Since her death, I’ve come to understand the importance my mother put on things.
I’m sure many people (especially art historians) may have had the feeling that a painting has haunted their life, but people tell me that my case may be exceptional.
In trying to pin down Hammond Castle, to wrestle it into some kind of scholarly order, I am finding that I don’t really care about authenticity, and clearly neither did Hammond.
Imagine a packed meeting room at the International Congress on Medieval Studies in Kalamazoo; so packed that people are sitting on the floors, filling up the aisles, and peering in from the doors.
Touch is the elusive one. I can amplify sight, evoke viewing conditions (a candle flickers, making shadows dance) that suggest sounds and smells and even tastes (the Eucharist is but bread), but to tell my students to imagine the feel of ivory, its weight and warmth, only increases the distance I seek to diminish between them and the work of art.