Memento Mori - St Lawrence's Churchyard, Eyam

My cemetery creeping activities have been more active than ever this summer. And I confess I find great peace and calm from wandering through graveyards and observing the wildlife, the flora thriving in a truly natural, unfettered way and the legacy of generations summed up in a simple stone.

Recently I have found myself observing more and more closely the designs of gravestones. It is interesting to observe the aesthetics of different ages, the favoured motifs of the day, popular phrases which came and went, strange symbols familiar in a time long since passed but now nothing more than a curious creation on an eroding face of stone.

One strange design which struck me was that of a hand pointing to the sky, surrounded by flowers, holding a scroll with words 'Meet me there', suggesting an eternal reunion together in Heaven. Later the same day at Spittal Cemetery I found an almost identical design, with variations in the scroll wording, the flowers used and shapes within the headstone, but the similarities could be no mere coincidence. I initially assumed these were perhaps by the same stone mason, however further investigation proved this theory incorrect. Then I began to compare the actual inscriptions of the stones and their dates, both late Victorian period (1890's), both men, leaving behind a widow and daughter, who naturally in the order of the grave followed afterwards. The inscriptions on both of the stones are lengthy, and their ornamentation is fine and extensive, suggesting they would have come at quite a cost. Are both of these grave stones towns apart desperate expressions of grief for the loss of the head of the household? Or am I missing the bigger picture of Victorian funerary tradition?

Observing and comparing the various graves from many hundreds of years there are certainly trends and fashions, even in death. Some years the cross was very popular, or a Gothic arch, the Victorians seemed to favour lengthy inscriptions, sometimes even detailing how a person died (my favourite one to date is lightening) and lamenting their woe, yet as time moves on our grave stones become plainer, more uniform and the exuberance fades. The varied sea of stones, some dating back to the great plague, sit like broken teeth jutting in and out of the undulating grass and wild blooms. The ravages of time have spared some, with their proud artistry still intact and preserving the memory of many below, others have been less fortunate, with their twisting and toppling being a slow ballet performed over the ages as the weather wears away names and sentiments of love that are forever lost to time.

I dearly wish we still had the pride and enthusiasm for funerary art that our Victorian predecessors possessed. The time and care that was taken over these designs, the incredible work by stone masons bringing them to life, miniature monuments to a memory, designed to cement their place in history and stand the test of time. Yet the majority of modern monuments in Britain do not have the same detail or dedication displayed as in years gone by, with the concept of design and individuality virtually being eliminated, doesn't choosing the colour of your stone say enough about the deceased? Keep your inscription short and sweet, you're paying by the letter. Lined up neatly like faceless figures, there's something very detached and distant about modern gravestones, which perhaps says just as much about our attitude to death, the morbid and macabre as Victorian headstones said about theirs ...

Aesthetics of Death: The Tomb Effigy

Following a visit to one of my favourite museums; the V&A during a short break in London, I have decided to write a piece looking at the aesthetics and importance surrounding tombs.

The V&A is packed with effigies, busts, sarcophagi and tombs. The aesthetic depiction of death is everywhere, but what is its historical and cultural significance?

Physical reminders and markers of the dead stretch throughout history, from domed earth mounds bearing the remains of one, or many people, to elaborate tombs and monuments found in virtually every civilisation across the globe. With time, tastes and faith, the way we bury, and physically remember and represent our dead has changed. Certainly in modern day England, personal monuments have largely become (for the most part) unimaginative, uninspired and increasingly unpopular. Something you simply choose out of a catalogue, for your convenience, and pay by the letter to express your dearest sentiments. But across Europe during the Medieval and Renaissance periods things were very different. Like the Romans and Egyptians before them, they felt death mattered. Being remembered, respected and immortalized forever, demonstrated the most important things achieved during your life; your wealth, earthly deeds and ultimately - status.

The 'Tomb Effigy' or as the French call it 'Gisant' (meaning recumbent) was a popular expression of this. The height of funerary fashion from the 12th century onwards, a tomb effigy was a guaranteed reminder of your physical presence and legacy on the earth, indefinitely. Monarchs from the mightiest kingdoms and empires were immortalised after death, with the most excessive tombs and monuments imaginable. But gisants weren't just reserved for royalty, and they provided the chance for a few to get their slice of immortality.

Initially the tomb effigy began life essentially as a low relief or carving decorating the lid of the deceased's casket. As time progressed designs became larger and more elaborate, eventually becoming life size, fully formed reclining sculptures. The gisants became lavish, opulent and excessive, with Queen Elizabeth I's tomb effigy even dressed in magnificent, luxurious clothing.    

An example of Royal gisants and their unapologetic grandeur is Henry VII's tomb effigy. A plaster reproduction of the original can be seen in the V&A, the main article is on display in its own dedicated chapel in Westminster Abby. The original gilded bronze effigy, which is positioned beside Henry's Queen looks remarkably different to the reproduction. The gilding of the reproduction is tarnished with oxidization, giving it a much more subdued, emotionless look in comparison to the gleaming, lavish original which simply oozes power, wealth and excess.

My favourite tomb effigies on display at the V&A were those of husband and wife Don García de Osorio and Doña María de Perea. The effigies originated from 14th century Spain, which is reflected in their religious imagery and the simple, honest aesthetics of the figures. On first glance the female figure appears to be a nun, however she is not, the items such as the rosary beads and her modest dress, symbolise her piety and faith. Her husband was a member of the Order of Santiago, an order of Christian knights who defended pilgrims and the Christian faith. On his chest the symbol of his order can be clearly seen, suggesting his allegiance in life and death. Latin inscriptions upon his sword reading 'Jesus give me victory' and 'The blessing of God' reaffirm the importance of their faith. It is the main focus of their effigies, suggesting that religion was the foundation of their lives.
Knelt at the feet of Don García de Osorio is an unidentified woman, a 'mourning figure' became popular feature of tomb effigies as they developed in complexity and detail. Many mourning figures knelt in prayer for the dead, as an attempt to encourage those who looked upon the tomb to do the same, however the figure mourning the knight is simply supporting the weight of her grief with her hand, with a posture which suggests respect, sorrow and possibly even waiting.

These effigies are prime examples of how funerary art was used to convey various elements of peoples lives after their death. Their morals, achievements, status and their legacy have all been captured in stone, immortalising their fleeting earthly existence forever.

Alice Durose