THE MONASTERY OF SAINT ANTONY

The Monastery of Saint Antony is a gated space composed of light limestone architecture and bright glass mosaics.  Trees are scattered from place to place, and the surrounding natural hills where Antony once lived as a hermit serve as a lovely backdrop.

Father Maximus invited us into his living quarters, where we sat in a long room with white walls covered in matte prints of the paintings in the Church of Saint Antony.  Décor in this space includes an incense holder, which adds a sacred flair to an otherwise secular space.  Mirrors and crosses of various sizes and materials fill in the blank spaces on the walls.

This is the space where the conservators working on the Church of Saint Antony stayed during their project, and on one of the coffee tables in the sitting room is the book that resulted from the conservation work, which I also saw for sale at Deir el-Medina (I thumbed through it, but decided not to buy it and regret that at this moment).  We passed the book around while we sipped tea from cups printed with the Monastery’s name.  (Cliché?  The commercialization of sacred space?)

Father Maximus himself is quite a character: tall, soft-spoken yet assertive, and dressed rather casually for a Man of the Church (in loafers and with his sleeves rolled up).  He has a very dry sense of humor and the tendency to slip a joke in here and there in a small voice during serious conversations.  He gave us a tour of the major spaces at the Monastery, including a room with two mills, the Church of the Apostles and the Church of Saint Antony.

What I liked most about our tour was the honesty, interest and grateful attitude expressed by Father Maximus concerning restoration and archaeology inside the Church of the Apostles.  Firstly, I must note that the glass floor placed over the recently-uncovered remains of 4th-century structures is a great way to allow visitors insight into the layering effect created by construction-over-construction.  Archaeology is the uncovering of these layers, and the exposure of older ones in a church functioning in the present offers an interesting look at how science and religion can function successfully as coexisting institutions.  But my main point here is that Father Maximus is so involved in the project at this Church that he knows enough to guide a group of archaeology students around the place; not only is he accepting of the need for preservation via archaeology at Saint Antony’s—he’s also enthusiastic about it.

Father Maximus told us that when the project is finished, the glass floor will be covered by a carpet during services.  The carpet will be removed at all other times, so that visitors may take advantage of the dual function of the space (display and ritual) at different times.

I feel like I might get carried away in describing the paintings in the Church of Saint Antony if I allow myself to write about it for too long; so instead, I’ll make some very simple statements about what I gathered from our visit there today:

• The paint is remarkably well-preserved, or at least has the appearance of having been well-preserved thanks to the Italian team I’ve spoken about in several other entries.  The use of “dirty water” to camouflage areas of missing paint within the larger scheme of the painting works as well here as it does in the Red Monastery and elsewhere.
• The painting of Mary and the infant Jesus on the far left as you walk through the nave towards the apse is missing the IC XC I expected to find there.  All of the other figures are labeled—why not this one?
• I was able to identify several of the equestrian martyrs and other saints when inside the church from the images I saw in the book before our tour!  Exciting!
• The graffiti on the walls (in 9 languages, according to Father Maximus,) provides a striking example of the craftsmanship of the writings of those visiting the Monastery; some of the inscriptions are so well-executed that they fit right in with the rest of the décor!
• There is a very funny painting (which I’m sure wasn’t intended to be funny at the time) of a Jew stealing furniture from the church.  I say that it’s funny because I want to look at the anti-Semitism of yore with a lighthearted attitude, something everyone else seemed to agree with.  Adam took a picture of this painting as a souvenir.
• The paintings in the space right before the apse (“horos”) are in a style comparable to those found in Cyprus (they’re very Byzantine); William noted that the artist who executed these works may actually have been trained there.
• There’s a lot of red in this church (the rugs, the paint…): is red symbolic of martyrdom, sacrifice or religious fervor in the Coptic church?

What a day.  I really wish I could recap it all, but I’d be here all day describing the direction Saint George’s eyes are facing and the patterns on the robes of the martyrs.  Let’s save that for when I’m a church-art analyst!

WHITE AND RED MONASTERIES AND AKHMIM

Today we explored the remnants of early monasticism with visits to the Red and White Monasteries. We began with the latter, which is nick-named for its white limestone composition largely created from the remains of ancient Egyptian temples. Its official name is the Church of Saint Shenoute.

The monastery boasts a sloping front with wave-like cornices and a traditional pylon like those we have seen at Hibis and Douche in the Valley: it is clearly modeled after older sacred buildings, and faint reliefs (some of them upside-down) can still be seen here and there. We sat in the courtyard of the monastery, which used to be the nave of a basilica when extra floors stood and a wooden divider sectioned the altar off from the rest of the building, while William gave us a run-down on Saint Shenoute and the Coptic Church. This was particularly interesting for me because I am interested in early Christian art and the development of the Church and its sects.

Shenoute was apparently a ruthless leader who took pleasure in controlling his nuns and monks with the use of corporal punishment. Most of these people bought into monasticism because they were poor and wanted a source of guaranteed food and housing; banishment was considered the worst punishment of all (ironic, since it would seem that one might want to escape the oppression brought upon him or her by Shenoute).

William explained the differences between the teachings of Saint Anthony and those of Pachomius: Anthony advocated monks’ seclusion for spiritual purity, while Pachomius, whom Shenoute followed, saw living in a close religious community as the best way to enforce the teachings of Christianity. We were also told that the Coptic Church is distinguished from other sects by its sanctification of Mary: Copts believe that Jesus was born divine, as opposed to becoming divine at the occasion of his baptism, which makes Mary the mother of a god of sorts.

When entering the church, we were asked to remove our shoes–clearly a spin-off of the Muslim practice of removing one’s footwear before prayer. The sanctuary is arranged like that of a Greek Orthodox church, with red rugs and high, domed ceilings. Rows of modern Coptic icons, with faces composed of flat layers, gold backgrounds and names beneath them (to legitimize the saints depicted through the use of text, as with old Cypriot icons bearing the initials IC XC next to Jesus), sit atop a wooden chancel wall.

The chapel is in use again, spawning a series of new archaeological excavations on site. The monastery will likely provide some interesting details about early monastic architectural foundations in the future, but until then, it’s simply a nice old building (I say this in anticipation of my thoughts on the spectacular Red Monastery).

Cool things I learned while at the White Monastery:

• Under Muslim rule, Jews wore yellow turbans, and Christians wore blue turbans.
• Cyril was one of Shenoute’s patrons.
• The garden next door to the monastery caused the back wall to cave in when it was watered.
• There was strict control over food rations at this site! Was Shenoute a crazy dietitian?
• Coptic was used for record-keeping and to translate the Bible from Greek until Shenoute helped make it a literary language.
• The current Coptic pope is named Shenoute!
• An ostrich egg is hung over some Coptic sanctuary doors.

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The Red Monastery is staffed by a lovely man and his family, who have a quaint little snack stand just before the entrance. The structure looks very plain and aged next to the bright tapestry covering the stand, but the inside is simply marvelous.

An intricately-carved stone lintel, original as far as I could tell, sits at the top of the door. Walking inside, one can see three large half-domes above several stories of carved imitation balconies, with elaborate hoods on window-like niches. The Red Monastery is the epitome of my interest in Christian art: on the walls are two centuries’ worth of paint layers depicting saints, floral motifs and geometric patterns originating in the 6th century.

The site is being restored by none other than the wonderful Italian team working at Luxor Temple (it’s actually a school, the Moras’ school). Here, small test-cleaning “windows” are visible, as well as a clear line about three feet above the floor separating the immaculate stories above from the gritty, blackened walls below (this soot is called “dirty water” in the conservation trade). The clean paint is so vibrant that it looks brand new. Places where older stages of painting are visible underneath newer layers are, to the conservators’ credit, so well blended that the layers look almost natural in their fragmentary states.

My time in the Small Finds Room with Angela and Mohammad got me intrigued about restoration, to the point where I’m actually considering pursuing a degree in conservation for my Master’s. Studying under the Moras might be a possibility for me in the future, as I certainly appreciate their work and applaud their techniques.

Perhaps one of the most genius techniques they’ve employed at the Red Monastery and elsewhere is to mix colors from preserved paint with grey plaster, so the empty spaces between the remaining artwork compliment–and don’t overshadow–the images. The stages of paint exposed at the Monastery blend so flawlessly together next to this plaster, and I feel like nothing is lost with their treatment of the paint. In addition to leaving the ground level partially unclean, the arch on the far right of the entrance has also been left as it was. My guess is that they’re getting set to work on it next, when their campaign resumes in three days’ time (I wish I could be there to see it!).

It was funny to see a fully-stocked conservator’s workroom in a corner of the church, surrounded by light wood scaffolding. They hung a sign listing their inventory in Italian, and a woven image of Jesus and Mary on the wall. Boxes of Dasani and long extension cords reminded me of the Small Finds Room in Dakhleh.

The team is apparently working to stop local people from using the church, so the paintings don’t incur any more damage. The reason why they’re allowed to work (and why we were allowed in) is because the altar board is not in its place. The chapel isn’t at risk for disturbance by tourists, both fortunately and unfortunately, because of the apparent contempt people seem to have for red brick; they flock to the worser-preserved White Monastery instead. William believes that once the conservation campaign is finished, the Red Monastery will be a popular tourist attraction for its fantastic artwork.

The art itself reminds me a lot of Cypriot church art from the same period, where saints with long faces are painted with raised hands and blank stares. The colors on these saints are very similar to those I saw last summer–lots of reds, yellows and dull greens–but the colors used to paint the patterns on faux-marble columns and hooded niches are incredibly bright, in pinks and golden yellows. Marquees of legitimizing text, like in Cyprus and at the White Monastery, are painted either below the paintings or on each side of the figures within them.

I really, really, really loved the Red Monastery. I think it’s my favorite place in Egypt so far.

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On the road to Minya, we stopped at Akhmim, a new site where a large statue (8 meters high) of Rameses II’s daughter, Merit-Amun, was uncovered. Strange round brick structures surround the statue, and a cache of the SCA’s neglected materials, including blocks from Tel el-Amarna, sit in the back corner under an awning. An altar or statue base with a Greek inscription on it seemed a little out of place. The whole site was out of context and very poorly organized; I kind of wish we had had a lecture on it or something, because I really didn’t know what a lot of its elements were.

ABU SIMBEL AND SAINT SIMEON MONASTERY

We awoke this morning at 3am and piled into the van to join a convoy to Abu Simbel. As it was not one of the attractions on our itinerary, only Asharaff accompanied the student group on the trip. The caravan was composed of hundreds of cars and vans; I didn’t see this for myself because I was fast asleep until we arrived (nor did I see the sunrise we all anticipated when we hopped in the van). When one first arrives at Abu Simbel and looks at the back of the man-made mountains created for the restored monuments, it can be slightly underwhelming. But once you’ve turned the corner on the trail towards the temple to Rameses the Great, you can justify the long journey from Aswan.

The façade of the temple to Rameses II (who fancied himself a god) is, I realized, perhaps one of the most reused and recognizable images representing Egypt in modern times. A striking set of four enormous seated figures guards the door, while inside is a long hall lined with 20-foot-high gods and goddesses. The walls are adorned with famous carvings of Rameses smiting Assyrians and Nubians, as well as offering items to gods. The sanctuary is different from those we have seen because of the level of preservation it boasts: the cult statues (all four of them, seated in a row) still remain.

The neighboring temple to Nefertari, a favorite among Rameses’ wives, is equally as impressive in its wall carvings; however, I found the façade and columned hall to be rather plain in comparison with the king’s temple.

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With William and Monika in tow, we headed to the Monastery of Saint Simeon, built around the 4th-century settlement of Anba Hatra, an early monastic figure. My first thought was finally, I get to see something new (new as in post-Pharonic)! I really love churches, so this was a treat for me.

The monastic tradition at this site lasted from the 6th through the 14th centuries, when the Coptic community declined in size (unlike the Delta, which converted to Islam during the 9th century). During its time it was a social center in addition to serving religious purposes.

At first glance, the monastery looks like nothing more than a group of abandoned structures, the stone foundations of which are yellow with age. Inside, however, one can find evidence of recent restoration work with the unique architecture on each of the monastery’s two natural hill terraces. On the ground floor are dwellings for pilgrims, who would stay at the monastery to pray or heal from sickness. The church is also on the ground floor—I spotted the remnants of several stages of building (apparently, it began with the caves of hermit settlers and grew to a full basicilica-style building, modified from its original shape to accommodate domed roofs made of wood during the 13th century).

The dome supports, in the corners of the structure, frame small rounded niches closer to the ground. Faded paint is set atop a light plaster, the whole of which is surrounded by a dark brown plaster applied by conservators. The earliest paintings were supposedly from the 6th and 7th centuries, but what remains today dates approximately to the 13th century. It is obvious from the condition of the paint that the art was allowed to decay for some time, as the bottom of an image of Christ in Majesty seems the only part preserved well enough to be treated with chemicals for preservation. In the corners, small supporting domes are painted in bold blues and purples. Beneath Christ in Majesty are the 24 elders of the apocalypse, all defaced.

There are no roofs on either of the floors of the structure today. As a result, it feels very open and airy, almost like a courtyard or a peristyle hall. The walls are crumbling, but I could still make out the angled windows (angled for protection, like those on medieval fortresses). I walked from the sanctuary to a small, oddly-shaped room with sloping sides, the apparent cave of Anba Hatra. The ceiling of this room is remarkably well-preserved, with beautiful red and yellow geometric patterns and some paintings of saints. Someone saw one with a square halo, and William said that he thought square halos were for worthy people living at the time of the painting’s execution.

It is easy to forget that the monastery has a second floor, since it’s essentially outside on the ground floor. We made our way up to the second level for a little while, where I noticed clay pipes (much like qanats) snaking around the corners and ending in large basins. In the refectory, several large, round stone benches mark the ground. A strange stone structure, possibly an oven but with unnecessary detail-work if so, sits in the center of the room next to the refectory. On our way out, we passed by a row of very thin vaulted rooms, likely a stable.

I must admit that this is not how I pictured an Egyptian monastery. Judging by what I had seen in Cyprus from the 7th century, I was expecting a much more ornate and delicately-built structure. But what gives Saint Simeon’s its charm is how it literally arose out of the rock face—a job well done, I would say, for a group of hermits living in a period of strife.