Tag: National Museum in Wroclaw

This painting is in the collections of the National Museum in Wrocław and was painted by Adelbert Woelfl (1823-1896) in 1867. Woelfl was the best known artist of landscapes in Breslau, the German name for the city, and he was himself German having been born in Münsterberg (now known as Ziębice and part of Poland since 1945). It depicts St. Mary Magdalene’s Church which had been where the first Lutheran services had been held in the city in the early sixteenth century and it remained a Protestant church until the end of the Second World War, when it was restored to the Catholic tradition. I rather like the painting, it’s realistic and there’s a sense of reality about the individuals going about their business.

Here’s what the same view looks like now. The church was badly damaged during the Second World War and was substantially rebuilt, but they’ve been faithful (if you excuse the pun) to the original design, although the towers have been changed somewhat.

This is what fascinates me though, we have a German painter painting a German church in what was Germany. Everything is still there today, but everything has changed.

This wooden polychrome sculpture is in the collections of the National Museum in Wrocław and depicts St. Martin of Tours (336AD – 397AD) who was known for cutting his cloak in two to give warmth to a beggar. Very benevolent, although I wonder why he didn’t give him the whole thing, but there we go. As with all these things, some of the cloak that Martin kept survived and became relics likely dotted around numerous locations. The most important one was originally at Marmoutier Abbey and there were priests put in charge of looking after the holy cloak relic and the head priest of this operation became known as the cappellanu. Eventually, all priests who went to serve the military became known as cappellani, which in English became the word chaplain and that was all named after this relic.

Anyway, I digress. This sculpture was likely made in a workshop in Wrocław and it has been dated to around 1490. It was located at St. Martin’s Church, the only survived building from the former Piast’s castle in Wrocław. Before the Second World War, this was where the Polish people in the German city would have gone for services, but the building was damaged during the conflict. The sculpture is in relatively very good condition and a fair chunk of the paint has remained. And the moral of the story is that if you give half of your coat to a beggar, then you too could maybe have your own church named after you in the future and perhaps a word named after you as well.

This pietà is in the collections of the National Museum in Wrocław and it was made in the area, likely in around 1420. It’s a depiction of dead Jesus following the crucifixion, designed to have emotional intensity and evidently from the Gothic tradition. It’s a medieval polychrome wooden statue, although the colours have rather faded away over the centuries. I am fascinated by these depictions, not because they’re particularly cheerful, but because I can try and imagine the thousands of people in the medieval period who would have looked at them and maybe inspired by them.

It was originally located in St. James’s Church which was founded in around 1240 as a Romanesque church, although it underwent significant Gothic reconstruction in the 14th and 15th centuries. In 1530, after the displaced Premonstratensians took the church over when the Franciscans were kicked out, it was rededicated to St. Vincent of Saragossa which was their patron saint of the monastery that they’d been thrown out of. The building was badly damaged during the Second World War, including the Hochberg Chapel where this statue had been located. The chapel has now been reconstructed and they’ve placed a copy of this statue in there, with the main Cathedral (as it now is) being the home of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church. I’m not sure whether this statue was recovered after the war from the damaged church, or whether it was moved earlier on to protect it, but it’s something of a survivor.

I also rather like that when this statue was originally placed here, the church was in Poland state (the Piast dynasty), although it then came under the control of the Kingdom of Bohemia, then the Habsburg Monarchy, then the Prussian Empire, then the German Empire, then the Weimar Republic, then Nazi Germany and only in 1945 did it return to Poland again.

This artwork is located at the National Museum in Wrocław and this imposing chap is Stephen Báthory (1533-1586, also known as István Báthory in Hungarian, Stefan Batory in Polish), a significant historical figure who was Prince of Transylvania, Voivode of Transylvania (1571–1576), and later King of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania (1576–1586). The text at the top reads “By the grace of God, Stephen, King in Poland, Grand Duke in Lithuania”. Báthory was a skilled military leader who led successful campaigns against Ivan the Terrible of Russia, recovering territories lost in the Livonian War, much to the annoyance of the Russians. He also strengthened the Polish-Lithuanian army and reformed its organisation, whilst also implementing reforms in the administration and judiciary of the Commonwealth, aiming to strengthen the central government and improve the efficiency of the state.

He was also a skilled dancer, which I’m not entirely sure that I expected from the portrait, but it’s best not to judge. It is also said that he kept a pet bear at his court, which is certainly brave and at least it wasn’t a polar bear. On top of that, he was a master swordsman and he apparently kept on fencing into his later years. Before the Second World War and also since the fall of communism, he has become something of a hero in Poland. The Russians didn’t like him though and his historical role was downplayed during the communist years, it wasn’t really the done thing to celebrate someone who had fought successfully against the Russians.

As for the artwork, it was painted by Andrea Riehl (1551-1613) in about 1600, so after Stephen’s death. He was a German painter, but there’s not much known about his life and this is one of his most important works.

This artwork at the National Museum in Wrocław was painted by Ludwig Peter Kowalski (1891-1967) and I’m intrigued by this more in terms of the artist than this particular work. It is a stylistic view of the Italian city of Siena which is quite alluring, but it was painted in 1930 and this was at a time when nationalism was starting to increase across Germany. Kowalski had served in the German military during the First World War, but he studied in Italy and in 1927 he went to work at the Academy for Art and Crafts in Breslau (now known as the Polish city of Wrocław). His works were not liked by the new Nazi regime as they weren’t keen on the expressionist movement, he was tolerated for a short period before being dismissed in 1934. He was effectively forcibly moved in 1945 when the borders were changed and a couple of years later he went to live in Berlin for the rest of his life.

I might be alone in this, as I often have random flights of fancy about these matters, but there’s something in looking at an artwork painted nearly 100 years ago knowing that the artist couldn’t have possibly have predicted what would have happened to him. The city in which he worked would cease to be German, he would be fired from his job and forced to move elsewhere in the country, eventually securing some financial reward but likely struggling throughout the 1930s. That somehow all felt rather more imposing than the artwork in front of me. And it also reminded me that I haven’t been to Siena.

This painting is located in the National Museum in Wrocław and it rather intrigued me because it reminded me of the Herring Lassies (or Herring Girls) who used to work in Lowestoft from the mid nineteenth to mid twentieth centuries. In Lowestoft, they tended to work in threes with two of them gutting the herring, whilst the other packed it. Although it was a useful form of money, and some adventure, for the women, the working and living conditions were sub-optimal and I doubt that the conditions in the painting are much different.

It was painted by Franz Skarbina (1849-1910) who was a German artist who primarily painted images from his home city of Berlin and he tried to capture urban life. The artwork was painted in 1888 and although he was in Berlin that year, he had been travelling to Northern France, Belgium and the Netherlands in the years before that, which is from where I imagine the painting was inspired. There’s an interesting article at https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cy63lpy251zo about those who did the job in Scotland and it sounds tough to me.

Located in the National Museum in Wrocław, this painting is by Ambrosius Holbein (1494-1519), the brother of Hans Holbein the Younger of Tudor painting fame. The text at the top relates to Paul’s letters to the Corinthians in the New Testament and talks about God not needing the understanding of humans, as frankly, they don’t know as much as he does. I can think of a President who has a similar mindset, but I’d better divert into politics for too long. Anyway, given that this Holbein died young at the age of around 25, there aren’t a large number of artworks still surviving although the Kunstmuseum in Basel has several. This is also where he likely died (the city, not the specific art museum) and Basel is also where his brother worked for several years. The museum has this dated as 1522, but they note that Holbein died in 1521 (no-one is entirely sure when he died), so something might be slightly off here or it was just finished off by someone in his workshop.

The background blue colour is in other paintings by members of the Holbein family and it’s apparently called Azurite, a form of copper which was mined in the Saxony area at the time. I don’t have any art knowledge to add much here, but it’s a vibrant and bold painting but there’s no information provided at the gallery or on their web-site as to the provenance and where it has been located for hundreds of years. And it’s a reminder that I should look at going to Basel as I’ve just noticed that Wizz Air fly there.

I like a bit of colour with historic exhibits and this fresco dates to 79AD, or at least just a little before, when there was a little incident at Pompeii. Located at the National Museum in Wrocław, rather than being there in its own right it was more embedded in an exhibition entitled ‘Miracle Workers’ which was “intended as an exhibition which describes and presents the world made by human hands, which first was created in the human mind and imagination, and then in a perfect way materialised in the utilitarian objects.”

Having been to Pompeii, I’m aware that there is no shortage of frescoes from the site, but I’m still intrigued by the vibrancy of the colours and how they managed to be preserved under a heap of volcanic ash for so long. It has rather lost its context although Google Gemini has a go at working it out, telling me:

“The figure’s legs and the spiral object are difficult to interpret definitively without more context. However, the spiral object could be a stylised representation of a thyrsus, a staff associated with the Greek god Dionysus (Bacchus in Roman mythology). If so, this would suggest the figure is a follower of Dionysus, such as a maenad or satyr.”

I’ll go with that….

The English translation at the National Museum in Wrocław of this item reads “funerary guildshield”, but that’s not a phrase that is used anywhere on-line, but it seems that “funerary shields” are a thing. However, an Internet search mainly brings up this museum and some on-line games, which suggests that this museum has a strong collection of them. The museum explains on their web-site:

“The custom of decorating coffins during funeral ceremonies with valuable, often silver, coffin shields (escutcheons) displaying the coat of arms of the corporation the deceased was a member of, was adopted in the 16th cent. by corporations of professions – guilds. The shields were not nailed to coffins but only attached to them (fixed with string), and after the funeral they were put away (protected by special cases) to await the next such ceremony.”

This all means that the museum’s English translations are spot-on, it’s just that I’ve never heard of this concept before. After meandering around on-line, something I’m prone to do, it seems that this was something done by the middle classes in mostly Germanic lands. This one is dated 1643 and relates to the brassfounders, bellfounders and pewterers guild. Back in 1643, the city was part of the Hapsburg Empire and the city name would have been Breslau. The shield was made by George Nitsch, who was a craftsman living in Wrocław who specialised in metalwork and it’s crafted using repoussé and chasing techniques, which involve hammering and shaping the metal from the reverse side (repoussé) and then refining the details from the front (chasing). I’d add that I didn’t know about these metalwork terms, but that’s what happens when you faff about on-line when intrigued by things. On the shield there is imagery of a bell, a candle and some, er, metal piping along with the rather cherub like religious symbolism around the outside.

The period between 1618 and 1648 really wasn’t a good one for Wrocław as Holy Roman Empire and Swedish troops keep battling their way around the city breaking things and arguing with their swords, with nearly half the city’s 40,000 residents dying of plague. Indeed, there’s a real chance that this shield was taken to a member of the guild who had died of the plague, something which adds a rather solemn note to proceedings.

Anyway, I’ve rather digressed, but I liked this exhibit as it’s a new genre of things I’ve discovered that I know nothing about.

I’ve been to this museum before, back in 2017, but I can’t remember much about it and I seem to have taken relatively few photos to try and remind myself. Unfortunately for my two loyal blog readers, I decided to take rather more photos today and, given that, I feel a need to write about some of artworks. That means there might be a heap of rather less then riveting posts as I’m hardly an art historian, but it’ll keep me amused for a while.

The welcome was friendly and a security guard gave me an introduction of where to go. It’s a well-laid out museum and surprisingly well signed as I often find myself getting a bit muddled up.

The museum was opened in 1948 in a building that was built between 1883 and 1886 and was previously used as the Silesian Regency Office. The city was known as Breslau until the Germans lost it following the Second World War and many of this museum’s collections are from the part of Poland that became Ukraine when European borders were redrawn. Located in a different building which has now been destroyed, the German equivalent at the time was the Silesian Museum of Fine Arts, but most of those holdings were lost in the conflict, although some have made their way here to this museum.

The museum is substantial in size and I meandered around for three hours before I felt that I had seen enough. It would be possible, and my friend Susanna would do this, to stay there all day to properly see all of the collections.

There are a lot of staff here monitoring the collections and they were all professional with the exception of one younger female staff member who decided she would follow me about the rooms that she was responsible for. It neared the point that I was going to question what she was doing, but I decided against it to avoid any diplomatic incidents and just left those rooms rather quicker than I would have liked. It was very odd, I can’t recall it happening anywhere before and I thought at first she was just looking to find an opportunity to engage about some of the artworks.

The view from the museum. Anyway, there may now follow a few posts about certain artworks in the museum until I get bored.