Inside the Medieval Mind

A duet of exhibitions at the Getty Center encapsulates the Teutonic sensibility. “Ten Centuries of Manuscript Illumination in Germany and Central Europe” traces the form broadly in pages from 19 sumptuously illustrated volumes. “The Stammheim Missal” showcases the most recent addition to the museum’s manuscript collection. The book easily lives up to its billing as “one of the supreme monuments of Romanesque art.”

Scanning the ensemble rekindles wonder about why Germanic art is always so quickly differentiated from that of other European schools. Although it fits in perfectly well generically, it tends to assert itself by notable degrees of difference. When it sets out to be refined, it’s more delicate than French art. When it wants to be bold, it makes Italian work look a little too melodic. Aspirations to simplicity are always complicated by a need for precision. In short, this is an art often defined by the sum of its contradictions.

This must have something to do with the historical anatomy of the country. The survey exhibition, thoughtfully assembled by assistant curator Kurt Barstow, begins with a gospel book from around 850. We’re reminded of the period when Charlemagne more or less unified the country under the Holy Roman Empire. He failed, however, to heal its deep internal political divisions. Such fragmentation probably contributed to stylistic variety.

A page from a 12th century gospel book portraying St. Mark is colored with plum purples, blue and reds in a combination so sophisticated that the page appears modern. So does a 15th century crucifixion in an extraordinary lyric blend of lime green and gold. Speaking of that, one has never seen shinier, more metallic gold-leaf than in these sheets.

If they confirm technical perfection, a framed page in the International Gothic style demonstrates the cosmopolitanism of this art. One zone depicts the crucifixion. Christ doesn’t appear to suffer in these representations. His death is about pathos. The other half of the composition shows St. Anthony Abbot blessing animals, the poor and the sick. The whole manages to be sweet without becoming saccharine.

Miniature scale makes the magic of this work possible. It wouldn’t take, however, without extraordinary concentration from the artist. A page no larger than a paperback book includes a background of a whole castled town.

As books move forward in time, their makers change from cloistered monks to professional artists. Texts shift from Latin to German. “The World Chronicle” was made in Regensburg around 1410. The earliest volume here in German contains one page illustrating the Tower of Babel. Its style is characteristically explicit but the rendering is harshly unharmonic and angular. Figures are squat like peasant dwarfs. The tower is equally cartoon-naturalistic. The work is so like that of Max Beckmann five centuries later that one can only guess Beckmann must have known it.

The 16th century brought Germany the Reformation, adding religious fragmentation to political strife. The latest books on view are entirely secularized. Illustrations occupy whole pages. One depicts three horsemen in a tournament, another ships on stormy seas.

The newly acquired “Stammheim Missal” fairly glows in its own gallery. Arranged by assistant curator Elizabeth C. Tevoitdale, the presentation is, well, illuminating.

According to her wall text, the book was made in the Benedictine Monastery of St. Michael founded in 1010 by St. Bernward, bishop of Hildesheim. Himself an expert scribe and painter, he commissioned richly illustrated books. This legacy evidently inspired his followers to produce the “Stammheim Missal” around 1160.

The natural question about the nature of its importance is almost answered by just taking a look. Its superb physical condition attests to the reverential regard of its makers. In fact, another version was made for daily use, preserving the present original cloistered in the treasury’s pristine sanctity.

Bound manuscripts being what they are, we only get to see two open pages of the missal. The lavish quality of the rest is quite satisfactorily suggested in encased transparencies. These illustrate selected sheets from the book’s calendar, initials and full page paintings. Their style is simple, arrangement complex. Thereby hangs the book’s scholarly interest. Romanesque divines believed St. Augustine’s pronouncement, “The New Testament is Hidden in the Old, and the Old is made clear by the New.”

Artists tried to make Augustine’s idea visible in such illustrations as the single original on view, “The Ascension Miniature.” Its central panel shows Christ rising to heaven after his Resurrection. Corner panels reminded the monks of Old Testament events that either prefigured Jesus’ apotheosis or are explained by it.

In short, the “Stammheim Missal” is quite literally a picture of the medieval mind, these wondrous scenes were the artist’s world.

* “Ten Centuries of Manuscript Illumination in Germany and Central Europe” and “The Stammheim Missal,” the J. Paul Getty Museum at the Getty Center, 1200 Getty Center Drive; through Oct. 18. Parking reservations: (310) 440-7300. Closed Mondays.