blackwater. The HACK would be unlikely to go along with that as it would it would regard the attendant reduction or loss of the “caring” aspect of the building too much to handle.

B. The Venitian remedy and a stilthed – solution base ever so roughly on the C

Re Oswald’s last posting: It is clear that Oswald knows nothing about the history of the development of the Latin Rite and its liturgical use of space. It is neither helpful nor useful to read a struicture like the cathedrals of Albi or Seville or Auch with a modern idea of “community”. Much more to the point would be St. Paul’s idea of corporation -each part having its own thing to do yet all parts making up the one Body. I have been posting these examples to demonstarte that St. Colman’s Cathedral, while inspired by gothic models, is not a gothic cathedral. Its liturgical use of space, while drawing on gothic prototypes, is not gothic. Indeed, the point to be made about Cobh Cathedral is that it is a “modern” building and its liturgical use of space is also “modern”. Perhaps Oswald should begin to read a little Jungmann and forget about his Cassell inspired a-historicism.

Another excellent example of the liturgical use of space in medieval Cathedrals is Seville. The Choir is separated from the nave of the Cathedral by an opaque Rood Screen, behind which is an enormous choir. While the Choir is immediately in front of the High Altar, it is again separated from the High Altar by a spectacular grille.

Sirius:

Post

Albert van Ouwater’ picture of 1450 depicting the raising of Lazarus shows another liturgical use of the interior of medieval churches, namely burial. In this case, the church is a romanesque church indicating taht we are still operating in the Old Testament. Clearly. the burial took place behind the High Altar.

Another example of liturgical use of the gothic cathedral: Jan van Eyck’s Requiem Mass celebrated in a Gothic Cathedral, possibly Ghent, c. 1440. This is a miniature in the Turin Hours (folio 116r), kept in the Museo Civico in Turin. Note in this case, that everything takes place within the ambit of the gothic, i.e. the Christian Church or the New Testament:

Postong 919 featured a 1450 depiction of the interior of St Gereon in Cologne. Below is a picture of teh same church following re-construction after the last war.

A wing from Rogier van der Weyden’s St. Columba altar piece (1455) depicting the Presentation of Our Lord in the Temple, set in the romanesque interior of St. Gereon’s in Cologne and showing the octagonal nave of the church. Here the contrast bewteen gothic and the earlier romanesque is used to indicate the distinction between Old and New Testaments. The altar piece is now in Munich.

As for flemish piety, suffice it to post Jan van Eych’s 1435 great picture of Nicolas Rolin, Chancellor of the Dukes of Burgundy and Brabant who ruled the Low Countries as Counts of Flanders. Again, the point being made in the picture is stated in its minute details – even in the differentiation of architectural types:

The donor of this painting is Nicolas Rolin, Chancellor of Burgundy and Brabant. He established the Hôtel-Dieu hospital at Beaune where Rogier van der Weyden executed the famous Last Judgment.

Nicolas Rolin, who commissioned this work, was a man with a forceful personality. Despite his humble background, he was highly intelligent and eventually rose to hold the highest offices of State. For over forty years he was Philip the Good’s right-hand man, and one of the principal architects of the monarch’s success. Van Eyck painted him when he was already in his sixties. His face, though marked by the heavy responsibilities he has had to bear, still fascinates the viewer with the sense of energy and will-power which it projects. Rolin is wearing a gold brocade jacket trimmed with mink. He kneels at prayer on the left of the composition. His gaze is pensive, looking as though he has just raised his eyes from his book of hours.

On the right is the seated figure of the Virgin. Wrapped in a voluminous red robe, she is presenting the Infant Jesus to the chancellor while a hovering angel holds a magnificent crown above her head. The figures have been brought together in the loggia of an Italianate palace. The three arches through which the space opens out behind them seem rather large in relation to their immediate surroundings. They give first onto a small garden with lilies and roses symbolizing Mary’s virtues. Slightly farther back are two small figures, one standing at an oblique angle to the viewer and the other with his back to us. Near them are two peacocks, symbols of immortality, but perhaps also of the pride to which such a powerful man as Chancellor Rolin might well succumb.

The most surprising feature in this splendid picture is without doubt the townscape that stretches out beyond the loggia. The crenellated battlements indicate that the palace is in fact a fortress, built on the edge of an escarpment. Below, a broad meandering river with an island in its midst flows through the heart of a city. The humbler areas of the town lie to the left, behind Chancellor Rolin. On the right, behind the Virgin, are the wealthy quarters, with a profusion of buildings, dominated by an imposing Gothic church. Countless tiny figures are flocking towards this part of town, across the bridge and through the roads and squares. Meanwhile on the river, boats are arriving and putting into shore. It is as if all mankind, united by faith, were travelling in pilgrimage towards this city and its cathedral. In the distance, the horizon is closed off by snow-capped mountains under a pinky-yellow sky. In the opinion of Charles de Tolnay, this painting represents a comprehensive vision of the entire universe.