Sybrandt
van
Keulen has written this text on the occasion of the exhibition ‘Echo’ with Jeroen Glas and Henrik Kröner, Heden, The Hague, 2009. He is lecturer in Philosophy of Art and Aesthetics at the University of Amsterdam.
In
painting,
the
halo
has
increasingly
been
applied
during
the
first
centuries
of
the
Christian
era.
This
symbol
has
been
given
various
names
by
the
iconographer:
nimbus,
aureole, and
glory (I).
The
Romans
employed
the expression
nimbus in
all
sorts
of
combinations:
nimbus
florum to
indicate
a
shower
of
blossoms,
or
nimbus
sagittarum for
a
shower
of
arrows,
and
nimbus
numismatum
for
a
shower
of
money.
Linked
to
this
usage,
‘nimbus’
often
means
a
‘luminescent
cloud’.
Sometimes depicted non transparent,
other
times transparent,
in
a
microscopic
thin
line,
but
also
sometimes
in
different
colours,
and
even
in
gold
leaf.
They
certainly
have
not
just
the
geometric
shape
of
a
circle,
triangle
or
quadrangle,
but
are
even
very
often
shaped
as
multiform
flames
or
a
powerful
jet
or
a
fountain
of
sparks.
The
nimbus
could
also
be
depicted
in
the
shape
of
a
luminescent
shadow,
as
a
kind
of
garment
of
someone.
It has not known a fixed shape, neither was the nimbus exclusively used in the Christian or Western world. In the East as well as in the West, the aureole is ‘symbol of power’ and the ‘ornament’ (in the terms of the iconographer) of divinity, typical of both good and evil powers which influence the individual and the society. There is a picture of the Hindu goddess Maya with her head, shoulders, and underarms surrounded by a nimbus of sparks and rays, partly enclosed by a zigzag aureole, while she stands barefooted on a rolling sea of milk that comes from her own breasts, which she holds with her hands and which spout like fountains through her fingers.
It
is
impossible
to
determine
with
certainty
when
the
aureole
was
used
for
the
first
time;
it
seems
as
old
as
ancient
religions.
The
nimbus
was
adopted
by
the
Christians
as
a symbol
of
divine
power,
as
a
means
to
mark
the
hierarchy
between
earthly
and
heavenly
powers.
This
iconic
symbol
was
in
use
until
the
Renaissance.
But
even
from
that
time
on
technical
depiction
of
light
and
the
divine
in
the
arts
have
often
occupied
the
same
space.
A
turning
point
in
the
reproduction
of
the
light
may
be
best
marked
by
the
panel
Madonna
di
Senigallia (circa
1470)
by
Piero
della
Francesca.
All
figures
in
the
picture
the
– child,
the
mother,
the angels -
lack
the
characteristic
sign
of
a
halo.
However,
the
sunlight
that
enters
from
the
window
on
the
background
adding
a
sparkle
to
all
figures
from
left
to
right
is
at
least
very
remarkable.
Especially
the
left
angel’s
hair
is
almost
fluorescent.
It
seems
as
if
the
natural
light
takes
the
place
of
the
omnipresence
of
the
aureole;
that
doesn’t
mean
that
this
light
loses
religious
impact.
Here,
the
art
of
painting
rather
acts
as
a
transforming
force
field:
the
iconic
sign
is
miraculously
erased
and
changed
into
a
pictorial
special
effect.
After
the
painters
mastered
the
techniques
regarding
natural
light
and
having
called
forth
its
glorious
function
to
its
ultimate
refinement,
the
light
of
day,
moon,
and
stars
differentiated
into
many
worldly,
so‐called
secular,
lighting
effects.
These
are
at
least
as
magic
as
the
well‐known
effects
in
the
paintings
of
the
girls
of
Vermeer
and
the
clair‐obscure
of
Rembrandt.
The
auratic
– also
briefly
called
‘aura’
–
has
been
emancipated,
together
with
the
central
light
source
and
the
central
perspective
from
the
specific
religious
practical
value.
The
starry
night
over
the
Rhone (1888)
by
Van
Gogh
shows
a
manipulated
sky,
probably
to
paint
the
relation
between
natural
light
and
artificial
light
(the
gas
lighting
from
the
banks)
in
one
battle field
in
which
neither
prevails.
In
other
words,
this
is
not
a
glorious
scene;
it
is
as
if
almost
the
reverse
is
true:
in
this
spectacle
of
the
night
sky
the
hierarchy
between
celestial
light
and
artificial
light
is
unsettling
in
such a
way,
that
the
difference
is
about
to
disappear.
On
13
June
1794
Friedrich
Schiller
finishes
a
letter
to
Immanuel
Kant
with
the
following
words:
‘Finally,
verehrtester
Herr
Professor,
I
wish
to
ensure
you
of
my
deepest
gratitude
for
the
beneficent
light which
you
have
kindled
in
my
mind’(II).
From
the
poet’s
view
his
Enlightenment
comes
from
another
source,
i.e.
the
one
of
pure
reason,
but
the
opposite
could
also
be
claimed,
viz
that
modern
Enlightenment
has
assimilated, and
therefore
also
erased
it,
all
light
effects
in
the
art
of
painting,
from
nimbus
to
clair‐obscure,
from
divine
to
earthly
and
technical
light.
Hent
de
Vries
says:
‘Perhaps
this
self‐effacement
did
always
belong
to
the
structure
of
the
miraculous
– and
hence,
the
magical
and
the
religious – as
such”(III).
Instead
of
‘self‐effacement’
one
could
also
speak
from
Jacques
Rancière’s
neo‐Enlightenment
philosophy
of
a
‘history
of
confusion’
between
‘two
concepts
of
avant‐garde’
or
‘two
concepts
of
political
subjectivity’(IV).
To
express
this
specific
political
subjectivity,
the
avant‐garde
could
do
without
the
concept
of
light.
Just
like
the
effacing
of
the
nimbus
after
the
Renaissance,
after
the
commencement
of
non‐figurative
and
abstract
art
not
just
the
perspective
illusions
disappeared,
but
the
lighting
effects
also
became
things
of
the
past.
Starting
from
Walter
Benjamin’s
well‐known
dichotomy
–
cult
value
versus
exhibition
value
–
the
idea
to
understand
the
return
of
the
nimbus
as
retrospective
of
the
cult value is
tempting
,
which
may
more
than
ever
force
the
art
of
painting
to
‘backwardness’
(Benjamin’s
word).
But
another,
more
glorious
comeback
is
also
possible.
If
it
is
true
that
art,
technology,
and
science
are
increasingly
intertwining
– and
that
is
beyond
my
doubt
–
then
the
emancipation
of
the
cultic,
as
the
other
side
of
the
nostalgia
for
representation,
can
give
a
new
meaning
to
the
diversification
of
the
technical
light.
If
no
event
in
film,
sports
or
pop
music
is
imaginable
without
spotlights,
and
only
a
fool
will
deny
the
dominance
of
glorification
in
these scenes,
then there are
also
many
other
possibilities
of
technical
uses of
light,
different
from
aureoles
around
idols.
Not
just
a s
a
me re
counter part
of
show
lighting.
Subtle
and
intimate
applications
of
artificial
light
turn
the
space
into
a patchwork,
not
directed by a central
light
source.
In Mille Plateau(V) by Deleuze and Guattari, so much attention is given to the contrast between smooth (lisse) and striated (strié) space, but so absent in their work is the nimbus, the aureole or any other form of glorification that is rich in contrast. Maybe their aversion of the philosophy of consciousness is one of the causes that they are blind to the transcendental power of light: the main condition for space to become visible, in short, for corporality with and without organic orientation. A first translation of the language of contrasting spaces into a lexicon of light has the following result. The smooth space is associated with ‘desert, steppe, sea, or ice’ (idem, p. 484); here the absence of coordination and orientation is a constructive power. The nimbus which comes in a new stage of self‐ effacement through the transformations in the art of painting, could be called a stream of light, in the terms of the above‐mentioned panel of Piero della Francesca, which radiates through eyes and hair, and skims along skin, nails, and garment, and consequently invites touching rather than seeing. The caressing look is not focused on figures but on the smooth mutual vibrations – you could call them infrared fields, effects by which a body without organs can be turned on and off. The returning nimbus does not need to restrict itself to skimming light; it can also create an auratic landscape, i.e. shine light through apparently accepted bounds, make the space liquid or fathomless like an ice field – a shower of sparkles without centre or source which enables a ‘relative deterritorialization’ (idem, p. 293, italics mine). Lighting in the form of LEDs or other micro applications can make the unattainable in everyday life lighter. Artificial light could become nomadic; light of cat eyes and glowworms giving the most ordinary thing a sphere of eternity. It may be a shaft of rays like a set of jackstraws or a divergent radiation which adds luster to eyes. However, an essential aspect of this ‘even’ light is that it does not concentrate on one thing, nor focuses on a phallus or G‐spot, more likely ‘a strange chromaticism’ (idem, p. 491), a territory of uninterrupted variation of affections and informal activities. The moment of the ‘stand by’ nimbus has come.
Literature
(I) Didron,
Adolphe
Napoléon
(1886).
Christian
Iconography;
or,
The History
of
Christian
Art
in
the
Middle
Ages.
Volume
1.
The
History
of
the
Nimbus,
the
Aureole,
and
the
Glory;
Representations
of
the
Persons
of
the
Trinity (orig.
1841).
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the French
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E.J.
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completed
with
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and
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Margret
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de
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