This blog has been written by one of the Archives and Special Collections Centre volunteers. Our volunteers are working with us remotely during the COVID-19 pandemic.
Introduction
My name is Emmanuel and I’m a volunteer at the Archives and Special Collections Centre. I've been working on an Instagram Stories project, which allowed me to share my engagement with items from the Centre’s catalogued collections by way of an Instagram ‘story’. I chose works by potter Adas Dworski, held in the Camberwell ILEA Collection, to be featured in my story as they not only appeal to me aesthetically but their iconography had always been present throughout my childhood. And, so, I felt my early experiences allowed me to engage with them nostalgically but, also, with a renewed (I would later learn) viewing experience.
Madonna and Child
I have always felt an affinity towards images of the Madonna and Child together. Therefore, I was immediately drawn to the pottery plaques by Adas Dworski which draw inspiration from the Byzantine iconography of the Madonna and Child, which is ever present in Catholic and Orthodox religious imagery. Growing up in a religious home with a devoutly Catholic family, images of Christ and crucifixes of all forms (on the wall, plain or stylistic, with or without Christ included, or standing altar types of Orthodox crucifixes) were littered around the house, even a mural of the Last Supper in the dining room and a grotto in the garden. Literally, every space in the home, inside and outside, had a piece of religious iconography. For the most part, I found them to be a bit too severe. However, of course, they would be! Most of the icons showed Christ on the cross, bleeding and dying. If not, then, they were images which alluded to his imminent torture and death, such as the images that depict the Stations of the Cross or Way of the Cross which portray the events of Christ’s Passion (of his condemnation to death, of his carrying of the cross, of him being nailed to the cross, of him dying on the cross, of him being taken down from the cross). One can imagine quite easily the pictures in mind…
So, I have always found the iconography of the Madonna and Child somewhat comforting, at least in comparison to most of Catholic or Orthodox Christian iconography. Therefore, I was delighted to have come across this type of Catholic imagery in the Camberwell ILEA Collection, which is fully digitised and made available online on the University of the Arts London’s website. But I never really knew much about this type of iconography – other than the obvious bond between mother and child. Basically, it was an image which I found to be “sweet” among other dark or serious icons and images.
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In reading up on this type of art, I learnt that the icon of the Madonna and Child actually has a name, the Hodegetria, as seen here in this image of the Mary holding her child. Still unsure of what Hodegetria means, I learn further that its definition means “She who shows / points the way” or “Our Lady of the Way”. Yet, still unsure what this means exactly, I came to learn that it refers to two meanings. The first meaning is the visual display of the Madonna (Mary) holding her child to the side in one arm while pointing to him with the other hand to indicate that her child, Jesus, is the source of salvation. The second meaning relates to the Hodegon Monastery (Monastery of the Hodegoi) in Constantinople (now Istanbul, Turkey), where a nearby well was believed to hold special waters and, so, drew the blind and visually impaired to make their way there in the hope of becoming healed. This, therefore, might be considered as the Madonna showing or pointing “the way” to this well or in short “Our Lady of the Way” who provides directions.
The Hodegetria icon is, however, similar to what I would then learn to be the Panagia Glykophilousa and Panagia Elousa icons, in which the mother and child share a loving look or caress each other’s cheeks in an act of loving tenderness, as seen for example in this and the following images from the same artist. Following in the tradition of all these iconographies, the mother’s eyes always remain sad, which I found (come to think of it) to be peculiar. But then suddenly I didn’t. She’s sad because she knows of her child’s fate, his future Passion (suffering) and eventual torture, crucifixion and death.
Having thought about this idea of foreseeing a loved one’s death far into the future made me, then, recall a contemporary science fiction novella by Ted Chiang called Story of Your Life. In this, the protagonist Dr Louise Banks foresees her daughter’s untimely death, after having learnt the ability to peer into the future. Throughout the story, she questions the existence of her own free will and wrestles with the knowledge of her daughter, whom she is yet to have, dying at a young age and beyond her control. But she agonizes over whether she can change the outcome at all, since if the future is already established then it would mean that it can no longer be changed. So, she chooses to go on despite knowing where the future will lead her life and the life of her child – just as the Madonna knew “the way” the life her own child would take.
Then I suddenly felt that, perhaps, the iconography of the Madonna and Child was not so dissimilar to the rest of Catholicism’s dark and severe imageries that surrounded me as a child. In other words: Not so “sweet” now. But, then, it seemed to me that both women, the Madonna and the character Dr Louise Banks, share a meditation in grief which they both experience in a display of quiet strength as they share a moment of saying goodbye to a loved one, so soon after welcoming them into life and into the world. And, so, just like that I then go back to thinking of it as “sweet” once more, despite all the allusions to death and suffering. But, perhaps, this time I am now more inclined towards “tenderness” than “sweetness.” But, still, I would choose this iconography over most of the other types that had surrounded me growing up. How strange and delightful, I thought as well, how a simple volunteer project would lead me to revisit and, indeed, re-evaluate a piece imagery from my childhood.
You can see images of Dworski's work on the online catalogue for the Camberwell ILEA Collection. The material can be accessed by appointment in the Archives and Special Collections Centre (please note that physical access to the collections is suspended until further notice due to the COVID-19 pandemic).
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