Standing at the center of Brittingham
Gallery II in the Chazen Museum of Art is a wood sculpture, a palmesel, titled “Christ
Riding a Donkey, ca. 1450.” The artist is unknown.
Its unrefined hew and tattered polychrome finish display the vintage patina that every modern “Welcome To
The Cabin” sign strives for. It is 58
inches long and 62 inches tall, about 3/4 life size. The donkey is dark grey and the Christus’ robe
is blood-on-brick red with gold around the neck.
Palmesels
were designed to ride atop a wheeled cart in a Palm Sunday processional. Once a
year, they would depict Christ’s triumphant ride into Jerusalem. They were relatively common in
Western Central Europe before the Protestant Reformation, the Late
Gothic period, after which they were banned. Many were destroyed. This simple yet intriguing piece is a rare find as only a few dozen exist throughout the
world.
Professor
Frank Horlbeck of the University of Wisconsin-Madison (UW) analyzed this figure along
with fourteen others from around the world. It was brought to the UW museum in 1977 after having been purchased in London
and examined in Rome. The subtitle on
the label at the time said only “Austrian, fifteenth century.”
Horlbeck
determined that the wooden sculpture had its provenance in Tyrol
and was possibly from the workshop of Master Leonhard Brixon, which flourished
from 1440 to 1476. The actual identity of the artist will never be known. A
project such as this, probably for a medium sized church, would have been
assigned to an apprentice woodworker.
In
the 1977-78 Elvehjem Bulletin Horlbeck
wrote that although this piece has some of the markings that are consistent
with Brixon’s work, it was most certainly not created by the Master himself. The
Christ figure, Horlbeck notes, has an expression that is “at once pensive and
kindly.”
Looking
directly at the face, the gaze stares blankly, slightly to its left. It is a look
of recognition, without specific adoration, as if Judas was there and trouble was
in the air.
The
donkey’s head, back, and rump create a perfect horizontal plane. Its ears stick
straight up about eight inches, as if listening its way through the crowd. The
eyes scan the nearby ground. This beast of holy burden looks like it has led a
life of work. Hard work. As if thinking “If this guy could really walk on water, he should be lighter.”
Thin
striations of paint in various regions can be seen on the torso and parts of
the donkey’s hindquarters. The robe drapes across and down the entire body. Full
covering of the body is typical of Gothic period sculpture. Exposed are long, slender
fingers and toes.
On top, the
golden crown looks to be missing what could have been small spires
or even jewels. But jewels would be too much for this simple piece. Christ’s
hair and beard are composed of thickly carved strands. The hair feathers back,
flowing from beneath the crown like thick brown cornrows. Sampson could only have be
so lucky.
The
rider’s left hand would have held leather reigns, now missing. Nails in the donkey’s head
show where bridle straps had been affixed. The right hand is bent at the elbow
and two fingers are raised in a peace sign. This configuration, a sign of
blessing and a hand that guides, is consistent among most, if not all,
palmesels.
Simple
beauty, deep history, and what could be described as “folk art” style coalesce
in this charming piece of pre-Renaissance iconography. Having wound its way from Western Central
Europe to Midwestern America over the centuries is an impressive journey. It
will no doubt continue to be appreciated by many, rejected by a few, and perhaps
inspire many more artists for yet another 550 years.
