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Gisant, or recumbent effigies, are tomb sculptures depicting the deceased at or near their moment of death.
The earliest known version of this type of funerary art comes from the Etruscans, working smaller than the more (relatively) modern Catholic examples I am focusing on. They also typically depicted the deceased at a feast, rather than at the cusp of or immediately after their demise. Typical European gisant show the subject in this ‘eternal repose,’ although variations such as the transi, or cadaver tomb, used during the Renaissance, depict a person’s corpse instead, naked with embalming scars or already decomposed. This transi is of the former type, skin half-peeled away and posture yearning; this particular sculpture too artful and untrue to the reality of decomposition to be unsettling. This is one of the latter designation, very common for Medieval transi: an earnestly rendered corpse left to rot. It is a very literal way to convey time and mortality through art. What really gets me is that it is intended to be reverent rather than morbid: this is the image of themselves these people wanted immortalized ever after. It is an interesting thing to think about: the reasoning behind having your image captured and displayed in death, rather than in life, as is the modern custom. The subjects are definitely made prettier and aestheticized, but the message they’re leaving behind is still the fact of their mortality, rather than their worldly presence and achievements. A lot of it has to do with the religious associations of the gisant: ideally, they’ll be housed in a place of worship, and an image of piety in death lends itself to the suggestion of ascension to heaven. Still, a literally stone-carved monument to having died is a fascinating thing, especially since, in a perfect world, these would all be publically displayed. A non-transi gisant, this is the tomb of Cardinal Richeleiu, a French clergyman, nobleman, statesman, and villain of The Three Musketeers novels (no, really,) literally held in the arms of piety as he passes. To have your gisant kept in a church or abbey, especially a notable one, is a very high honor, and the end goal for the construction of a tomb like this. Westminster Abbey, where I had my first exposure to these sculptures, is full of them, tucked lovingly into every niche and against every wall. Beyond their individual significance, this grouping of them interests me as well. Its an instance of the multiple that could not be premeditated by the sculptors: who knew where in a church a certain tomb was going to be placed, or what would be put near it in the years to come? While beautifully upkept, they are somewhat hodge-podge in this way, monuments to pious death shoved like sardines into a chapel. Though not strictly intended, I think that they function as a much more effective memento mori, crammed into churches as they are: sculptures carved hundreds of years apart, all God-fearing individuals, all frantic to immortalize that to the world, all equally dead, tucked against walls and behind each other. Works Cited https://www.britannica.com/art/gisant https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gisant
Kelsey
11/16/2016 03:51:05 pm
I think that these depictions of the dead or nearly dead are really fascinating. I remember seeing Abraham Lincoln's death mask at the Smithsonian Museum of American History and being really struck by how it made me feel a connection to his presence more than a regular portrait. Have you looked into Victorian death photography? I think it would be interesting to compare the ways that people have depicted the dead throughout history in order to try and understand some uniting reasons and themes.
Shay
11/16/2016 06:47:27 pm
Very cool, I didn't know these sculptures had a name! It's so interesting how European views of death have changed over the years and these sculptures definitely embody the attitudes of their time periods. It's a very visceral display of grief, made even more so with how beautiful the sculptures are.
Haydn Cooper
11/16/2016 10:58:47 pm
I've never seen anything like this before, but I'm really glad I do now! What intrigues me the most about these is the choice of representation, they all seem to show the person at their death bed or close to it. It seems a little sad being immortalized on this earth as a dying soul, but maybe romanticism was on the rise? In my Art History 101 class, most grave arts are going for an ideal self; such as the Ancient Egyptians including items for the afterlife or one's profession. Makes me wonder what sort of person in society would want their grave marker representing themselves forever in a state of dying and torment.
Louise
11/17/2016 11:25:30 am
Wow, I've actually never heard of giants. I'm pretty amazed. I lived in Europe for a short while but somehow never came across one. A really interesting thing to think about is how long it takes to cut stone and render a realistic scultpure. In these days, the artist drawing from a photograph of a corpse wasn't possible... so he just had to look at a real corpse as it decayed over the course of his carving? That must have been pretty difficult! And would explain why the bone started to show through. Fascinating read.
Lena
11/17/2016 01:23:15 pm
This was really interesting- I've never seen or heard of Gisants, and it was interesting in the context of thinking about mortality, spirituality, and life in the renaissance (as well as before and after).
Alison Sigala
11/17/2016 03:56:52 pm
I'm also fascinated by these particular grave sculptures. I had only ever heard of the kind that immortalize the subject as they were in life, or as they would be in the afterlife. I like the morbid image these portray... like zombies. It's a very strong moment in time to capture in art. I've often thought that if I had enough money when I died, I might want some kind of dark art to mark my grave... Comments are closed.
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