Hieronymus Bosch - Visions of Genius
It’s 8:40 on a Saturday morning in Den Bosch. The line is getting longer and we all shift from side to side to keep warm. As the church bells ring we move closer and closer to the entrance. TV crew and photographers are here to remind us that this is not a regular visit to the museum, this is an international event worthy of documentation.
Finally, we go in. My coat is safely guarded in the cloak room and Charles de Mooij’s voice (in my audio-tour) welcomes me to the exhibition. Enthusiastic staff members eagerly show us into a dark windowless room where the works of art seem to be illuminated from within. The theatrical effect is evident: this is not an ordinary exhibition.
All the usual exhibition ‘noise’ is absent: there is no text on the walls, no timeline of the artist’s life, no need for written explanations on the walls of the exhibition next to the paintings. Light projections on the walls signify the different chapters of the exhibition: Life Pilgrimage; Hieronymus Bosch in ‘s-Hertogenbosch; The Life of Christ; Bosch as Draughtsman; Saints; The End of Days.
This exhibition doesn’t follow the usual conventions of story-telling. There is no chronology to guide us through the works of art — only fascinating stories gradually revealing information about the artist and the world he lived in.
Chapter 1: Life Pilgrimage
The exhibition begins with a simple question: why should we care about an artist who died 500 years ago? Instead of assuming that we are interested in the subject — after all, why would we spend our Saturday morning in a dark room with a lot of strangers? — the curator of the exhibition shows us that the theme of pilgrimage is relevant today just as it was relevant to our distant ancestors.
The first work by Bosch I came across puzzled me. I’ve seen The Ship of Fools in Louvre several times, but for some reason it felt as if I was looking at it for the first time. There was something unusual about it: it was lit in such a way it felt as if the scene became animated before my eyes.
The works of art are placed in a black niche curved into the walls. There is a protective glass that separates the viewer from the art, but due to the special lightning there is no reflection on the glass. The curators broke the barriers between us and the masterpiece while protecting it at the same time. Little black tubes facing different directions light up the panel revealing it as it was intended to be seen half a millennium ago.
Each of us has to make our way through life as kind of pilgrimage — a long journey full of temptations and dangers. The devil has laid traps everywhere, making the world a dangerous and immoral place […] Yet we have no choice between good and evil everyday.
My eyes slid down to another panel I hadn’t seen before. Under The Ship of Fools a panel depicting Gluttony was carefully placed.
The monitor behind me told a story of the lost Wayfarer Triptych. Only four fragments survived around the world: The Wayfarer from Museum Boijmans located on the exterior of its wings. When the triptych was opened, The Ship of Fools appeared on the left above the Allegory of Gluttony and Lust with Death and the Miser on the right.
The lost triptych is reunited for the first time in centuries, and this reconstruction of its story might explain the uniqueness of this exhibition. Let’s look for a second at the right wing of the triptych depicting Death and the Miser. The curators created a puzzle the viewers can assemble only if they have all the right pieces. The exhibition holds the first piece of information, the documentary about the project holds the second, and the catalogue holds the final and most important key to decrypting the artist’s message.
As we look at the panel, timeless drama unfolds before our eyes: an old man sitting on his deathbed. An angel clasps his shoulder and points to the crucified Christ in the window. Death is about to enter the room pointing an arrow at the dying man. A demon under the bed offers the dying man a bag with precious coins. It is up to the man to decide between earthly temptations and the salvation of his soul.
The scene was inspired by The Art of Dying (Dat sterf boeck = the Dutch version of the Ars moriendi) written in the early 15th century and on display next to the panel. This book helped people prepare for a ‘good death’, includes eleven full-page woodcut illustrations, each showing a man on his deathbed. In five of them he is tempted by the devil while an angel helps him to resist.
Let’s look at the second piece of our puzzle: Touched by the Devil. In this brilliant documentary the Bosch Research team studying the painter’s works discover an interesting twist as they compare the infrared photograph of the painting with the original. In the infrared photo the miser is grabbing the bag of money in his right hand and an expensive jar in his left.
In the painting before us, Bosch added ambiguity to the scene: the miser is reaching for the bag, but he didn’t garb it yet so there is still hope he will make the right choice. The story of the miser took me back to my medieval studies — to the apocryphal story of Theophilus who sold his soul to the devil.
Theophilus, 6th century Constantinopolitan cleric, signed away his soul to the devil in order to be reinstated in his church. After realising his mistake, Theophilus prayed to the Virgin Mary who fought the devil for him and saved his soul. One of my favourite depictions of the story is located in a 12th century abbey church of Sainte Marie-de-Souillac.
The relief consists of three scenes: to the left, Theophilus entered into a pact with the devil, to the right Satan trying to grab the cleric, and above the two scenes a depiction of the Virgin. Romanesque sculpture has a wonderful way of evoking our emotion by using unconventional story-telling. Above the depictions of the pact, Theophilus is laying a sleep with his hands supporting his weary head. The legend says that after he prayed to the Virgin Mary, Theophilus went to sleep and when he woke up the contract retrieved by the Virgin was on his chest. The artist hints the story while the viewer has to fill in the gaps.
In medieval tradition, the sinner wasn’t in the center of attention. It was the Virgin or one of the Saint’s job to save the soul of the sinner. These battles remind me of Greek mythology when the Gods battled each other while men were just an excuse for them to show their mighty power.
In this original depiction, Bosch takes the power from the holy and unholy figures and gives it back to the miser. Only the man has the power to choose right from wrong, and his decision will influence his redemption or condemnation.
Why did Bosch change the composition? The underdrawing shows us the miser’s choice of the material world, and death is entering the room to reap its reward. However, the final painting shows us the miser — as well as the viewer — still has a chance to make the right decision. The answer to this riddle can be found in the exhibition’s catalogue Hieronymus Bosch Visions of Genius:
Bosch research team concluded that an assistant was responsible for the underdrawing, while Bosch himself did the painting. The underdrawings are executed in such detail that they almost resemble an engraving, possibly reflecting the fact that they were directly inspired by printed examples of the theme.
The lost triptych shows us that Bosch had the capacity to develop a unique visual language that added something new to a timeless discussion. He depicted the world around him with exceptional realism in an original manner worth imitating.
Chapter 2: Hieronymus Bosch in ‘s-Hertogenbosch
Den Bosch is located about an hour from my home in The Hague. As I stepped out of the train station ladies in blue jackets greeted me with a sign: Welcome home, Bosch. Banners all over town indicated that the exhibition is a true celebration of the city welcoming its greatest artist back where he belongs. Every shop, every coffee place and restaurant has something related to Bosch’s paintings: book shops display every imaginable book about the artist, jewellery vitrines have little sculptures of Bosch’s signature characters, the menus have special dishes celebrating #jbosch500 and the list goes on. By the time you reach the Noordbrabants Museum you feel like a citizen of a country whose team made it to the World Cup finals — patriotic and enthusiastic.
The second chapter introduces us to J(er)oen van Aken, the talented son of a family of painters and craftsmen, born and raised in ‘s-Hertogenbosch. Joen or Jeroen van Aken was born around 1450. He followed the family tradition and became a painter just like his two brothers. He married well and moved into to The Red Cross home on the northern side of the Market, which his wife inherited from her grandfather. The Cloth Market, an anonymous painting from around 1530 helps our imagination to travel back in time to the 16th century city of Den Bosch.
Bosch’s house was the 7th house from the right, next to the blue house. The couple remained childless and Bosch’s wife outlived her husband by over six years.
Joen van Aken was an intelligent artist who constantly played with multiple meanings. The same applies to the name he chose for himself: Jheronimus Bosch. Aken in Dutch means Aachen (the imperial capital of Karl the Great) and as the artist wasn’t based in the German town, he changed his surname to Bosch. It was more than just a geographical identifier: he was christened for saint Jerome, whose Latinized, originally Greek name ‘Hieronymus’ was believed at the time to mean ‘sacred grove’ or ‘holy wood’ (heilig bos in Dutch). His themes such as: Saint Jerome at Prayer, Hermit Saints Triptych and The Wood Has Ears, The Field Has Eyes he simultaneously referred to the city where he lived and worked (‘s-Hertogenbosch ‘the Duke’s Forest’) as well as to a kind of self-portrait.
In this chapter we learn that in Saint John on Patmos — Passion Scene it is probably the first time Bosch signs his name, firmly presenting himself as a learned and self-assured artist. The Bosch research team assumes that perhaps he also incorporated a self-portrait in the little monster beneath which he signed his name.
Exhibit #35 caught me off guard: I was expecting to see The Cure of Folly from the Prado Museum but instead found a substitute art work from the Rijksmuseum. This mysterious substitution is perhaps explained in the exhibition catalogue:
The Cure of Folly was recorded in a Spanish aristocratic collection just before the middle of the 18th century. It was in the Prado by the mid 19th century as part of the royal collection, at which point it was attributed to the Netherlandish school… The Cure of Folly was first published as a work of Hieronymus Bosch in 1889, since then the panel has generally been attributed to him, and mostly as an early painting… Based on the painting style and the underdrawing of The Cure of Folly, it has to be concluded that the panel is not the work of Hieronymus Bosch himself, but most likely produced in his ‘s-Hertogenbosch workshop.
Chapter 3: The Life of Christ
As I entered the third room, the left wing of the Garden of Earthly Delights The Creation of the World was right in front of me. The first thing that came to my mind — did the curators actually get it from Prado?! And then — how dare they dismantle it in such a way?? A closer look at the caption put me at ease as I discovered that this was a very good copy from the El Escorial. For a second there I really believed it was the original painting.
A copy of the middle panel of The Garden was nearby but it wasn’t as convincing as the left wing. This painting was given to the exhibition by a private collector — for some reason I imagined the owner passing it every day without noticing. Strange and wonderful painting to have in your private collection, but for now I will delight in the interactive documentary available online.
In this room, for the first time since the restoration, I saw After the Flood and After the Last Judgment. These beautiful panels, once so black it was painful to look at, were originally the wings of a triptych. The left wing shows Noah’s Ark which has come to rest on Mount Ararat as the flood recedes, and the right panel depicts a world in which all life has disappeared. This is The End of Days: creation is wiped out by God’s judgment, drowned beneath the waters in one instance and consumed by fire in the other.
These panels attributed to the Workshop of Hieronymus Bosch are one of the reasons I want to read the 2-volume publication produced by the research team. I’m curious to read why the research team attributes these panels to the workshop of the artist and not the artist himself.
Chapter 4: Bosch as Draughtsman
This chapter reminded me of the Michelangelo exhibition I was fortunate to visit in the British Museum many years ago. The team worked over 10 years on the artist’s drawings and the result was astonishing. At the heart of the exhibition was a giant screen showing the drawings and then placing them in the final paintings. This was a visual depiction of the thought process of a genius and it will always remain in my memory.
Bosch is the first artist from the Netherlands by whom a body of drawings has survived. Bosch treated drawing as an art form in its own right, rather than simply as a means of preparing or recording paintings. Drawing was an important medium that enabled him to express his creativity and set down his vision. Until recently, a mere 11 sheets were ascribed to him. We believe the total to be 21, of which 19 are included in this exhibition.
Hieronymus Bosch and his drawings stand at the beginning of a tradition in which paper was used as a vehicle for sketching… He used his drawings to give free rein to his ideas.
Chapter 5: Saints
This room introduced me to absolutely new works by Bosch. Before the exhibition, I spent hours on the Bosch Project website looking at all the masterpieces from Venice. Hermit Saints Triptych is indeed an overwhelming work of art that made my imagination work overtime. I really hope more works by Bosch will be added to the project’s website.
Chapter 6: The End of Days
This is the final chapter of the exhibition, and what better way to end this journey than with Visions of the Hereafter. These four panels are always shown together when I believe each panel needs to have its own spotlight. As you come closer you first see two of the most emotion-evoking works by Bosch: The Ascent of the Blessed and The Garden of Eden.
These two panels show the souls of the blessed, who have been judged and found worthy, on their way to heaven. Angels lead the blessed upwards from the Garden of Eden. They ascend through the clouds to a tunnel leading to the eternal life, where they are received by another angel, rendered all but invisible by the intense backlighting.
Charles de Mooij’s voice indicates that I’ve come to the end of the journey. Now it was the time to go to the museum shop and explore the wonders of Bosch themed Dutch design.
On a Personal Note
As art historians we don’t have a lot of ‘heroes’ we can admire. If you are a medievalist, you have perhaps 3 or 5 exceptional individuals that you look up to. You have to be a little crazy to devote so many years of your life to study something that probably never brings you financial rewards. Once in a while you stumble upon a publication, an exhibition or a like-minded crazy person such as yourself that reminds you why you chose this path.
As I walked out of the Filmhuis in The Hague after watching the documentary telling the story of the Bosch Research Team, my heart was full of admiration and appreciation for all their hard work. It’s nearly impossible to be awarded a 9-years research opportunity followed by an exhibition and publications available in four languages. When I saw the photos from the opening, I was delighted to see the King listening to the explanation about one of Bosch’s triptychs. This is one of the stories that have a happy ending and I can’t wait to see who can top this creative and inspiring project!
Three individuals must be mentioned in connection with this great initiative: Jos Koldeweij, Charles de Mooij and my new hero Matthijs Ilsink.
