by Alice

Throughout human history, autumn has been defined by its ephemerality. Unlike other seasons which stand on their own, autumn is a time of great transition, bridging the bright vitality of summer and the bitter cold of winter. As a result of this perception, autumn has become culturally, spiritually, and artistically synonymous with transience, often being used metaphorically to represent the struggle between light and dark, life and death. 

Despite the season’s philosophically loaded history, modern society goes mad for it, and it’s beloved precisely because of its temporariness; the rich colour of the leaves and the sharp drop in temperature evoke warm fuzzies, and are a sign to begin your annual Gilmore Girls rewatch. In light of Six Foot Gallery’s autumn open call, Memento Vivere, I wanted to examine how this transience comes up in the artistic canon, and one thing kept coming to mind: relics, and reliquaries.

First of all, we must define the relic, which is far easier said than done. Practically speaking, relics are pieces of bone, hair, or cloth, which came from or belonged to a martyred saint. Spiritually speaking, relics are slightly more complex. Relics were believed to be a cognisant extension of the deceased saint that was conscious to the world around it, and would have been able to directly communicate with God. Spiritually then, the relic occupied a liminal space which was at once living and dead. This made the relic effectively a portable church, making owning one hugely advantageous. Because of this direct bridge to God, it was believed that anything done successfully while in possession of a relic had a Godly stamp of approval. It also meant that if the martyred saint was unhappy with any course of action their owner took, they could simply perform a miracle to stop it. 

They held significance on an interpersonal level too; owning a relic was considered a huge honour, and established or amplified perceptions of wealth and authority upon a person or group. One key thing to remember about relics in an art historical sense though is that they are defined principally through recognition by an audience as a relic. We know that many ‘relics’ were actually body parts from random people that were then claimed to be relics: it was the public perception of the relic’s holiness that gave it power. In the words of historian Cynthia Hahn, ‘without recognition, a relic is merely bone, dust, or scraps of cloth. An audience is essential. It authenticates the relic’. It is no wonder then that the way people chose to display relics was of such importance, and it is how the reliquary became one of the most significant art forms of the medieval period.

Reliquaries were small containers which housed a relic, and came in a range of shapes and sizes. In the early days of their usage, there was an emphasis on portability and durability to ensure the relic inside would not be damaged, but over time they developed stylistically and became more decorative. Although their appearance was considered secondary to their votive function, reliquaries were often highly ornate, using the newest and most expensive techniques to decorate them. Regardless of their outward appearance though, the reliquary was in essence a tool for communicating both the significance of its contents and its owner. The reliquary had the power to transform a simple piece of bone inside into a holy relic, and its owner into a devout figure of authority. Where relics were the bridge between the living and the dead, reliquaries were the bridge between the relic and the audience.Throughout the middle ages, these reliquaries came in many different shapes and sizes, three of which will be explored here: the chasse, the private reliquary, and the body part reliquary.

I want to note that although here I only discuss Catholic relics, relics were present in almost all cultures and all the major religions; research pertaining to non-Western relics is criminally underdeveloped due to colonial and white-supremacist schools of thought within Western academia, but is still a rich and varied topic of study. 

Starting with the oldest of the three, the chasse was one of the most common forms of reliquaries from the 12th to 14th centuries, when relic culture was at its peak in Europe. These were shaped like small sarcophagi or churches, with a square base and pitched roof, and were lavishly and brightly decorated with champlevé enamel, a highly popular and sought after process which was relatively cheap but yielded beautiful results. This technique was especially good for figurative work, as it could clearly define small details such as facial figures, and so figures and representations of saints became increasingly common in the 12th century. They could also often feature gold gilding, but it tended to be quite cheaply done, and due to the advancements in and popularity of champlevé enamel at this time, any precious metal work would have been considered secondary. As on other reliquary types, the chasse would often either depict scenes from the lives of saints, or static images of saints. One of the most popular subjects from this time was the murder of St. Thomas Becket, for example.  

In terms of what chasses can communicate to their audiences, they primarily articulate death and the dead-ness of the relic, as well as the deceased saint’s consequent physical proximity to God. This is done mostly through the shape of the reliquary; the sarcophagus shape emphasises this transient, liminal space that the saint occupies, and encourages the viewer to consider this dead-ness in their worship, as it is that which gives them direct access to God. By extension, this focus on death as a means of access to God pushes the viewer to consider the act of martyrdom, and that it is the saint’s dedication to their faith which lends them their canonisation. The shape also evokes that of a church, which again emphasises the saint’s proximity to God, as well as the idea that the saint is an agent of God and can therefore harness His power.

In this example, the Chasse of Champagnat (ca. 1150), from a diocese in Limoges, France. Represented here are Christ, Mary Magdalene, St. Martial (the first bishop of Limoges), and the apostles Peter and Paul. The figures are done in champlevé enamel while the background is decorated in brilliant gold gilding. The presence of St. Martial who, in this case, is a symbol of Limoges and its people, alongside these other major figures of the religion, is one way a community could form a holy association with their faith, and it symbolically elevates their people to a really high divine status.

One of the other major reliquary types of around the same period was the private reliquary. This was usually a small, compact item, worn as jewellery such as a necklace, and was typically made of precious metals such as gold or copper. As they were so small, these private reliquaries were sparsely decorated with simple etched scenes or figures. Although they took on many shapes, they were commonly cruciform, and therefore had a votive role as well. 

In terms of what they communicated to viewers, the private reliquary’s purpose was twofold; not only did they communicate piety and religious devotion, but they also communicated wealth and authority, and unlike the chasse which articulated power for a group, the personal reliquary did so for an individual, making them all the more significant possessions. Furthermore, as they were wearable, they could easily be used in combination with other ornaments to communicate broader messages about the wearer’s wealth and power.

A key example of this communication is this necklace, given to Queen Margaret by the Bishop of Sicily on the occasion of her son’s wedding.The relic, which was originally a piece of blood-stained cloth belonging to Saint Thomas Becket, was held in place by a piece of clear crystal. The surrounding pendant, made of gold, depicts a scene of the owner being baptised by the gift-giver. This scene communicates both a literal and metaphorical connection between the subject and the divine; the scene itself demonstrates her acknowledgement and favour within the church, while her image’s physical proximity to the relic creates a divine association between her, the martyred saint, and by extension God. This meaning is then deepend when considering the context, as the image can honour not only the owner, but her son’s marriage as well, as if the wedding is blessed by proxy through the relic.

The third and final reliquary-type is the body-part reliquary, which grew in popularity towards the end of the 11th and into the 12th centuries. As is obvious by the name, the body-part reliquary was shaped like a particular body part; feet, arms, and heads were very common body-part reliquaries. Like the other types I have looked at here, the body-part reliquary was often elaborately decorated with precious metals and stones.

Although one might think that the relics directly correlated with the reliquaries – a skull being in a head-shaped container, or an arm bone being in an arm-shaped container – this was not very common. This, to a modern viewer, seems pointless; however, scholars have argued that it was part of a complex cultural metaphor as the body parts that the reliquaries represented would carry symbolic meaning. For example, the arm represented labour or work, the collarbone spiritual passion and activity, and the head speech. The reliquary then, would use the spiritual power of the relic, and enhance it with its own symbolic power. In the case of the body-part reliquary then, not only was the container working to communicate power and meaning, but it actively created it through its form. 

This active creation of function is most clear in arm reliquaries, like this one from France. Made of silver and coloured glass, the reliquary immediately commands attention and denotes wealth and authority. This specific reliquary also has its fingers outstretched, almost pointing at the viewer. It is likely that this specific hand gesture was used to evoke the sign of a cross, or a blessing, which immediately establishes its active function within a church setting. It is also a right hand, which has specific divine connotations, as it was with His right hand that God would perform holy acts. These formal and stylistic elements are then amplified when we consider that arm reliquaries were often used during church services to bless members of the congregation, with some reports claiming they had the power to heal. In the case of the body-part reliquary then, and with the arm reliquary particularly, these containers were viewed as active conductors of God’s power, which could be harnessed both by the martyred saint and the living.

Relics then, like autumn, play a large cultural role in the human concept of transience and their ability to connect life and death. Both have historically been defined by their ephemerality, and this definition, given mostly to things and objects that we love, comes from that place of warm fuzzies which is so synonymous with the season. I know we’d all rather be doing the Gilmore girls rewatch than consider our mortality, but there is something to be said for these warm fuzzies, and how humans inevitably become attached to that which is temporary.