Anglicanism as a way of beauty: John Constable
John Constable, Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop’s Grounds (1823)
The trees part, but the cows don’t move. The bishop is in the foreground, raising his cane, perhaps mansplaining the incredible geometrics to his female companion.
Every time I see this painting, I gasp, too.
Can it really be there, rising in celestial light, at one with both earth and sky? As at home in the field as the cows and the trees?
A little open gate and a straight path. Surely, we’ll follow the bishop and the congregants, attracted by this great shining magnet.
Not today. Not in these scruffy clothes. I’ll sit with the cows beside the cold stream. Approaching its banks, I’ll discover if it’s a stream or a pond.
Looking across to the cathedral, and the skies above, my heart aches and melts.
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We often find church spires in John Constable’s landscapes. He once visited the Lake District but found it lonely.
His nature was peculiarly social and could not feel satisfied with scenery, however grand in itself, that did not abound in human associations. He required villages, churches, farmhouses and cottages. (1)
Because Constable chose to paint landscapes, rather than conventional biblical or classical themes, he is regarded by some as not a serious “religious” painter. Yet because he chose to paint locally, what he loved and what was in front of him, and because what he loves is close to my heart, too, he is one of my favourite spiritual artists.
Golding Constable’s Flower Garden (1815)
Rainstorm over the sea, seascape study with rainclouds, c. 1824-1828
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Although Constable was innovative (in the context of his time) in terms of artistic style and content, in faith and politics he was a conservative Anglican. We can see that in Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop’s Grounds, where the church is monumental centre. But as viewers of the painting, we are more free to stand back and have private thoughts.
The church is Now, not Way Back When, housed within a spacious (“tolerant”) landscape. We are neither the bishop, nor his companion.
We are Constable, gazing on the grandeur of Salisbury. But I’m not going inside, and to lose this perspective.
It is rather too monumental, too imposing, perhaps. Has John made the argument for the nonconformists, here? The soul of our artist is always outside, on the edge of a field, looking in from without.
(For more on the relationship between Constable’s faith, politics, and art, see Bryan Young’s essay here).
References:
(1) Ronald Parkinson (1998), John Constable: The Man and His Art, p.22.
