Literatura científica selecionada sobre o tema "Como (Italy). Cathedral"

The static control of architectural monuments has some important and impressive applications in topographical methodologies. Two interesting examples of the topographic control methods concern the very famous Byzantine S. Marco Basilica in Venice and the Cathedral of Como, situated in the North of Italy. The measurements carried out in the static control field are in reference to the: lengths variation, transversal variation according to a specific direction and height variation. In the paper, one can find the description of the instruments and of the methodologies employed in the static control.

Abstract. Towards revealing the potential of satellite Synthetic Aperture Radar (SAR) Interferometry (InSAR) for efficient detection and monitoring of Cultural Heritage (CH) encouraging resilient built CH, this study is devoted to the validation of InSAR-derived vertical displacements with a full-resolution perspective taking advantage of high-precision geodetic levelling measurements. Considering the Cathedral of Como, northern Italy, as the case study, two different Persistent Scatterer Interferometry (PSI) techniques have been applied to Cosmo-SkyMed high-resolution SAR images acquired in both ascending and descending orbit tacks within the time interval of 2010–2012. Besides using the simplified approach for obtaining the vertical displacement velocity from Line of Sight (LOS) velocity, a weighted, localized, multi-track Vertical Displacement Extraction (VDE) approach is proposed and evaluated, which uses the technical outcome of Differential InSAR (DInSAR) and spatial information. The results, using a proper PSI technique, showed that the accuracy level of extracted vertical displacement velocities in a full-resolution application is ca. 0.6 [mm/year] with a dense concentration of InSAR-Levelling absolute errors lower than 0.3 [mm/year] which are reliable and reasonable levels based on the employed validation framework in this study. Also, the weighted localized VDE can significantly decrease the InSAR-Levelling errors, adding to the reliability of the InSAR application for CH monitoring and condition assessment in practice.

This paper arises out of an art historian’s interest in the frescoes of ‘Queen Theodolinda’s chapel’ in the cathedral of Monza, executed c. 1444 by the brothers Zavattari. Although these paintings have aroused intense regional interest, outside Italy they are possibly less well-known than they deserve to be. They call forth the questions of how and why Theodolinda – a ‘barbarian’ queen who lived in the late sixth and early seventh centuries – could have come to assume such a central role for the church of Monza. The interpretation and re-interpretation of her story – perhaps the projection of the present back into the past? – offers an appropriate topic for the theme of ‘The Church Retrospective’.

AbstractReligious courts have for centuries been part of the European legal landscape. Almost all churches and religious communities have their own judicial systems, often composed of courts or tribunals ordered hierarchically. The aim of this paper is to present cases from the jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights, in which a religious court was involved at the stage of domestic proceedings. The twelve cases in question originate from a number of European States, from Italy to Finland and from the UK to Turkey—and in one particular case, Israel. The applicants belonged to many denominations, predominantly Christian. The Court of Human Rights (and before that, the Commission of Human Rights) has been concerned, in the main, with religious courts in terms of compliance with the requirement for a fair hearing by an independent and impartial tribunal under Article 6 of the European Convention of Human Rights. The Court has come to various conclusions—for example, it accepted that courts of the Church of England comply with the requirement, it questioned whether the cathedral chapter of the Evangelical-Lutheran Church in Finland did so, and it indirectly criticized proceedings before the Roman Rota of the Catholic Church. The most recent judgment from September 2017, Nagy v. Hungary, and in particular many associated dissenting opinions, demonstrate that the matter is worthy of study, particularly in the contemporary context of religious freedom. Nevertheless, the cases are so different that it is difficult to discern a coherent line of jurisprudence, and the Court itself hardly ever refers to its own previous judgments in this field.

The Ottonian dynasty, whose members ruled Germany and northern Italy in the tenth and early eleventh centuries, were not only concerned with their eastern borders and their relations with Byzantium, but also sought news from and alliances with the West. Inhabitants of the Iberian Peninsula informed the ideas of the Ottonian court in a number of ways and contemporaries documented the interactions. Hrotsvitha, a canoness in the Ottonian royal monastery of Gandersheim, recorded the martyrdom of a young Spanish Christian, Pelagius, who met his death at Cordoba in 925. Hrotsvitha wrote that she had come by her account from an eyewitness. John of Gorze performed the office of ambassador for Otto I at the court of the caliph 'Abd al-Rahmān III at Cordoba for three years from 953. Otto sent John to negotiate access to the Alpine passes that were thought to be raided by Andalusians who were located at Fraxinetum and who were controlled by the caliph. Liudprand of Cremona (Ottonian court) and Recemund (court of al-Andalus) were on friendly terms. The Tumbo A at the cathedral of Santiago is a cartulary whose images of royal figures undoubtedly imitate Carolingian or Ottonian models. Little coordinated work has been done on the contacts between the Ottonians and their followers and the dwellers in the Iberian Peninsula. How friendly or hostile were they to each other? What were the physical and temporal barriers to successful contacts? Using texts and visual records, this paper brings to attention the reports of the cultural, economic, social, and political interactions between the Ottonian empire and the court of al-Andalus from their varied points of view.

Saint Canute the King’s Eagle Cloth in Odense CathedralA new interpretation The eagle silk cloth in Odense Cathedral (Fig. 1) is believed to have been part of the contents of the shrine of Saint Canute (King Canute the Holy); it was perhaps a cape used as a shroud. Today it measures 110 by 133 cm, but originally it was larger, at least 130 by 195 cm. The purple fabric with its blue-black eagle pattern and decoration is generally regarded as a “pannus imperialis ad aquilas magnas” – a term known from medieval texts. The style of its decorative motifs dates it to the 11th or 12th century. Otto von Falke regarded the Odense cloth and related fabrics as the products of the Byzantine state workshop. Agnes Geijer, on the other hand, assumed that the Odense specimen was made by Islamic weavers in Southern Italy or Sicily and that it had formed part of the gifts which Canute’s widow, who had later married Duke Roger of Apulia, sent to the saint’s shrine.Underneath the eagle pattern on the cloth there seems to be an inscription (Fig. 2). Although only a few of the letters are legible the classical philologist Carsten Høeg considered them to be based on Greek letter-forms. It is in fact possible to distinguish at least five, and in addition, there are some possible ligatures of two or three letters (Fig. 3). A comparison between these vestiges and well-known By­zantine textile inscriptions leads to the impression that the last word could have been DESPOTOU, and that several of the preceding signs may be part of the word PHILOCHRISTOU. If so, we have an official dating, and even the name of the emperor in question. Among the rulers in the 11th and the 12th centuries, only five had a name short enough to fit into this context, and if we are right in distinguishing an alpha or a lambda in the beginning, this would exclude all but Alexios. Consequently, we will venture to make a hypothetic reconstruction with this name based on the existing remains (Fig. 4).The style of the fabric makes it most unlikely that anyone else but Alexios I (1081-1118) could come into question. It was he, who – probably in 1103 – received Saint Canute’s brother, King Eric the Good (Erik Ejegod), who died that very same year in Cyprus on his way to the Holy Land. In Eiriksdrapa, the memorial poem written in honour of this king by the contemporary Icelandic bard, Markus Skeggjason, it is explicitly stated that among other rich gifts, Eric was presented with an imperial garment: “allvalds skruði”, i.e. “the emperor’s shroud”.One of the present authors has drawn attention to the possibility that the bluish dark colour of the eagles indicates that the fabric was intended for a “sebastokrator,” a brother or son of the emperor or someone else very close to him. The colours, the ­eagles, and the size of the cloth would actually be appropriate for the type of garment called a “paludamentum”, a purple officer’s cloak worn by the emperor and other highly prominent persons (Figs. 5-6). Some of the leaders of the First Crusade were honoured by being elevated to the status of adopted sons of the emperor, and Krijnie Ciggaar has wondered whether the same could have happened to Eric. If this was the case, then it seems that it was Eric’s imperial silk cloth that was transferred to Odense as a tribute to his more distinguished brother, the martyr saint.Recently, it has been stated that the red colour of the Odense cloth is not genuine purple. However, the loss of most of Anatolia and Lebanon made it difficult for Byzantine workers to obtain the right colour components. Genuine murex-purple was in fact used in Constantinople until the thirteenth century, but this top-quality purple was reserved for the emperor alone. This explains why an inferior dye quality was used for the Odense cloth, which was made for a person with the rank of a seba­stokrator.P.J. RiisKøbenhavnThomas RiisChristian-Albrechts-Universität zu Kiel

I took these pictures while travelling on my motorbike in Southern Italy. Except for the first two (“Caged_N,” a view of Naples from behind the bars of an ancient cloister now hosting one of the city’s universities; and “Ashes,” a view of Naples’ Città della Scienza), they were all taken in the summer. Summer, in fact, is the season during which contrasts and colors are most powerfully sublimated against these lands’ vast horizon, disclosing sceneries made of abandonment, forgetfulness, and stubborn elemental creativity. This is the fate of the South: to be alive in spite of everything, in spite of bad politicians and of colonizations disguised as (short-term) “development” policies. Though, this being alive conveys very much the weight of a problematic life, which is often a struggle against the challenges of space_time_matter. Or, even worse, against the violence of organized crime, as in the case of “Ashes,” given to the flames in 2013 and now slowly resurrecting.Defined by environmental economist Manlio Rossi Doria “la terra dell’osso,” the bone land, the internal territories of the South survive in their elemental combinations, crisscrossed by huge (and often disproportionate) infrastructures that remain often “cathedrals in the desert” (like the majestic Musumeci’s Bridge, portrayed in the picture “Minimo Strutturale”) and by building developments that cover catastrophic events (in this case, the earthquake of 1980) with abstract—and therefore equally catastrophic—solutions (“Piano Regolatore”). In this silent landscape, testimonies from the territory’s “original characters” take not only the shape of abandoned agrarian houses (“Agrarian Reform”), but also that of the surprising inventiveness of ancient ways to create the built environment. This is the case of Basilicata’s historic town Matera (“Matera”), that, from being a site of backwardness and abandonment, has turned today into a UNESCO World Heritage Site and will be the European Capital of Culture in 2019. Resumen Hice estas fotografías mientras viajaba en mi moto por el sur de Italia. Salvo por las dos primeras (“Caged_N,” una vista de Nápoles desde detrás de las rejas de un antiguo claustro que ahora acoge una de las universidades de la ciudad; y “Ashes”, una vista de la Città della Scienza de Nápoles), todas se hicieron en verano. El verano, de hecho, es la estación durante la que los contrastes y los colores se subliman más poderosamente contra el vasto horizonte de estas tierras, revelando paisajes hechos de abandono, olvido, y terca creatividad elemental. Este es el destino del Sur: estar vivo a pesar de todo, a pesar de los malos políticos y de las colonizaciones disfrazadas de políticas de “desarrollo” (a corto plazo). Sin embargo, este estar vivo expresa mucho el peso de una vida problemática, que a menudo es una lucha contra los desafío del espacio_tiempo_materia. O, incluso peor, contra la violencia del crimen organizado, como en el caso de “Ashes,” entregado a las llamas en 2013 y ahora resucitando lentamente. Definida por el economista medioambiental Manlio Rossi Doria como “la terra dell’osso,” la tierra del hueso, los territorios internos del Sur sobreviven en sus combinaciones elementales, entrecruzados por infraestructuras enormes (y a menudo desproporcionadas) que permanecen a menudo “catedrales en el desierto” (como el majestoso puente de Mudumeci, retratado en la imagen “Minimo Strutturale”) y por desarrollos de construcción que cubren sucesos catastróficos (en este caso, el terremoto de 1980) con soluciones abstractas—y por lo tanto igualmente catastróficas—(“Piano Regolatore”). En este paisaje silencioso, los testimonios de los “personajes originales” del territorio toman no sólo la forma de casa agrícolas abandonadas (“Agrarian Reform”), sino también la de la sorprendente inventiva de las formas antiguas de crear el entorno construido. Este es el caso de la histórica ciudad de Basilicata, Matera (“Matera”), que, de ser un lugar de atraso y abandono, se ha convertido hoy en Patrimonio Mundial de la UNESCO y será la Capital Europea de la Cultura en 2019.

Generally speaking, paleochristian memoriae have emerged out of the funeral traditions of the pagan world of Antiquity with its particular expression of the cult of deceased, sustained with the culture that had come out of Christian theology and aesthetics. It came together withnew architectural forms some of which were characterized with cross-like forms, not only as a general symbol of new faith, but also as the spatial projection, model after which one had to build. It is defined by two axes that cross at the right angle, the framework of the overall architecturalcomposition, factor of building’s extension in its entire length and width, as well as the height of the building that is dominated and marked by a dome. This particular structure of the building expresses its own essence, memorial use and the Christian paradigm. Through form and function, these buildings have become a distinguished phenomenon of the Christian civilization, valued in the architecture from the late antiquity to Romanesque period.Mature form of the space intended for the cult of the deceased, particularly when small cruciform churches are in question, is remarkably expressed in the preserved chapel of St. Lawrence, widely known as the mausoleum of Galla Placidia, one of two identical buildings once located at the ends of the narthex of the Ravennate church of the Holy Cross. The lower space of Theodoric’s mausoleum in Ravenna is also cruciform, however one should also remember emperor Justinian’s cruciform tombin Constantinople church of the Holy Apostles. It was demolished in the 15 century, together with the whole complex, and is known only through historical sources.Together with the Ravennate memoriae, such tombs could have – directly or indirectly – influence the formation of the cruciform memoriae in the Adriatic cultural landscape from Late Antiquity to Romanesque period.This paper elaborates the group of approximately fifteen buildings that demonstrate – through their forms and funerary functions – perseverance of particular cruciform plan of a memoriae within the Adriatic ambiance. A particularly numerous group is that of southern Istria, which consists of the Pula cathedral baptistery, two chapels by the basilica of Sta Maria Formosa and St. Mathew’s chapel in Pula, that of St. Catharine on a nearby islet and the supposed cruciform church of St. Andrew on an island in front of Rovinj. To such a concentration of the paleochristian memoriae one should link two early-mediaeval chapels, that of St. Clement in Pula and St. Thomas’ near Rovinj. The latter’s forms were already commented by Ivan Matejčić to follow and repeat paleochristian features. Among these features there are three protruding apses similar to those of St. Catharine’s. Therefore, it seems that the forms and themeasures of pre-Romanesque chapels were taken from those of the nearby Byzantine buildings, rather than from the distant Carolingian examples in Italy or France. Earlier and later southern Istrian memoriae are treated here as a typological group with emphasized regional features and continuity. Their forms differ only in some less important details, e.g. facades being either flat or articulated with lesenes. Their common features are, on the other hand, elementary architectural composition, spatial structure that consists of four branches and the dome hidden in the drum, as well as their dimensions and proportions. An element ofparticular interest is the octagonal upper part of the dome on Pula baptistery, that on St. Catharine’s on an islet in front of Pula as well as one on St. Andrew’s on an islet in front of Rovinj. These are probably reconstructions of the older solution. Within the supposedly later construction, there is a dome, a trula, as Pietro Kandler has named it, relating it with the Longboard architecture. It is carried by squinches.This solution is, actually, the Byzantine tradition in the area of Ravennate influences. A similar dome is constructed above the cruciform chapel consecrated to St. Mary Mater Domini (Theotokos), built next to the church of St. Felix and Fortunato in Vicenza, in 6 century. It seems that the same tradition was followed by very similar buildings, Paduan chapel of San Prosdocimo, and the memory erected by Santi Apostoli in Verona. On the other hand, St. Clement’s in Pula did not have a dome of such type and this church had yet another significant difference from the other Istrian chapels, the rectangular extension of areas in front of the apses. Another example that stands out from the group is the church of St. Euphemia at Saline bay in Lim channel. It is an Early Romanesque chapel with three apses at the rear. Lateral branches are reduced; they are much shorter than the front one, and give an impression of a transept rather than cruciform branches, as in other churches of the group. The upper part of the walls give no evidence of neither vaults nor a dome.Differently from the typological unity of the paleochristian and early mediaeval Istrian memoriae, those in Dalmatia show significant variability of the theme, already noticeable at the physiognomy of the earlier examples. For instance, the small baptistery in Baška on the island of Krk is an orderly cruciform building with relatively short branches and unarticulated flat walls, similar to Pula baptistery. The ground plan of St. Martin’s on the island of Cres is considerably different. It was a considerably larger building, probably in a memorial function related to a nearby villa rustica. It also has the rectangular extension in front of the apse, like St. Clement’s at Pula. Its walls show no traces of vaulted constructions. In a later phase, it was probably used as a parish church, like some examples of Dalmatian triconchal churches. A particular articulation of the walls, different from all of the Istrian and Dalmatiancruciform memoriae, was that of St. Cyprian’s chapel at Gata. Its short branches are rectangular on the outside, while on the inside they have inscribed round apses. Therefore, the outer surfaces have narrow round niches as relief of the thickened angles. Memory of the Holy Cross at Nin also has a round apse inscribed in the rectangular body of its rear branch. However, it is flanked by two smaller protruding apses, i.e. three in total. Other branches are vaulted with a half-dome on angular squinches that are also constructed below the drum with the dome inside. Ivo Petricioli has long ago suggested that its proportions indicate influences of the early mediaeval Byzantine architecture. This is further corroborated by its outer surfaces articulated with shallow niches. These features do not appear in Carolingian architecture, so it seems that the Holy Cross should be dated into the 10th or the 11th century. It also should be related tothe influences from nearby Zadar - contemporary capitol of the Byzantine Theme of Dalmatia - with the church of St. Vitus whose features, both general form and details, are of the same type of the building. Furthermore, they should be compared with the chapel of St. Donatus at Kornić on Krk Island. This small church is of apparently different groundplan, but one could still consider it a cruciform type. Its front and rear branches are rectangular, and there are indications that the rear branch had a round apse inscribed, similarly to the memory of the Holy Cross at Nin. However, its lateral branches are relatively small round apses, protruding from the sides of the chapel. Among them, there is a relativelyspacious central section with the dome constructed on the squinches. Miljenko Jurković has plausibly dated the church in 12th century, while I believe that it confirms the continuity of the paleochristian cruciform type of the Christian memory in Istria and Dalmatia from Late Antiquity to theRomanesque period. This is proven by some contemporary constructions, such as the chapel of an unknown title at Crkvina near Kašić, near Biljani Donji, that has also been dated in Romanesque period. In spite of some individual differences all of the memoriae compared in this paper, both groups are assembled by numerousness and similarities of both cruciform plans and funerary functions. Also, the influence of Adriatic Byzantine centres, particularly that of Ravenna, Pula and Zadar, is noticeable in formation of the regional characteristics of memorial architecture in the cultural ambiance of Istria and Dalmatia, within the context of long-lasting continuity of its forms and functions, from Late Antiquity to Romanesque period.

Last year witnessed the conclusion of a long-fought dispute between a private party and a foreign government over an art collection with significant cultural value. It involved a treasure of ecclesiastical objects dating back to Medieval Germany that had once belonged to the royal House of Guelph and housed in the muralled medieval Brunswick Cathedral in Braunschweig, Germany. Ultimately, after over a decade of fighting, the controversy’s resolution did not involve an ownership determination by a U.S. court. Rather, the high court abstained from making a determination and instead declined to exercise jurisdiction over Germany. The lack of decision was not surprising, particularly in light of delicate foreign policy issues at play and the importance of keeping the judiciary out of international political disputes. The court’s unanimous decision was consistent with prior holdings, and so perhaps it was foreseeable that the court did not examine the merits of the ownership claims. However, a line of cases against Greece, Switzerland, and Italy did come as a shock, because they involved claims against foreign countries for asserting ownership interests in antiquities that were suspected of having been looted. Never before had governments been sued for their actions regulating the antiquities market and working to protect cultural artifacts.

James Frederic Danielli was born on 13 November 1911 in London. His great-grandfather, Joseph James Danielli, had come to England in the 19th century from his native Italy as an expert woodcarver. Joseph’s eldest son, Arthur, was an artist in stained glass, who spent much of his working life in the Catholic churches and great cathedrals of mainland Europe and in Ireland, living with the priests in the monasteries of the day. (I like to think of that earlier Danielli’s genes remaining in his descendant and giving our Jim Danielli that light and sparkle with which we always associated him.) The second of Arthur’s five children, James Frederic, was the father of our James Frederic, and grew up in London in a strict Catholic enclave, with the children being educated in convents. He was an outstandingly gifted man, endowed with good looks and charm, who went on to a distinguished career in the civil service, being eventually awarded the Imperial Service Order. At the age of 18 he had married Helena Mary Hollins, across religious boundaries. The young couple lived in the Hollins parents’ home in the country village of Alperton, near the then small town of Wembley, where James Frederic was born, followed two years later by his sister Bertha. The two grew up in a comfortable, easy and extremely happy atmosphere as ‘country’ children. They were always well occupied and encouraged to do whatever they were doing to the best of their ability, their father telling them that if they knew they were good at something, they should not be afraid of acknowledging this, an attitude that built confidence.