The recent Death Salon at the Getty Villa encouraged attendees to face the reality of death and to make end-of-life choices—before reaching the end of life.
Taking this admonition to heart, we in the Manuscripts Department have meditated on the greatest images of death, dying, martyrdom, and resurrection in the Getty’s collection.
Death was at the forefront of the medieval mind, as explored by a recent exhibition in our manuscripts gallery. In a world of violent military encounters, horrifying pestilences, and a religious tradition whose visual imagery centered on crucifixion or saintly torture, the devout prepared their minds, bodies, and souls daily for death’s cruel sting.
Daily Death
Deathbed Scene and Office of the Dead in the Spinola Hours, about 1510–20, Master of James IV of Scotland. Getty Museum, Ms. Ludwig IX 18, fols. 184 & 185
Office of the Dead
The artist of this manuscript conceived of the open book as a single canvas for a complex narrative about death and burial. At the bottom left, a young man is found by the specter of death when he falls from his horse. In a kind of X-ray view above, the corpse appears laid out on a bed, surrounded by mourners. Across the page at right, the man’s funeral bier appears in a church, whose front has also been stripped away to reveal the interior. Below, the sarcophagus rests in the crypt of the church. The image introduces the Office of the Dead, recited daily to prepare the soul for a death that can come at any time. —Elizabeth Morrison
The Three Living and the Three Dead and Decorated Text Page in the Crohin-LaFontaine Hours, about 1480–85, Master of the Dresden Prayer Book or workshop. Getty Museum, Ms. 23, fols. 146v–147
The Living and the Dead
While out hunting on horseback, three knights in the prime of their youth are shocked and distressed to encounter three hideous corpses. Even if we look to the beautiful foliate borders of the page to escape this disturbing image, hidden among the plants, flowers, and insects are skulls—a reminder that beauty and youth are fleeting and that death spares no one. —Christine Sciacca
From Womb to Tomb
Suffering of Job
The biblical figure Job lived righteously, but suffered tremendous hardships—including the loss of his wealth, family, and health—as tests of his character. Set within the Office of the Dead in this book of hours are nine illuminations featuring Job in dialogue with God and accompanied by several readings from the book in the Hebrew Bible that bears his name. The phrases (in Latin) boldly proclaim his agony and suffering: Spare me, Lord, for my days are nothing…My soul is weary of my life…There is nothing before me but the grave. The medieval reader would likely have empathized with Job’s suffering when saying the words aloud or in one’s mind, either in commemoration of the soul of a lost loved one or in preparation for one’s own death. —Bryan Keene
A Religion of Death and Life
The Crucifixion, 1475–1500, German. Tempera colors and gold, 15 5/16 × 9 9/16 in. Getty Museum, Ms. 52 (93.MS.37) recto
Jesus on the Cross
The most prevalent image of death in medieval art is that of Jesus on the cross. In this particular portrayal, the emotions of those witnessing the event are almost bound up in the figures’ draperies. The mournful Virgin Mary and John the Evangelist are clothed in heavy immovable fabric, while Jesus and the angels are luminous and airy, with textiles floating in the wind. The drapery alludes to the combined sorrow and celebration of Jesus’s life and serves as a reminder of the complexity of death and the teachings at the center of Christianity. The image would have introduced the text for the celebration of the Mass, which commemorates Christ’s body and blood through bread and wine. Look closely at the angels: they catch Christ’s blood in golden chalices, a literal connection to one of the serving implements in this rite commemorating death and life. —Andrea Hawken
The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, about 1430–40, Master of Sir John Fastolf. Getty Museum, Ms. 5, fol. 36v
Saint Sebastian’s Arrows
Saint Sebastian of Amla was martyred under the Roman Emperor Diocletian (around AD 288), who commanded that the Christian be bound to a stake and shot with arrows. Although Sebastian was left for dead, he is thought to have miraculously survived the torment. While some artists are more modest in their estimation of the number of arrows inflicted on poor Sebastian, this illuminator has covered nearly every inch of the martyr-saint’s body, making the miracle that much more profound. In the background of the scene, Pope-Saint Fabian (AD 236–250) is about to be beheaded. His feast is celebrated on the same day as that of Saint Sebastian (January 20), in whose church in Rome one finds the pope-saint’s tomb. In the Middle Ages and Renaissance, Saint Sebastian was often a symbol of hope in times of widespread disease because of his ability to defend Christians from the “arrows” of plague and pestilence. —Rheagan Martin
The Worship of the Five Wounds in the Prayer Book of Cardinal Albrecht of Brandenburg, about 1525–30, Simon Bening. Getty Museum, Ms. Ludwig IX 19, fol. 335v
The Wounds of Christ
This strange and powerful image accompanies a prayer dedicated to the wounds of Christ. The grievous injuries Christ suffered on the cross are visually distilled and shown as disembodied hands, feet, and a side wound on a heart. Devotion to these wounds, which were considered to be the essence of Christ’s humanity, became increasingly popular among late medieval and Renaissance faithful. A group of adoring angels and a crowd of people representing various social classes—kings, clergy, aristocrats, and monks—regard the extraordinary vision, which would have reminded Cardinal Albrecht of Brandenburg, the book’s original owner, of the Second Coming of Christ and would likely have inspired reverence and awe. —Kristen Collins
