Добірка наукової літератури з теми "Portrait en majesté"

Comme construction de conventions iconographiques, le portrait du roi dans l’Espagne des xvie et xviie siècles fait intervenir des codes précis de réalisation formelle et de « lecture » relevant de stratégies propres à faire naître une certaine émotion visuelle et esthétique. La rhétorique de l’image de la majesté à travers l’apparent contrôle de soi de la figure, les effets d’impassibilité, de distance et de gravité qui la régissent, vise à susciter des sentiments de respect, d’admiration, de fidélité voire de soumission au pouvoir royal. Bien des témoignages le confirment. Des œuvres picturales comme la Récupération de Bahia de Maíno ou les divers portraits de Philippe IV réalisés par Velázquez sont significatives d’une réflexion méditée de la part des artistes sur le rapport complexe du tableau au regard du spectateur. De la même manière, bon nombre de comedias mettant en scène la figure du roi, exacerbent la théâtralité du corps royal comme expression supérieure de son pouvoir. De tels exemples invitent à approfondir et à nuancer le traditionnel principe du « taire ses émotions » qui engage l’affirmation même de sa souveraineté.

RésuméCeux que nous appelons « tueurs à gages » ont mis longtemps à être reconnus comme une catégorie particulière de criminels. Leur dénomination les confond le plus souvent avec ceux que le latin appellesatellites, c’est-à-dire les membres qui gravitent dans l’entourage du commanditaire, qui peuvent être ses vassaux s’il s’agit d’un seigneur, de simples compagnons ou des serviteurs. Il est alors difficile de savoir dans quelle mesure leur action est stipendiée. Elle est certes diabolisée, comme le montre l’exemple paradigmatique du meurtre de Thomas Becket, mais la justice royale ne les poursuit guère. Aux deux derniers siècles du Moyen Âge, une évolution sensible se dessine: la procédure judiciaire cherche à mettre un nom sur leurs visages et à définir leur responsabilité en même temps qu’elle inculpe le commanditaire qui a eu l’intention de tuer. Les tueurs sont dotés d’un portrait stéréotypé qui les apparente aux bannis et aux hommes d’armes. Ils sont alors poursuivis en même temps que les hôtels aristocratiques qui leur servent souvent de repaires. La violence commanditée est condamnée car son déroulement, souillé par l’argent, le secret et la préméditation, dénature les lois de ce qui, en contrepoint, est défini comme une violence licite, perpétuée publiquement pour défendre un honneur blessé. Elle peut même être définie comme crime de lèse-majesté et ses auteurs deviennent au début du XVIesiècle des assassins.

AbstractThis article examines the iconographic programme of the Last Judgement scene depicted in Christ III. A notable feature of the poem’s detailed visual programme is the way in which it provides the audience with a single, panoramic vision that encompasses the divergent perspectives of the blessed and the damned. It is on account of this dual perspective that the poem, through its precise use of language and imagery, presents the audience with a bifocal vision of Christ as King of Kings and Judge of the World, in keeping with the words of Revelation 19:16. A detailed analysis of the poem’s imagery, however, suggests that its portrait of Christ as Judge is not only informed by scripture and exegetical sources, but is also indebted to contemporary visual imagery, particularly the depiction of Christ as Majestas Domini, or Christ in Majesty. As a result, and by approaching the poem’s imagery from an iconological perspective, it is argued that the poet of Christ III had a detailed knowledge of contemporary Christological motifs. Furthermore, a careful analysis of the language used to describe the Judgement scene, and particularly the depiction of Christ as Judge, suggests that the poet intentionally seeks to evoke a range of specific visual images in the mind of his audience in order to amplify the poem’s instructive and penitential aims.

Miles Coverdale's complex emotional posture at the close of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Blithedale Romance (1852) embodies the plight of post-heroic life in the 1850s: a decade in which the self-proclaimed "children" of America's revolutionary founders wrestled with the lingering contamination introduced into public life by the invidious nexus of slavery and the Mexican War. America, as Theodore Parker fiercely proclaimed in 1846, had become "a dead nation corrupting beside its golden tomb." Hawthorne's third novel in three years-a feverish rate of production-portrays a cultural climate obsessed with its secret and shameful wounds. The prophylactic zone of Blithedale farm, in fact, hosts a variety of spiritual and physical contagions, perfectly suited to Coverdale's epidemiological imagination and reflected in the moody volatility of his story. Each of the book's central characters responds to what its narrator terms the "diseased action" of the heart, forming a collective portrait of social and moral pathology that no utopian dream can effectively check. Zenobia's eloquent delirium at the book's conclusion, and Miles Coverdale's enigmatic malaise, capture in distinct and poignant ways the painful conjunction of majesty and futility to which the post-heroic condition ultimately leads.

This chapter considers the Baltic Sea as a unique conduit for Russia’s transcultural exchange, with all the imperialist rivalry that this entailed. It takes as its case study a handful of portraits that the Danish artist Vigilius Eriksen painted for Catherine the Great in the 1760s and ‘70s, and the way in which their circulation and display enabled the empress to become arguably the most efficient ruler of her generation to foster a personal iconography that announced and then cemented her eminence on the European stage. Tracing the trajectories of Eriksen’s portraits reveals a commanding nexus between political ascendency, international relations, and visual imagery, and the function of paintings as highly charged conductors of regal clout around the Baltic Sea. Collectively, they engaged with power differentials in highly suggestive ways, confirming the vitality with which portraiture constructed and signalled status and authority between some of the Baltic’s most competitive courts.

The contrasts could hardly be drawn more boldly than in the speech On the Crown: from the majestic tone of the prayers that articulate the opening, the conclusion, and some transitions (18.1, 8, 141, 324) to the scurrility of the portrait of Aeschines' parents (18.129–30), from the noble conception of Athens' historical mission as leader in the fight for freedom (18.66ff., 199ff.) to the reading off of the names of the traitors of all the Greek states, a veritable muster-roll of infamy (18.295), from the portrait of the orator's own work in building a resistance to Philip (18.79–94,169ff.) to the depiction of his opponent's inertia, venality, obstructionism, and collaboration with the enemy. Black and white divide the canvas between them with very little room reserved for shading.

This article analizes Gabriel Bocángel y Unzueta’s sonnet “Retrato de Su Majestad por Martínez Montañés, esculpido en barro” in light of the interplays between poetry and painting in Golden Age Spain. The sonnet’s relation to both Velázquez’s Portrait of Juan Martínez Montañés and the poetry of Juan de Jáuregui as well as to Spanish seventeenth-century theoretical writings on visual arts is discussed. Bocángel uses the trope of the competition between the arts in order to theorize how poetry, conceptualized as breath, addresses the challenges of portraying Philip IV.

In an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery of the work of William Dobson entitled “The Royalists at War,” one portrait among the Cavalier soldiers and commanders was that of Sir Thomas Aylesbury. Aylesbury holds in his hand a document that begins, “To the King's most Excellent Majesty The Humble Petition.” By posing in his official black robes that evoke the solemnity of the law and by giving the petition prominence, Aylesbury celebrates his position as a master of requests. As a master of requests even at Oxford in the 1640s, it was his role to present petitions to the king asking for redress of grievances or for personal advancement, in short, asking for royal bounty. As Dobson's portrait signifies, such petitions were not merely the seedy clamorings of early Stuart courtiers but an open and important link between the monarch and the subject, one suitable for commemoration in portraiture. The painting makes concrete, even in the midst of civil war, the king's traditional role as guarantor of justice and giver of favor. While the king's promise of justice goes back to early Anglo-Saxon dooms and tenth-century coronation oaths, his giving of largesse had expanded with the Renaissance monarchy of the Tudors.Historians of early modern Europe have become interested in court patronage as they have analyzed politics and political elites. From the fifteenth to the eighteenth century, from the work of MacFarlane to Namier, the study of relationships between patrons and clients has been at the forefront of modern historiography.

L’objectif de cette thèse est de conduire une étude comparative du portrait du monarque en France et du portrait de l’empereur en Chine aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècle. Ma recherche vise à saisir comment et pourquoi le peintre élabore un tel portrait et figure la majesté dans une image, ou encore l’invisible dans le visible. Le peintre de la dynastie des Ming, Wang Fu (王紱1362-1416) a reconnu que « Peindre un portrait est difficile, peindre un portrait d’empereur est plus difficile ». En effet, peindre un portrait, ce n’est pas seulement rendre la ressemblance ni l’apparence. Il importe non seulement de restituer le statut social voire politique mais d’exprimer l’intériorité du modèle, de rendre vivante sa singularité. Mais peindre le portrait en majesté d’un souverain, c’est lui conférer toute sa puissance, faire rayonner sa gloire, apparaître l’étendue de son pouvoir et le figurer dans son autorité absolue. C’est pourquoi nous interrogeons le sens des emblèmes et insignes, des symboles qui lui sont réservés, et aussi les postures du corps, ainsi que le langage des couleurs, et les codes picturaux des deux cultures. Il nous faut convoquer pour ce faire des approches d’anthropologie culturelle, de sociologie, pour élaborer l’analyse de la dimension iconographique, ainsi qu’une analyse sémiologique. Quel est en effet le véritable sens de l’image du souverain en majesté, quand elle doit conjuguer la tradition, l’idéologie politique avec la structure de la représentation ? En un mot, comment un peintre peut-il représenter l’invisible dans le visible ?Notre recherche se confronte à deux questions essentielles. Comment précisément restituer le rayonnement de la gloire et la toute-puissance dans le portrait d’un souverain en majesté ? Et quelle en est la destination essentielle, s’il est répandu à l’infini pour le monarque occidental, et demeure invisible à ses sujets pour l’empereur ? Concernant la première question, il faut chercher à définir la notion de portrait, l’acte de portraire, de tracer des formes, des contours, jusqu’à modeler des reliefs par le jeu des contrastes clair-obscur, ombre-lumière, proche-lointain, par le recours à la perspective également. Nous développerons notamment des théories picturales distinctes d’une culture à l’autre, d’autant que, si le portrait est en usage depuis longtemps dans les deux cultures, il s’y est développé selon des objectifs et des rythmes bien distincts et prend un sens autre, selon le public auquel il est destiné. Ainsi, le portraitiste chinois cherche-t-il la « ressemblance spirituelle », et le souffle qui relie l’homme au cosmos, quand le portraitiste occidental cherche à rendre l’expression du sujet, et ce, selon des techniques picturales qui diffèrent largement d’une culture à l’autre. Concernant la seconde question, nous montrerons que les peintres créent le genre du portrait en majesté non seulement en choisissant soigneusement la pose et toute une gestuelle, qui traduit un langage du corps, mais aussi en y inscrivant marques et insignes d’une lignée dans la pérennité. Et ce, dans l’objectif d’attester à la fois de la légitimité et de la toute-puissance du souverain, en frappant les destinataires, en leur donnant à imaginer et à croire. Ainsi est assurée la « fabrique du roi », et sa souveraineté incontestée, ainsi est attestée auprès de tous, qui paradoxalement n’en sont pourtant pas les témoins visuels, la légitimité du Fils du ciel. Mais, ce faisant, l’image n’a-t-elle d’autre sens que d’entretenir l’illusion de la toute-puissance ? Et l’absence d’image de l’empereur qui se qualifie lui-même de zhen, l’invisible, et cultive aux yeux de ses sujets, son opacité, son impénétrabilité, nourrissant ainsi l’efficace de sa puissance, n’est-elle semblablement facteur d’illusion ?
The objective of this thesis is to conduct a comparative study of the portrait of the monarch in France and the portrait of the emperor in China in the 17th and 18th centuries. My research aims to understand how and why the painter creates such a portrait and represents majesty in an image or the invisible in the visible. The painter of the Ming dynasty, Wang Fu (王紱1362-1416), recognized that “Painting a portrait is difficult, painting a portrait of an emperor is more difficult.” Indeed, painting a portrait is not just about rendering the likeness or appearance. It is important not only to restore the social or even political status but also to express the interiority of the model and bring its uniqueness to life. However, painting a majestic portrait of a sovereign means giving him all his power, making his glory radiate, demonstrating the extent of his power, and representing him with absolute authority. That is why we need to explore the meaning of the symbols and emblems, which are specific to the sovereign, and also analyze the postures of the body, as well as the language of colors, and the pictorial codes of the two cultures. For this, we must call upon approaches of cultural anthropology, sociology, to develop the analysis of the iconographic dimension, as well as a semiological analysis. What is indeed the true meaning of the image of the sovereign in majesty, when it must combine tradition, political ideology with the structure of representation? In a word, how can a painter depict the invisible in the visible?Our research confronts two essential questions. How precisely to restore the radiance of glory and omnipotence in the portrait of a sovereign in majesty? And what is its essential purpose? The portraits of Western monarchs were widely reproduced and made accessible to the public, while the portraits of Chinese emperors were kept hidden from the eyes of their subjects. Regarding the first question, we must explore the concept of portrait, that is, the act of creating a portrait, including how to depict forms and contours through techniques such as the contrast of light and shadow, distance, and how to create a sense of volume through perspective. We will elaborate on the different theories of painting in the two cultures, as portraiture has existed for a long time in both cultures, but their goals and development differ, and it has been given different meanings based on its audience. For instance, the Chinese portraitists - pursue “spiritual resemblance” seeking to connect the essence of the individual with the universe. Western portraitists focus on expressing the demeanor of the subject, and this, according to pictorial techniques differs widely from one culture to another. Regarding the second question, we will show that painters create the genre of the portrait in majesty not only by carefully choosing the pose and a whole range of gestures, which translates into a language of the body, but also by embedding emblems and symbols representing the dynasty's perpetuity. The purpose of this is to affirm the legitimacy and supreme authority of the monarch, captivating viewers and evoking feelings of awe and reverence. Through such techniques, the image of the monarch is constructed, and their ruling status is established, even though the viewers of these images often have not witnessed them in person. However, does the meaning of the portrait only maintain the monarch's illusion of supremacy? And the emperor calls himself zhen, meaning the invisible one, while deliberately maintaining an air of mystery and inscrutability before his subjects. Does this absence of image also contribute to constructing an illusion? What we aim to establish is that whether through widely existing portraits or the absence of images, such means achieve their purpose: to evoke awe, obedience, and loyalty; in other words, to construct authority

Anne d’Autriche occupe une place importante, longtemps négligée, dans le développement de l’iconographie royale en France au XVIIe siècle. Ecartée du pouvoir sous le règne de son mari Louis XIII, elle est pourtant le sujet de très nombreuses représentations. Sa présence dans le champ des images connaît un net développement lorsqu’elle accède aux responsabilités du gouvernement à la mort du roi, en 1643, en devenant régente au nom de son fils mineur, Louis XIV. Au-delà de sa majorité en 1651, elle conserve un rôle éminent, jusqu’à la mort de Mazarin en 1661. Ces deux décennies sont marquées par une profonde crise politique qui culmine dans l’épisode de la Fronde. Dans ce contexte, l’image d’Anne d’Autriche devient le support d’un discours sur l’autorité monarchique et sur la défense du pouvoir royal. A partir d’un corpus constitué des représentations de la régente, et en les croisant avec des sources textuelles, cette thèse analyse la construction visuelle de ce discours, et ses effets sur l’évolution de l’image de la royauté en France après le règne de Louis XIII. La « majesté », qui constitue dans le corpus des textes, juridiques, politiques et symboliques, la qualité essentielle du souverain et la marque de son identité, doit ainsi être traduite visuellement dans une incarnation féminine, dans un pays où les lois fondamentales, notamment la loi salique, écartent pourtant les femmes du pouvoir. La richesse du corpus rassemblé pour cette thèse, près de cinq cent images, offre une source essentielle pour comprendre de quelle manière la reine a su dépasser cette contrainte et contribuer, en renouvelant ses modèles, à la représentation de l’autorité monarchique. Cette étude permet ainsi de reconsidérer le rapport des femmes au pouvoir. Pour analyser ces différentes questions, la thèse s’organise en quatre parties. La première partie s’attache à comprendre l’image de la reine régnante, en analysant dans un premier chapitre la définition juridique de la reine, pour montrer de quelle manière l’ordre juridique détermine l’ordre symbolique. On peut ainsi expliquer en quoi le mariage de la reine en 1615 et son introduction à la cour constitue une « naissance iconographique ». Le second chapitre explore les différents aspects de ce portrait de la reine en montrant qu’il relève à la fois de caractères propres et de réactions à la situation – politique et civile – de la reine. La deuxième partie soulève la question des moyens mis en œuvre pour opérer la transformation de cette image, qui permet à la reine d’apparaître en régente du royaume. Le troisième chapitre analyse plus particulièrement les étapes chronologiques de cette transformation, tandis que le quatrième chapitre étudie, sur un plan pratique, la « fabrication » de cette image. La troisième partie envisage ensuite le contenu des images, en dressant une analyse en trois temps de son iconographie. Le cinquième chapitre aborde ainsi le corps de la reine comme support des dimensions morales de son portrait. Le sixième chapitre approfondit cette question dans la perspective religieuse, en étudiant de quelle manière la régente parvient à produire l’image d’une reine « très chrétienne ». Le septième chapitre conclut cette analyse iconographique sur la dimension politique de l’image d’Anne d’Autriche. La quatrième et dernière partie est enfin l’occasion d’analyser le « fonctionnement » de ces images. Le huitième chapitre montre combien la situation des représentations de la reine dans les décors est déterminante pour leur interprétation, en envisageant les cas des résidences royales puis des intérieurs privés. Enfin, le neuvième chapitre propose une étude de la performance des images, en étendant l’analyse aux usages publics des représentations de la reine, dans les monuments ou au cours des cérémonies
Anne of Austria offers an important part, yet neglected, in the the development of royal iconography in seventeenth century France. Devoided from management of power under the reign of her husband Louis XIII, she is however the subject of many representations. The number of her images increases when she accedes to the responsibilities of the government at the death of the king, in 1643, becoming regent in the name of her minor son, Louis XIV. Beyond its majority in 1651, she maintains herself at a prominent place, until the death of Mazarin in 1661. During these two decades, a deep political crisis in France culminates in the so-called Fronde. In this context, the image of Anne of Austria becomes the instrument of a visual narrative on monarchical authority and for the defense of the royal power. Crossing a large corpus of representations of the regent with textual sources, this thesis analyzes the visual construction of this narrative, and its effects on the evolution of the image of power in France after the reign of Louis XIII. In contemporary legal and symbolic literature, "majesty" is presented as he essential quality of the sovereign and the mark of his identity. It must then be visually translated in a female incarnation, despite the fundamental laws, in particular the Salic law, which however exclude women from power. The abundance of the images collected for this thesis, nearly five hundred items, offers an essential source to understand how the queen was able to overcome this constraint and contribute, by renewing its models, to the representation of the monarchical authority. This thesis allows us to reconsider the relationship between women and power. To analyze these different issues, the thesis is organized in four parts. The first part attempts to understand the image of the reigning queen, analyzing in a first chapter the legal definition of the queen, to show how the legal order determines the symbolic one. One can thus understand how the marriage of the queen in 1615 and her arrival at the court can be apprehended as an "iconographic birth". The second chapter explores the different features of this portrait of the queen, showing that it is at the same time a revelation of personal characteristics of the queen and a reaction to the queen's political and civil situation. The second part raises the question of the means implemented to operate the transformation of this image, which allows the queen to appear as regent of the kingdom. The third chapter analyzes in particular the chronological stages of this transformation, while the fourth chapter studies, from a practical point of view, the "fabrication" of this image. The third part then considers the content of the images, drawing up a three-step analysis of its iconography. The fifth chapter addresses the body of the queen as a support for the moral dimensions of her portrait. The sixth chapter deepens this question in the religious perspective, studying how the regent manages to produce the image of a queen "très chrétienne". The seventh chapter concludes this iconographic analysis by studying the political dimension of Anne of Austria's image. The fourth and last part gives finally an analysis of the way these images "operate". The eighth chapter shows how the situation of the queen's representations in decor is decisive for their interpretation, considering the cases of the royal residences and the private interiors. Finally, the ninth chapter proposes a study of the performance of images, extending the analysis to the public uses of representations of the queen, in monuments or during ceremonies

The figure of Judas Iscariot, the disciple who betrayed his Master, not only played an important role in the Roman Catholic liturgy of Holy Thursday, namely the evening mass and the officium tenebrarum, but was also a (negative) protagonist of the Mystery Plays. The Religious Folk Tradition is also rich in various customs associated with Judas. This overview shows how imaginative the portraits of Judas are in both Mystery Plays and in the Popular Tradition. He is simply the devil incarnate, the man of damnation.

In May 1922, Sydney and Violet Schiff hosted a dinner party at the Majestic Hotel in Paris, to celebrate the premiere of Stravinsky’s Le Renard performed by Diaghilev’s Ballets russes. In addition to those two Russian artists in the vanguard of Parisian modernism, the guests included Picasso, Proust and Joyce. Richard Davenport-Hines called that historic evening “the great modernist dinner party of 1922” in his presentation of A Night at the Majestic, published in 2006. This chapter studies Schiff’s role as a cultural intermediary, which extended beyond social networking in artistic circles, to acting as go-between on the Anglo-French literary scene. The focus is on the strategies Schiff deployed to circulate Proust’s work in the English-speaking world, most noticeably as the translator of the final volume of Remembrance of Things Past. He also promoted Proust’s work at the time of the author’s death, through laudatory contributions to collected volumes paying tribute to it. Under his pen-name Stephen Hudson, Schiff published a novel entitled Richard Kurt whose eponymous male character reappears in his short story Céleste as an easily recognizable fictionalized portrait of Proust. Proust’s correspondence with Schiff provides further evidence of the Englishman’s pivotal function as Proust's cross-Channel literary agent.

Abstract In this richly evocative word-picture, Poe drew on his classical reading to capture the idealized memory of a woman he had loved, Mrs Jane Stanard, who had died in 1824. The classical references begin with the first word of the poem and multiply in its second stanza. The final stanza portrays Helen standing at her window, ‘statue-like’, carrying a lamp. We may think her agate lamp is the beacon which guides the ‘weary, way-worn wanderer’ to safety, but in the closing lines ‘Helen’ becomes ‘Psyche’ (and thus the writer, by implication, is Eros, for whom Psyche searched at night with a lamp). The ending is in accord with Poe’s account of poetic inspiration: ‘the Poet ... recognises the ambrosia which nourishes his soul ... he feels it in the beauty of woman ... but above all ... he kneels to it, he worships it in the faith, in the purity, in the strength, in the altogether divine majesty of her love.’

Abstract On a muggy August evening in 1966, shortly after my seventeenth birthday, I got on my bicycle and pedaled eight blocks across the Northwest Side of Chicago to the neighborhood shopping center. The charcoal clouds of a Midwest summer storm were building. From O’Hare, just minutes away across the subdivisions and parking lots, beyond an old farm acreage and a new hotel strip, the 707s lifted off and thundered against the low sky with Wagnerian grandeur. At Walgreen’s I sorted through the bargain record bin—any record bin at Walgreen’s was full of bargains. The fluorescent light above bounced back at me from the cellophane as I flipped through the titles. The Chipmunks Sing. 101 Strings Play the Soul of Italy. Florian Zabach Goes Gypsy. I stopped at an album whose cover bore a crude portrait of Johannes Brahms. It was a recording of the Third Symphony, with Erich Leinsdorf conducting an orchestra described on the front of the LP jacket as the Philharmonia and on the back as the Los Angeles Philharmonic. The recording cost ninety-nine cents. I bought it, biked home, and, as the rain began, put it on the turntable of the Grundig-Majestic console stereo in the living room of my parents’ house. I have never ascertained which ensemble was featured on this recording—or, for that matter, whether Leinsdorf was the conductor. But since that evening I’ve determined that the music I was hearing was indeed the Brahms Third. Until that moment I had never heard the Brahms Third, nor had I heard any Brahms but the Lullaby, nor was I more than vaguely aware that Brahms had written anything but the Lullaby.