More on the Tower Blocks
There was a pause in the removal of cladding from the tower blocks, and we wondered what was going on. Then it became clear; they had gone as high as they could with a cherry-picker from the ground. I imagined scaffolding would not be the next step (think of how long it would take to build, and the hire charge) and I was right. Instead, in the last few days cradles have appeared, dangling down from the tops of the blocks, and men with harnesses. Abseiling is now an established way of dealing with high buildings, but it is certainly not something I choose to watch. I now notice that they are removing the fixings that held the cladding panels onto the walls, as well as the panels themselves, and the rockwool insulation, so the whole installation is going. It is of course good to reassure the residents, but this looks a bit wasteful. Perhaps they are going to replace it with a whole new system. Anyway, this winter the tower block residents will feel safe, if cold.
Different Hands
Now that the conservators are up close to the painted ceiling, one of them is beginning to think that she can see different hands in the work. The patterns on the panels were presumably stencilled, so there is little scope for variation there, but the busts of saints (and Old Testament figures as we must now say) show distinct variety. Now some of those may be copied from conventional images of the saints, but there seem to be varieties in style, which might suggest that they are not all from the hand of Daniel Bell himself. We have no idea what sort of a studio he operated, but he must have had plenty of assistants on hand to do the stencilling, if nothing else, and since there are seventy-two figures they would have been a lot of work for one person as well. Clearly the figures were completed back at the studio and then brought to St Mary Mags to be stuck on to the flat panels, which I would imagine were stencilled first (though our inspections will show whether that is true).
Meanwhile, at a lower level, there is a bit of a mystery with the Stations of the Cross. These are in roundels, high up on the north and west walls of the nave, carved by Thomas Earp, who was responsible for most of Street's sculptural requirements (and known as "Street's hands").. I have always maintained they were only decorative, and not actually for use, because they are only half a set (of the conventional number, which was well-established by 1865 since Fr Bennett had already used them at Frome) and they are so high up the wall that you really couldn't use them for devotional purposes, because you couldn't read the scenes from the ground. We have photographs from long ago that show a set of enormous painted stations hanging much lower on the walls, which demonstrate that the need was felt for a legible, full set quite early on. I have now had a brief look at the carved Stations, and I have to say that some of them are pretty hard to decipher even close to, being crowded with figures. The one that you could always make out from the ground, however, was the scene of Christ before Pilate, where the seated figure of Pilate is very distinctive. Now, though, having got up close, I have real doubts as to whether this particular sculpture is actually by Thomas Earp. I've been telling everyone how good Earp is (and his carvings at St Peter's, Bournemouth, demonstrate that) but this particular sculpture stands out from the others by differences in style: the figures are much more static, the faces more conventional, the drapery much plainer, and the whole composition is flat and empty (which is why it was easier to read from the floor). I find it hard to believe that this is really Earp's work. Perhaps our volunteer researchers will be able to pursue that question, and indeed how these great Victorian artist-craftsmen organised their studios.
Friday 27 October 2017
Tuesday 17 October 2017
ROOFS
Up The Scaffold
Last week the scaffolding inside the church finally reached the painted ceiling, and I was able to go up and discover that much of what I have been repeating to visitors for years is simply not true! My explanation (taken from Fr Stephenson's history of the church) was that the roof was divided into twelve compartments, and that each represented a month of the year and had saints depicted, each in the month in which their feast falls. I didn't have to get to the top to discover that this was not true, as on the lower level of figures some were from the Old Testament, so not saints at all! It turns out that Adam and Eve appear at the west end, and then there are a number of Old Testament figures before the saints start. We do seem to be correct that the north side are female figures and the south side male, though there is an Annunciation group about halfway down the north side, which is a bit odd. They don't appear to be in months either. It may be a more complex scheme, or possibly just random! One thing that the conservators have discovered is that the figures are painted onto canvas that has then been stuck onto the boards. I had always said we thought everything was painted directly onto the boards, as the boarding seemed visible once we got decent lighting a few years ago, but no-one was sure. The conservators' other big discovery of the first couple of days is that they are not the first to go up there. Someone has removed varnish from the flat sections of the ceiling, apparently by scrubbing, and this has clearly removed paint as well at times. The whole roof was originally varnished, and the ribs and frames are clearly still covered in dark varnish, which in places seems tacky to the touch, though I wonder whether that might be the result of incense residue rather than just the varnish itself. The varnish was a surprise, though I suppose it shouldn't have been, as the conservators' trials in the chancel vault a few months ago had revealed that not only was there a layer of twentieth century varnish (as I had always said) but that this was on top of nineteenth century varnish that was probably original. At some point in the past they clearly had a go at cleaning the roof.
We had no idea that there had been a previous restoration of the roof, and it's hard to imagine when that might have been. The point at which gas light was replaced by electricity seems most likely, as you would presumably want to get up to the gas pipes which ran through the tie-bars at roof plate level. We don't know when that was, though, so that's not much help. It might not be so long ago, as the flat sections of ceiling don't seem very dirty. The ribs and frames, on the other hand, are clearly very colourful under the varnish, in fact the flat surface of each rib seems to be gilded, and there are little flowers with gilt centres on the sides of the ribs, so there is plenty to be revealed. The varnish may make it more complicated, though, as that will presumably require the use of solvents, which makes it much more difficult for volunteers to do (and raises health and safety issues), and we had hoped that cleaning the nave ceiling was going to be the big volunteering opportunity. Hey ho.
Street's Inspiration
I had a week away in Belgium, in Flanders to be accurate, and had a great time. I hadn't realised how much I would like Flanders, but that was dense of me: bike racing, art, architecture, beer, chips, chocolate, marzipan, what's not to like? The other thing that I hadn't realised was how far G E Street was inspired by medieval Flemish buildings. I kept on going round saying, "Now I see," to my friends, who must have got a bit bored with it. I came back and fulsomely went on about it to our architect, who just said, "Yes." Clearly this was not news to people who genuinely knew about architecture, but it was an eye-opener for me.
In Flanders you see churches with immensely steeply-pitched slate roofs, like ours, which is very unEnglish (St Amand, Geel, for example) and indeed the churches in general are very lofty, towering over their urban settings. It's easy to forget how St Mary Mags must have towered over the surrounding houses, now that there are tower blocks around, but its principal feature is still its great height. In those steep Flemish roofs they often have little dormers with pointed gables, presumably for ventilation, as we do (Bruges, Geel). You also see polygonal apses, like ours, again very unEnglish. Most striking was to see, in Geel, medieval churches built of brick and stone; in fact St Amand is "streaky bacon" all over, Street's famous decorative effect. I've always mentioned Siena in this context, but it turns out Flanders is a much more obvious precedent, using the very same materials. The final eureka moment was when I saw statues above nave pillars, very like ours, at St Walburga, Oudenaarde. The church of Our Lady in Bruges has a similar arrangement as well, but they're lower down the pillars, and rather less pleasing. It's unquestionably a baroque device, but Street gives them little gothic canopies, and I dare say there may be medieval examples as well. So, although I was away, I was thinking of home, but in an energising way, for a change.
Last week the scaffolding inside the church finally reached the painted ceiling, and I was able to go up and discover that much of what I have been repeating to visitors for years is simply not true! My explanation (taken from Fr Stephenson's history of the church) was that the roof was divided into twelve compartments, and that each represented a month of the year and had saints depicted, each in the month in which their feast falls. I didn't have to get to the top to discover that this was not true, as on the lower level of figures some were from the Old Testament, so not saints at all! It turns out that Adam and Eve appear at the west end, and then there are a number of Old Testament figures before the saints start. We do seem to be correct that the north side are female figures and the south side male, though there is an Annunciation group about halfway down the north side, which is a bit odd. They don't appear to be in months either. It may be a more complex scheme, or possibly just random! One thing that the conservators have discovered is that the figures are painted onto canvas that has then been stuck onto the boards. I had always said we thought everything was painted directly onto the boards, as the boarding seemed visible once we got decent lighting a few years ago, but no-one was sure. The conservators' other big discovery of the first couple of days is that they are not the first to go up there. Someone has removed varnish from the flat sections of the ceiling, apparently by scrubbing, and this has clearly removed paint as well at times. The whole roof was originally varnished, and the ribs and frames are clearly still covered in dark varnish, which in places seems tacky to the touch, though I wonder whether that might be the result of incense residue rather than just the varnish itself. The varnish was a surprise, though I suppose it shouldn't have been, as the conservators' trials in the chancel vault a few months ago had revealed that not only was there a layer of twentieth century varnish (as I had always said) but that this was on top of nineteenth century varnish that was probably original. At some point in the past they clearly had a go at cleaning the roof.
We had no idea that there had been a previous restoration of the roof, and it's hard to imagine when that might have been. The point at which gas light was replaced by electricity seems most likely, as you would presumably want to get up to the gas pipes which ran through the tie-bars at roof plate level. We don't know when that was, though, so that's not much help. It might not be so long ago, as the flat sections of ceiling don't seem very dirty. The ribs and frames, on the other hand, are clearly very colourful under the varnish, in fact the flat surface of each rib seems to be gilded, and there are little flowers with gilt centres on the sides of the ribs, so there is plenty to be revealed. The varnish may make it more complicated, though, as that will presumably require the use of solvents, which makes it much more difficult for volunteers to do (and raises health and safety issues), and we had hoped that cleaning the nave ceiling was going to be the big volunteering opportunity. Hey ho.
Street's Inspiration
I had a week away in Belgium, in Flanders to be accurate, and had a great time. I hadn't realised how much I would like Flanders, but that was dense of me: bike racing, art, architecture, beer, chips, chocolate, marzipan, what's not to like? The other thing that I hadn't realised was how far G E Street was inspired by medieval Flemish buildings. I kept on going round saying, "Now I see," to my friends, who must have got a bit bored with it. I came back and fulsomely went on about it to our architect, who just said, "Yes." Clearly this was not news to people who genuinely knew about architecture, but it was an eye-opener for me.
In Flanders you see churches with immensely steeply-pitched slate roofs, like ours, which is very unEnglish (St Amand, Geel, for example) and indeed the churches in general are very lofty, towering over their urban settings. It's easy to forget how St Mary Mags must have towered over the surrounding houses, now that there are tower blocks around, but its principal feature is still its great height. In those steep Flemish roofs they often have little dormers with pointed gables, presumably for ventilation, as we do (Bruges, Geel). You also see polygonal apses, like ours, again very unEnglish. Most striking was to see, in Geel, medieval churches built of brick and stone; in fact St Amand is "streaky bacon" all over, Street's famous decorative effect. I've always mentioned Siena in this context, but it turns out Flanders is a much more obvious precedent, using the very same materials. The final eureka moment was when I saw statues above nave pillars, very like ours, at St Walburga, Oudenaarde. The church of Our Lady in Bruges has a similar arrangement as well, but they're lower down the pillars, and rather less pleasing. It's unquestionably a baroque device, but Street gives them little gothic canopies, and I dare say there may be medieval examples as well. So, although I was away, I was thinking of home, but in an energising way, for a change.
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