Her beds are full of perfume and sad sound, Her doors are made with music, and barred round With sighing and with laughter and with tears, With tears whereby strong souls of men are bound.
- Algernon Charles Swinbourne, Laus Veneris
Laus Veneris (1873-75)
oil on canvas
Edward Burne-Jones
In this blog I have written a great deal about the strange and wonderful worlds found within books and movies; evoked by music or by poetry... This time I wish to journey within a land lit "by a light better than any light that ever shone - in a land no one can define or remember, only desire", that is, I wish to enter the personal, mythic and altogether splendid dream-world of Edward Burne-Jones, Victorian painter, and of all artists my best beloved.
Burne-Jones' pictures are full of strange, fantastic beauty and seethe with emotions, expressed not in the faces, but the attitudes of the figures; and the symbolism and context of his paintings. Often the subject matter was drawn from myth or medieval romance, but the pictures always from his private inner world, wherein story, symbol and ideal combine with the artist's turbulent emotions to form highly complex pictures of depth and meaning as well as aesthetic loveliness.
Laus Veneris (In Praise of Venus) is an exploration of love as a force through which the world, as perceived by the lover, is transmuted into something altogether grander and more vibrant (but potentially more desolate) than the world of the mundane. Yet through close examination of the painting, we discover that love itself is be something paradoxical - a force to be worshiped and feared, that can both transform and destroy; unite and divide.
Details from Laus Veneris (I - VI):
I. The Queen
II. The Musicians
III. The Impatient Musician
IV. She who looks without...
Looking at the painting is like looking into multiple worlds - and each is representative of one of the states of love. The queen and her attendants occupy the foreground, and flame in brilliant colours; garbed in robes as tinted bright and hot as the anticipation of passion. They exist in a state of heightened reality inspired by love, wherein the subject sees all things brighter and more vividly because of love. But the women are also in a state of unrelieved tension - though the queen reclines in a languid posture, her air is one of a lover frustrated by long waiting; her gaze is introspective and her mien dissatisfied. The queen's attendants are watchful and expectant, their instruments poised as though they had just left off playing, and even now await the signal to resume. The two nearest to the queen appear to be sharing a glance - perhaps one of sympathy for the queen, or sharing the grief of their own long waiting. One lady, directly opposite the queen and garbed in crimson, sits toying with her instrument, her hands betraying the impatience that her tranquil face belies. But it is the fourth of the ladies that holds our gaze - seemingly staring out of the canvas, straight into the viewer's eyes. Through her eyes we are drawn into the painting - and she transcends it. The borders between the dream-world and reality waver - and in trying to solve the enigma in her stare, we become aware of the second, sorrowful state of love.
V. The Knights
For outside the beautiful, vivid room where the ladies sit lies a cold land - bare and bleak as love that is forsaken. Here can be seen five restless knights on horses white as driven clouds of snow, or wild sea-foam. These knights, we assume, are the lovers of the ladies - but for some reason they cannot enter and though some look inside the warm room and seem to grieve, the women appear unaware of their presence. This puzzling state of affairs leads the viewer to look around the painting to find clues to solve the mystery - and we see that on the wall hangs a sumptuous tapestry, portraying Venus the goddess of love in a chariot drawn by doves and surrounded with worshipers who offer their hearts to her and her flame-winged son.
VI. The Tapestry: the Chariot of Venus
Thus Burne-Jones represents the ideal of love - the grandeur of passion and the worship of love itself. This third state - the world-within-a-world of the tapestry, hung between the knights and the ladies - provides the clue for which we have been searching. Perhaps it is the worship of love itself that separates them. The ladies are enclosed in an ideal of love, which blinds them to their lonely knights outside, yet they can perceive our world, the world outside the realm of love. The knights are held without because they too worship the ideal, but one looks through the painting even as does the green lady, joined to her and us through a shared gaze. And perhaps through them we are also linked to Burne-Jones himself, for it was he who said:
"I've lived inside the pictures, and from within looked out on a world less real than they".
But of course, Burne-Jones would never reveal plainly the secrets of his dream world, for if he did he would lose the chief power of his work; its mystery. So the painting Laus Veneris is glorious and ambiguous, and open to many interpretations. At the end of the journey I are left wondering: perhaps this explains the title of the painting, Laus Veneris; that both the knights and ladies have given their hearts to Venus and hence have none to give each-other.
Christmas is, and always will be for me, a magical holiday, full of
mystery and beauty and mythic significance. I have never known it otherwise, as
my family decided before I was born to never subscribe to the consumerism and
reductionist mania that seems to have possessed the world and made mockery of
the season. We do not give gifts on Christmas day (except for those of
"Father Christmas" to the children, in whom I am proud to say I
believed until I was thirteen, and whose presence invested the holiday with a
magic that refused to leave even when I found out he did not exist). Our
"presents" (and only one each) are exchanged on Epiphany, the twelfth
day of Christmas and the day when the three Kings in the legend gifted the Christ-child
with gold, frankincense and myrrh. Nor do we have a massive dinner, in which
most gets wasted and everybody ends up over-full and inebriated, rather a
simple yet festive meal of chicken with apple cider and lots of summer fruit,
using a recipe that has family significance. Nor are we religious (rather spiritual
and hopeful agnostics). Our family used to be Catholic, but left the faith and
the church many years ago. How is it then that I find Christmas to be the most
beautiful day of the year?
To me and my family Christmas celebrates a beautiful and inspiring myth –
the legend of the birth of Christ (for the story itself is beautiful, regardless of how it has been twisted by the bigoted
religious authorities) – as well as the older celebration of the seasons. It is
a time to consider death and rebirth, and to rejoice in family love. It is a
time to reflect on and connect with the past – for this is a day that has been
celebrated for over two thousand years. For my family, it is a time of light, magic,
story and song. For these and many other reasons
Christmas has been, and always shall be for me, the most mythic time of the
year.
I will share with you a selection
below. Some of my favourites I have not been able to find on Youtube (such as Rutter’s
version of Silent Night from the “Christmas
Star” album) but I have provided a link to Amazon where you can download the
tracks for 99c each, should you so desire (and I would truly recommend it).
I love the exquisite Burne-Jonesian cover of this beautiful album.
I wonder as I wander
When I was younger, I used not to love this song. As a child, I thought
that Christmas ought to be a day of unmixed joy and celebration. Especially
because I am not Christian, and do not believe in the literal truth of
the Christmas story, I did not feel the beauty and the tragedy at the core of
the legend. But as I grew, I came to understand the power and enduring “truth”
of story, and to feel the sorrow expressed by the singer of this song.
“I wonder as I wander” deals with the Christian singer’s amazement at
the immensity of the generosity of Christ, in being “brought forth to
die” for the sake of “poor ornery people like you and like I”. It truly is an
incredible thought – that someone would have such love for flawed humanity as
to die for them… Although I do not believe that the historical Jesus “died for
our sins”, the symbol is a humbling one of ultimate altruism, and even
fictional it strikes me with the same sense of wonder and awe, causing me to
ponder whether my life is worthy of such a sacrifice, and to resolve to make
it worthy.
The singer’s voice is incredibly beautiful – high, cold and pure like
starlight. As she sings, I can imagine her, wrapped in a peasant cloak, walking
across a snow-covered hilltop, with the black fingers of winter trees clawing
the twilight. With every star that shines forth in the darkening sky, she
wonders…
We Three Kings of Orient
Now this song has always been a favourite. I have
always been fascinated by the “kings of Orient” and their precious, symbolic
gifts. As I have been blessed with the gift of vivid visualisation this
evocative arrangement of the carol summons for me the most incredible imagery.
I can see the kings, with their proudly wondering faces and
fixed eyes reflecting the star they follow; see the silhouette of oasis-palms
against a starry night sky. In the arrangement of the song, I can hear the
jingle and clink of bridles and saddle-ornaments, and almost feel the cooling
desert sand-dunes giving up the last of their daylight warmth to the night. In
the last verse the song blazes with the fierce beauty and glory of the “star of
wonder, star of light/Star with royal beauty bright”. And with the “wandering
off” of the song’s ending, I am left with an image of hoof prints in star-lit
sand, winding toward the horizon…
Rise Up Shepherd and Follow
This lesser-known carol is one that I have always loved, since earliest
childhood. Perhaps it is because I can identify myself with the shepherd – I
would not hesitate to “follow the star”, leaving behind anything and everything
in pursuit of a gleaming, wondrous goal. As I have grown, I’ve started seeing
the carol as an allegory (but nonetheless self-sufficient in its own story, as
all the best myths are). We all hear a “call” in our lives to “rise up, rise up
and follow” – perhaps an artistic ideal, a story or some other venture –
something to which we will dedicate our lives. Although the quest demands
sacrifice, the prize is beautiful beyond anything – the resolution of a shining
dream...
“O Come, O Come Emmanuel” has some of the most mythic lyrics, harking
back to the ancient beginnings of the legend, and the reason for the
“coming” of Christ. “O come, O come Emmanuel/ And ransom captive Israel”. The
idea of a captive people calling out for a Saviour – a Promised One to lead
them from darkness and despair – is a potent one, and one with which I think we
can all identify. Anyone who has ever been marginalised, discriminated against;
felt loneliness and despair – will particularly resonate with this song.
There are many reasons why I love Libera’s version of this carol best.
Firstly, I love that it is sung in Latin. The ancient language calls us as
listeners back to an elder time when myth and history were intermingled – a
place mysterious and echoing with vanished voices. Secondly, I love the sadness of
this version – even in the triumphant last line “Rejoice, rejoice/ Emmanuel
shall come to thee/ O Israel” there is intermingled elation and sorrow. This is
extremely appropriate to the conflicting emotions evoked by the Christmas
legend – joy because the Promised One has come to lift the despair from
suffering Israel, yet deep grieving, for in order to save the people, Jesus
must sacrifice himself. Finally, the arrangement is just so beautiful: the lone
voice of the first stanzas, abandoned as a captive or abandoned Israel – the
harmonies like wind on a cold night – and the choir’s powerful, triumphant
singing of the last verse in English, which brings us, the present listeners
together with the ancient voice of the past. The pure voices of the Libera
child-singers sing ethereally from a place of darkness – the darkness and
despair in our own souls.
The Corpus Christi Carol
This Middle England carol is Arthurian in its medieval imagery and
references to the Fisher King (the eternally wounded knight from the Grail
Quest). It is an unusual carol, in that it only references Christ at the very
end, and even then indirectly, which has prompted some to theorise whether the
wounded knight is actually supposed to be Christ, and the weeping maiden Mary.
Personally I prefer to think of it as a “fairy tale”, as Jeff Buckley said
about his version of the song (found here). I thrill to the mysterious line
“The falcon hath borne my mate away…”
I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas
I love the melancholy and nostalgia of this song. Having lived all my
life in a country where Christmas day is usually marked by clear sunlight and
summer warmth – I have never longed wistfully after a “white Christmas”,
(although I want to experience one sometime in my life). What resonates
with me about this song is the line “Where tree-tops glisten, and children
listen/To hear sleighbells in the snow”. The idea of longing for a “white
Christmas” becomes for me a longing for a magic Christmas
– a Christmas where children really do listen for sleighbells, as I did, but as
it seems fewer and fewer children do…
This is the favourite carol of my youngest brother, and it is not
difficult to see why, with the “night wind” speaking to the “little lamb”,
telling of an angel’s song, using the beautiful description “high above the
trees, with a voice as big as the seas”. It has a windy, open joy and wonder in its instrumentals, and Aled Jones sings tenderly, like a parent telling a story...
As well as our trusty three Christmas albums, there are some isolated
Christmas carols that I and my family love, in particular:
Jussi Bjorling’sO Helga Natt(O
Holy Night)
This carol is always incredibly powerful - it has soaring immensity and
beautiful lyrics - and I don't think I've ever heard it sung badly. Perhaps it
is impossible for the reductionists to diminish such a glorious song. After
all, who can hear the lines "Chains shall he break/ For the slave is a
brother", without feeling "a thrill of hope"? In fact - Libera
and Aled Jones both sing amazingly beautiful versions (click through on their
names). However, Jussi Bjorling's version, sung in his native Swedish, is
specially moving and primal.
Loreena Mckennit’s The
Holly and the Ivy
This carol has always been a favourite. I cannot
adequately express how much I thrill to the magic, timeless lines "The
rising of the sun/ The running of the deer". The Pagan influence on the
Christmas season is still powerful - perhaps even more powerful and longlasting
than the Christian influence (no matter how beautiful the story of the
Christ-child), because it is older and more concerned with the movements of
earth and cycle of the seasons. Certainly in this song the Pagan elements are
stronger and more powerful than the Christian elements. Loreena
McKennitt's rendition of the song is haunting and ethereal as dawn mist over a
lake, or first light over a thick and secret forest.
The Garden of the Hesperides by Edward Burne-Jones
World-spanning, life-giving or destructive, bearing golden apples of life or the knowledge of good and evil - trees have immense presence in mythology, religion and story.
All across the world, from the earliest epochs
of recorded history, they have stood as religious
emblems, or been worshiped as gods themselves. And it's not difficult to discern why.
Who cannot help but feel small beside such a giant?
Anyone who has stood beneath a
tall and verdant tree, looked up into the green vastness of its branches,
listened to the whispering of thousands of leaves cannot but feel a sense of
awe - standing so small beside something so huge and long-lived. Beside the
transience of human lives, these living statues which endure for hundreds if
not thousands of years are monolithic.
The bright autumn foliage of maple flames bravely against the chill of approaching winter.
But trees are not dead and grey as statues of stone. They are alive and vital - they leaf and bear fruit - they grow inexorably;
thrash frantically against storms. With brilliant colours they blaze in the
dying of the year. They sing - wind soughing through branches as through an
Aeolian harp.
Spring, summer, autumn, winter: in all seasons, a tree is awe-inspiring.
From seed-time trees possess immense power
- defying gravity with thin, translucent stems, pushing through soil toward the
sun. Within the tiny seed - the energy to fuel the plant until it can put forth
its first set of delicate leaves to catch sunlight. And each leaf - so slight
and wafer-thin - is filled with a transformative power to transmute the
life-giving warmth of the sun into starch to feed the plant. As a sapling, a
young tree is a fierce competitor for resources, space and light. Full-grown,
it is magnificent, whether a towering sequoia or a squat baobab.
Yggdrasil, the world tree of Norse mythology was thought to connect the earthy and unearthly realms .
Trees have creative force,supporting and sustaining life. Roosting birds
make their home in the branches - fungi and lichen establish colonies on the
trunk, squirrels nest in the hollows and innumerable insects swarm over and
around it. With their proud crowns reaching the sky and roots firm-gripping the
earth - they connect the physical and immaterial worlds. Thus it is not
difficult to see how early peoples all over the globe chose a tree to represent
the universe - the World Tree which connects life and death, reality and
spirituality. Trees appear in almost all religions - symbolising fertility,
immortality, interconnectedness, wholeness or even appearing as gods
themselves.
Ankor Wat's magnificent stone temples are slowly destroyed by the roots of the strangler fig
Trees can also be destructive - as the
decaying city of Ankor Wat displays, their roots have the strength to split
stone and consume human edifice. A falling tree branch can kill or severely
maim. Thus our awe and reverence for trees is touched by fear. And thus the
roots of Yggdrasil reach the underworld.
Grove of Crypotomera japonica, a hallowed tree to the believers of Shinto in Japan.
Collectively, trees have the ability to
transform space - exuding oxygen and water as a result of photosynthesis and
transpiration - thus affecting the climate. But though the early humans did not
know the scientific significance of trees to the global environment - they
understood the power of the forest. Woods and groves are uncertain places -
realms of living pillars, many ancient with the years of human generations.
Light and shadow intermingle, creating a shifting, flickering border between
the real and unreal - the earthly and divine. In recognition of the haunted,
hallowed spaces that are created by forests, sacred groves were maintained and
used by various religions. To the Ancient Greeks and Romans the groves were the
sites of godly shrines. The Norse pagans of Scandinavia used the groves as
sites of sacrifice. Druids met in the groves of Albion, and in Japan they
were the sites of Shinto reverence and ritual.
The image of "golden apples of the sun" is a recurring one in myth and fairy-tale.
In human consciousness trees are the
sentinels at the gates of mystery. Although tree-worship has all but
vanished, and deforestation continues to ravage some of the most beautiful and
vital forests of the earth, trees continue to have a mythic power - which
manifests itself in the modern myth-mediums of story, art and film. A few examples can be seen below:
The Trees of Valinor were sung into being to provide light to the universe, after the great cosmic Lamps were shattered .
In crafting his fantasy world of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien created a whole mythological fabric upon which to embroider, like some glorious tapestry, his tales of wonder and heroism. In his creation myth, recounted in The Silmarillion the sun and moon are the flower and fruit of the twin trees of Valinor, silver Telperion and golden Laurelin. These glorious trees were sung into being by Yavanna, Queen of the Earth, who was also responsible for the creation of the Ents, sentient and wise tree-folk of The Lord of the Rings. The Trees of Valinor represent night and day, male and female, fertility and above all, life-giving light. Though they are killed by Melkor, their last light is caught in the peerless jewels called the Silmarils, which in turn drive much of the later mythology of Middle Earth.
Tolkien clearly felt trees to be of deep spiritual and symbolic significance, as they are a recurring motif in his stories - in the Lord of the Rings alone there is the Party Tree (centre of community life in Hobbiton), the aforementioned tree-folk the Ents, the arboreal elven city in the forest of Lothlorien and the White Tree of Gondor (a descendant of Telperion).
Digory plucks an apple of immortality for Narnia, then ponders the merits of stealing a second...
Tolkien's friend and colleague C.S. Lewis, creator of the Chronicles of Narnia also made trees a significant element in his Narnian creation-myth The Magician's Nephew. In order to protect Narnia from future harm, an apple must be plucked from a mysterious "Place", an orchard on a green hill and planted in the vital soil of young Narnia. These apple trees have similarities to the Tree of Life (as their fruit bestows eternal life on the taster), as well as the biblical Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (as transgression of the law "Take of my fruit for others" results in immortal misery). The Tree of Protection is another light-giving apple tree (clearly a powerful mythic image at work), but one with "silver apples like stars". Wood from its earthly descendants is fashioned into the eponymous Wardrobe of Lewis' most famous book.
In an interesting (though less cosmic) parallel to Tolkien's Trees of the Valinor, Lewis' world also contains a pair of trees, one pure gold, the other silver (grown from fallen coins from a miser's pocket). These are fashioned into the crowns of the first King and Queen of Narnia.
The Tree of Souls is the spiritual centre of Pandora.
In James Cameron's 2009 film Avatar the indigenous people of the forest-moon Pandora, the Na'vi follow an anamistic religion, feeling a deep spiritual connection with "Eywa", the mother-goddess of the moon, and through her, with all life on their world. The "Tree of Souls" represents a tangible link between Eywa and the Na'vi - it is the beautiful, shining heart of the forest and the Na'vi culture.
Our ancestors called it Yggdrasil, and we call it the Universe, but Thor comes from a place where they're one and the same..
In the 2011 movie Thor the World Tree of Norse mythology, Yggdrasil is revealed as the structure of the universe - a "tree" of swirling nebulae and stars that links the "Nine Realms".
In conclusion, there is something undeniable and enduring about the power of trees - as sources and symbols of life, as totemic watchers, as ladders between here and the beyond - undoubtedly, they have a deep-rooted and mythic significance in our collective consciousness.
