Stop 305: Gothic Room 
I’m Christina Nielsen, the Curator of the Collection. Now we’re in the ‘Gothic Room’—named for the period of late Medieval art and architecture. The room is mainly devoted to religious art. No matter what direction you entered from, I think that the overall impression you’re met with, is the play between light, coming through the round Gothic window, and the darkness of the ceiling and walls. And presiding over the space, from one of the corners of the room, is a life-size portrait of Isabella. In that wide gilded frame, she’s sort of animating the room with a golden presence. Move towards her. She looks rather pleased, her mouth slightly open, as if in a kind of welcome. This portrait caused a scandal, however, when it was first shown at a private club in Boston, in the 1880s. For Victorian era Bostonians, all that radiant flesh was quite shocking. The overall approach was too modern. And yet, the painting seems to really belong in this room of medieval art!—with her figure pressed up to the surface against a background of pattern and decoration. And she’s standing in front of a medieval textile; which is on display in the Long Gallery. The pattern gives her a kind of secular ‘halo’ and a crown! In front of the painting, she placed a large choir book—making the assemblage appear as an altar. Her signature accessory—the long pearl necklace with a ruby—is around her waist. 


Do you remember the painting you probably saw on the first floor—of the flamenco dancer, near the garden courtyard? This is by the same artist, John Singer Sargent. He sometimes used this room as a studio. 


Now, look to the right of the portrait—at the set of four tall, narrow windows. Just in front of the windows, there’s a table covered in red cloth, with two paintings, back-to-back on it. Move to the painting that’s on the side of the table facing Isabella’s portrait. This wonderful Virgin and Child is by Simone Martini—a master of late Medieval painting. I wanted to point out one detail: it’s in the lower right corner of the painting. Do you see that kneeling woman? She’s the donor of the painting, the person who commissioned it for a church, in about the year 1325. I can’t help but think that Isabella placed this work—facing her portrait—because she identified with this female art patron. And, they’re both dressed in black. 


Now, move around to the other painting on this table. This is such a rare treasure. It’s one of just a handful of Giotto’s works in North America. Giotto was the first Italian Renaissance painter that portrayed psychological realism in devotional works. To foreshadow the crucifixion, notice how the arms of the baby Jesus are opened wide. But with one hand he’s grabbing at the facial hair of the man holding him—as babies do! 28 And with the other hand he reaches out—in a truly baby-like way—to his mother. The center of the painting is essentially empty. This work dates the same decade as the painting by Simone Martini—the 1320s. But Giotto’s somehow feels so modern. 


Now, turn directly around from the Giotto painting. Move toward the wall ahead of you. Hanging on the middle of that wall, between the courtyard windows, there are three panels of figures, joined together. The figures on it come out of the surface, three-dimensionally. It’s a German Gothic altarpiece; but the divine personages are depicted as altogether human—and charmingly so. In the center we see the Virgin Mary, with her mother, who’s wearing the white head covering. The toddler Jesus between them is so squirmy! Toward the bottom, one woman breastfeeds, while another baby drinks from a German tankard; looking maybe a bit…drunk? Isabella knew a good joke when she saw one, as we’ve seen in a number of places in the museum. 


I want to point out one more thing in this room. Turn around from the altarpiece, and look at the long table in the middle of the room; the one that’s covered with a cloth. At the end of it closest to you is a long metal object. It has the head of a bull, with curving horns, and hollow ears that stick out wide. It’s a weapon: a Persian mace. I couldn’t miss showing you this because it’s one of my favorite objects in the collection. When the person wielding it swung it around, the mace whistled! It’s a kind of psychological warfare, to intimidate opponents. 


And it’s also a reminder of the fact that there’s so much to see in every room of this museum. Take your time and find things that delight you. That is, in the end, what Isabella wanted most.