The winged lion, seen everywhere in Venice, represents St. Mark, one of the four evangelists (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John). The Biblical Book of Revelation identifies four “living creatures,” all winged, who pull the throne-chariot of God.  (Matthew is traditionally depicted as a winged man, or angel.  Luke is depicted as a winged ox,  and John as an eagle).

St. Mark did not have much to say about becoming the patron saint of Venice.  Little did he know that his winged lion image would eventually be the symbol of the Venice Film Festival, coveted by movie stars from all over the world.  Hollywood awards the Oscar, but Venice awards the Golden Lion.

Golden Lion, photo by Saliko, GNU Free Documentation License

How did this happen?  In the year 828, according to tradition, two enterprising Venetian merchants stole Mark’s remains from his burial place in Alexandria, packed them in a basket,  and smuggled them all the way to Venice by boat.  They were placed in the new basilica, which was named San Marco. Over the years, the basilica grew into one of the most spectacular and unusual churches in the world. Perhaps to justify the theft, a story developed that during his lifetime,  Mark had visited the area and had a vision telling him that Venice would be his final resting place.

In the year 828, Venice already had a patron saint: Theodore.  But poor Theodore was relegated to the background once Mark arrived.  After all, St. Mark was one of the four evangelists–a much more powerful patron than an obscure Greek or Turkish soldier-martyr.  (Actually, there were two St. Theodores, and no one was quite sure which of the two was the patron of Venice). Anyway, Mark was an “Italian” saint, having written his Gospel in Rome.  Mark was closely associated with St. Peter, founder of the Church of Rome.  Venetian leaders at the time wanted to separate themselves from Byzantium.  They saw a glorious future for their city in a closer association with Rome.

Photo by PeterJ.StB.Green, GNU Free Documentation License

So the elegant and powerful figure of a winged lion, representing St. Mark, appears in countless forms all over Venice:  in mosaics, paintings, architectural ornaments, flags, and atop a column in the Piazzetta San Marco.  SInce this column was built around 1268, the winged lion has watched over countless events in the turbulent history of Venice.

On a Saturday evening late in November, we wandered into an out-of-the-way Vienna church where we heard music.  We were greeted with smiles and given slim wax candles and a musical score including words, some in German and some in English. We took seats toward the back of the beautiful Gothic church lit only by candles and settled in to listen to the choir and small orchestra.  The music was simple, not grandiose. After puzzling over the program, we realized that the music came from the Taize community in Burgundy, France. This is an ecumenical community especially concerned with young people, with a focus on simplicity, peace and reconciliation. Our local church in Colorado often uses small hymnals from Taize, so the music was somewhat familiar.  Halfway through the program, there was a period of silence (“Stille” on the program). Singers and musicians left their places and dispersed into the congregation.  Far from being a bore, the silence was profoundly peaceful.  In the back of the church, a few people left, but more kept arriving, each welcomed with a lit candle.  We noticed two people arriving with dogs.  They chose places at the very back of the church, next to the door.  But the dogs settled down immediately and curled up at their owners’ feet.  Only later did we learn that this was a Franciscan church.  Of course animals would be welcome in the home of St. Francis.

After the silence, a priest or monk stood up and spoke quietly for a couple of minutes.  Then the music resumed. We learned later that this was the Minoriten Church, built on land given to the Franciscans in the 1200s. It was built in the French Gothic style and never much altered.  At one point, it became an Italian church with the name ” Church of Mary of the Snows,” which it retains today.

We were amazed that our candles burned cleanly the whole time without a single drip.  Actually, the whole experience seemed like a small miracle in the hustle and bustle of Vienna shoppers and revelers:  a peaceful hour spent in a Gothic church that has stood since 1350, listening to sublime music and watching candlelight flicker on the ancient stone columns.

I’ve always heard that the ancient Greeks and Romans painted their statues, and that the pristine marble pieces that fill our museums were never intended to be pristine or white.  I never quite could picture antique sculpture in color.  This year, the Vienna Kunsthistorisches Museum has an ongoing exhibition showing just  how statues from antiquity might have appeared to the original viewers.

The exhibit is integrated into the existing collections.  So we can look at the original sculpture and at a reconstruction, painted as it may have been.  Using science I can’t begin to understand, tiny traces of surviving pigment have been analyzed and compared to pigments known to have existed during the time periods.

Then the pieces have been reproduced in plaster with the best guess of colors.  For example, fragments of a marble frieze might have looked like this:

A goddess might have appeared in a bright dress like this:

To the modern eye, the colors take some getting used to.  They are a little garish–like carousel ponies, say. And I have to wonder whether the ancients really applied their colors in solid fashion.  Wouldn’t they have done some shading, at least?  Still, seeing ancient sculpture in full color is fascinating and thought provoking.  A link to the exhibit is at http://www.khm.at/en/exhibitions/current-exhibitions/gods-in-colour/.

Vienna is celebrating the 150th birthday of one of its most iconic artists, Gustav Klimt.  They’ve built him a bridge! Actually the bridge is a temporary scaffolding in the main staircase of the Vienna Kunsthistorisches Museum.  It’s been a huge success, so its time was extended through January 6, 2013.  I can hardly wait! Instead of craning our necks to see the dimly lit images twelve meters up in the air, we will be up close and personal with them.

Klimt and other artists were commissioned to do a series of paintings representing various periods of art history.  Thirteen of the paintings are the work of Mr. Klimt, painted in his studio and later glued to the wall just under the grand ceiling. Each historic period is represented by a person, either male or female.  Klimt was only 28 at the time, so these paintings represent some of his early work. At the time, historical subjects were all the rage.  No doubt Mr. Klimt put his own special spin on art history, always pushing the limits of what polite society was willing to accept.  Possibly the museum authorities in 1891 were happy to have these paintings out of easy reach.  “All art is erotic,” the artist famously said. Happy birthday, Gustav Klimt!