During your visit | Read

Have you ever walked for hours with your classmates behind a saint, a pair of wings attached to your back? Have you ever dressed Jesus, rocked him to sleep or laid him in his grave? Or offered up your best jewellery to a bleeding Host? Times change... Until relatively recently, religion played an important role in the daily life of most people in the Christian West. Life was lived on a much more limited geographic scale. Religious feast days and rituals dictated the calendar and brought communities together.

Since 2017 M Leuven’s rich and diverse collection has been changed around on a regular basis in themed presentations so as to tell even more stories. Many objects from the collection are religious in origin and derive from local churches and chapels.

This exhibition showcases religious art and heritage objects made to move literally and figuratively, from the cradle to the grave. Under the three broad themes of procession, pilgrimage and devotion, the presentation brings together unusual objects that used to play a role in religious rituals: dressed and moving images, the wardrobe and accessories of statues of saints, relics and their cult objects, the paraphernalia of processions, house altars, etc. Often fragile, tactile, costly and artisanal in nature, each of these extraordinary objects induced an intense religious experience both publicly and behind closed doors and by their movement moved people spiritually.

The context and uses of many of the objects have been lost over time, and so the audio tour and labels help contextualize these now obsolete practices. Furthermore, the presentation opens with images of similar traditions, worldwide and contemporary.

Listen to the audio guide.

Every two years M parts with a gallery. The Ten is the result of a public experiment carried out this year: can members of the public create a new presentation for that gallery by playing a virtual game?

The game was played by ten guinea pigs keen to take part in a digital experiment with a real-life outcome. It required them to choose their ten favourite works of art from the M collection. Six digital sessions were held during which the guinea pigs familiarized themselves with thirty works of art, each from his or her own perspective. Those thirty works of art symbolize the diversity of the collection: a variety of mediums, subjects and periods. But what all the artworks have in common is a fascinating story.

The thread running through the game was looking at and experiencing art. Does a different perspective on an artwork influence your preference? And can you fall in love with a work digitally?

M has created a presentation that showcases the ten works of art the guinea pigs had the greatest connection with throughout the experiment. But as well as the selected works, you can also see the twenty that didn’t make it. Which would you have chosen?

With thanks to the ten guinea pigs:

Kristien Clerinx, Lila Maria de Coninck, Lotte Cools, Karen Hoegaerts, Sarah Lauwers, Ilias Mohout, Casper Van Cleemput, Danny Van De Velde, Katrien Vanhamel and Ellen Vermaete.

This project was realized with the support of Cera and M-LIFE and works of art from the Cera art collection.

Listen to the audio guide.

M’s collection contains some 52,000 works ranging from tiny coins to gigantic sculptures and paintings. Creating such a collection was not done overnight. The small, 18th-century art collection in the Leuven Town Hall’s cabinet of curiosities grew throughout the 19th and 20th centuries into a proper museum of the city itself, which eventually found shelter in the Vander Kelen-Mertens house – the core of the current museum site.

M’s collection continues to expand. This is done in three ways: through purchases, through donations and through long-term loans. Purchasing new works happens via the art markets, through galleries, auctions and exceptionally from private individuals. However, quite a few works have been donated to the museum, both from living collectors or in a will. For example, the bequest – a gift by will – of the curator Victor Demunter has largely determined the identity of the M collection. Other works have been deposited with the museum for long, sometimes indefinite periods, so-called long-term loans.

But M does not acquire just any artwork. The collection is built around certain main themes and criteria, which together form the collection profile and uniqueness of M as a museum. At the heart of the collection of ancient art are works from the late Middle Ages and the 19th century, with a focus on sculpture. In addition, M also boasts an extraordinary collection of contemporary art. The museum has since 2012 managed the Cera collection, which mainly includes Belgian artists, and regularly receives works on long-term loan from the Flemish Community. Therefore, when acquiring new works, the main question is: does this work constitute a relevant addition to the existing collection? For the works in this room, all of them recent acquisitions, the answer was a resounding yes.

Listen to the audio guide.

How do you set about impressing distinguished guests? Centuries ago a collector would have done so by inviting you to admire his most precious objects and artefacts brought together in a sumptuous cabinet. On show in these nineteenth-century salons of Mayor Leopold Vander Kelen and his wife Maria Mertens are treasures from M’s collection of applied arts. Here we invite you to take a fresh look at utilitarian objects.

We put the spotlight on the function, materials and form of objects. How do you use a windmill cup? What is a samovar used for? Since when have we eaten with a fork? And what messages can you communicate with a fan?

No information about the material, the maker or the date is provided with these objects. Trust your eyes. What can you deduce by taking a good look at the form and the material of an object? Sharpen your senses: look and discover more about the objects’ form, function and materials.

In the halls of this exhibition you can find reflective questions. Find them and let your imagination run wild.

With works from the Cera Collection.

Listen to the audio guide.

The art objects of M are safely stored in the dark depot, where a constant temperature is maintained. Only for an exhibition are they brought out, placed on display and illuminated. Photographer and guest curator Geert Goiris saw a parallel with the darkroom or ‘doka’, the magical place where analogue photos come to life. In this presentation, he aims to let carefully selected works from M's contemporary art collection emerge from the darkness.

The development of an analogue black-and-white print – whereby only red light is allowed – takes roughly seven minutes. After that, the white light can be turned on to view the print. One by one, the exhibition halls are bathed in red light, evoking the experience of the darkroom. Each room in the exhibition is lit solely by red lamps for seven minutes. The monochromatic lighting alters our experience of the works: colours fade away, and contrast seems to increase. Shadows become deeper, details merge into the overall picture. During the red phase, we perceive the artworks in an unexpected way. At the same time, this intervention suggests that each image carries another.

The common thread throughout the exhibition is a quote from poet Mary Oliver: 'Attention is the beginning of devotion'. Our era is characterised by high pace, distraction, and looking without truly seeing. The spaces where we spend a significant portion of our time are often shaped by entrenched habits and routines. The artworks in the exhibition disrupt our assumptions and expectations – sometimes subtly, sometimes explicitly. They invite us to take an unprejudiced look at the familiar and focus on the pleasure but also the necessity of attentive observation. DOKA brings together 27 artists in five rooms.

The artworks belong to the collections of Cera, the Flemish Community and the city of Leuven, managed by M.

Christ Crowned with Thorns - Radiography

Radiography is the technical term for making X-rays. Most of us are acquainted with X-rays, as they are commonly found in our medical records. The technique has been in use for more than a century. A radiologist directs a beam of X-rays toward the body part they wish to visualize. A photographic film is positioned on the other side of your body, serving as the medium that captures the X-ray picture.

Bones are relatively heavy and dense. They therefore stop most of the radiation from reaching the photographic film, leaving it unexposed. On the developed film, these unexposed areas appear bright and translucent. Softer, lighter tissues, such as muscles, are easily passed by the radiation. On the developed film, they appear matte and dark. The degree of darkness thus corresponds to the amount of radiation passing through the tissue - the more radiation reaching the film, the darker it becomes.

    
Radiography is used in exactly the same way to examine paintings. Lead-based paints or other dense materials block the X-rays, resulting in bright spots on the radiographic image. Lighter materials, such as organic pigments, allow the radiation to pass through, resulting in grey or black tones on the film.

The X-ray you see here was taken when ‘Christ Crowned with Thorns’ was first brought into the restoration studio. The bright white objects visible along the edges are nails with which small, non-original planks were attached to the panel. They were removed as part of the conservation treatment. The two white spots in the centre are the wax seals located on the back of the painting. The X-ray thus allows us to see through the entire panel.

Even though the paint layers are very worn down, allowing a substantial amount of radiation to pass through, we can still infer certain details from the X-ray. The artist started by applying the gold leaf. This partially blocks the X-rays, causing it to light up a little. The area where Christ's head was designed to be depicted was left in reserve, so no gold leaf was applied there. In the 15th century, it was a common artistic technique to intentionally leave areas in reserve.

For the head itself, the artist applied an underpainting in lead white. This underpainting blocks a significant amount of radiation, resulting in it being slightly brighter on the X-ray. The hair is painted with very thin layers. These are easily penetrable for X-rays, making Christ’s hair dark on the X-ray. The white specks on the crown of thorns are highlights applied in lead white.

Mater Dolorosa - Dendrochronology

Panels like this ‘Mater Dolorosa’ and ‘Christ Crowned with Thorns’ were highly popular in the 15th and 16th centuries. Believers would display these artworks in their homes and use them for private devotional practices. Dieric Bouts painted quite a few of them. His son, Albrecht, likewise continued this tradition. So the question at hand is: who painted these panels, Dieric or Albrecht?

To address this question, we can turn to dendrochronology, the scientific discipline dedicated to dating wood samples. To achieve this, it measures the growth rings of trees.

The thickness of growth rings varies. During cool, dry summers, trees experience limited growth, resulting in narrow growth rings. Warm and humid summers on the other hand lead to the formation of wider growth rings. The sequence of growth rings can be represented in a graph that scientists call a dendrochronological series.

In these kinds of graphs, peaks represent favourable growth years, whilst low points indicate years of limited growth. Dendrochronological sequences of trees from the same region and time period have a significant resemblance to each other. 

Both father and son Bouts painted on panels made from oak trees sourced from the Baltic Sea region. The dendrochronological series of these panels can be compared to reference chronologies of the Baltic region. This analysis allows us to determine the period when the oak tree that provided the panels was growing and to identify the year corresponding to the youngest visible growth ring.

Presented on the table is a reference chronology of oaks from the Baltic region alongside the dendrochronological series of the ‘Mater Dolorosa’.

The results are enlightening: the youngest growth ring can be dated back to the year 1481. As Dieric Bouts passed away in 1475, it is impossible for him to have painted this ‘Mater Dolorosa’. Instead, it originates from the workshop of his son, Albrecht.

For ‘Christ Crowned with Thorns’, the results of the dendrochronological study cannot definitively answer whether this painting was made in Dieric or Albrecht Bouts’ workshop. It can only be determined that the tree was felled sometime after the year 1417.

Take a look at the cross-section of a tree trunk on the table. It will teach you more about the different types of wood found in a tree, and what role the soft sapwood plays in dendrochronology.

Triptych with the Descent from the Cross - Macro photography

The 'Triptych with the Descent from the Cross' is one of the largest works by Dieric Bouts.

The analysis of a painting of this nature starts with a regular visual inspection, with the naked eye or a magnifying glass. To do this, unlimited access to the artwork is, of course, required. In practice, only a select few individuals have this  opportunity to intensively study the painting up close. Fortunately, macro photography provides a more accessible solution. Using a hundred-megapixel camera, we can capture highly detailed images of the artwork. These are stitched together to create an ultra-high-resolution mosaic image. This allows one to zoom in on the tiniest of details.

The combination of naked eye observation and macro photography has provided many new insights into the 'Triptych with the Descent from the Cross’. These insights will prove invaluable during the restoration process. That is the task that the Royal Institute for Cultural Heritage will undertake following this exhibition.

Especially the central panel is in poor condition. There are many lacunae - areas where the original paint has disappeared. Subsequent restorers have covered these areas with paint, but in some instances, they seem to have also overpainted the original paint layers. Also, the paint they used ages differently compared to Bouts' original paint. This is clearly visible, for example, in the stone arch on the central panel: the brown blots were once the same colour as the original paint layer.

These later added layers of paint will be removed, fully uncovering Bouts' original paint layer. The lacunae will be retouched, this time using reversible paint that can be easily removed in the future.

The side panels are in better condition than the central panel, yet they too require restoration - especially to remove the yellowed, non-original layers of varnish. The dirt it accumulated over the years, causes Bouts' colours to appear dull and brownish. The final step in the restoration process is the application of a new coat of varnish. This will protect the painting from dirt for the near future, and can easily be removed when needed. The new varnish will also restore the colours' shine. Compare this work, for instance, with the recently restored 'Martyrdom of Saint Erasmus' elsewhere in the room.

The Martyrdom of Saint Erasmus – MA XRF Scanning

'The Martyrdom of Saint Erasmus' was restored in 2019. Today, the restoration of such a precious work is almost unthinkable without thorough preparatory research. Scientists have employed a wide range of techniques for this purpose. These include a relatively new imaging method: macro-X-ray fluorescence scanning, abbreviated as MA XRF Scanning.

Macro XRF examines an object by firing powerful X-rays at it. That object - like everything else in the universe - is composed of chemical elements: iron, mercury, potassium, titanium, or other old acquaintances from the periodic table. In reaction to these X-rays, these elements subsequently start to emit X-rays themselves. The wavelength of the emitted X-rays is specific to each element. As such, by capturing and measuring this radiation, we can identify which elements are present within the object and where they are located.

Macro XRF generates a distribution map of each element. This map represents the distribution of the specific element across the painting in black and white. The darker a particular point, the lower the concentration of the element, and the lighter the point, the higher the concentration. On the screen on the table you can see some of these distribution maps yourself.

With Macro XRF we can date paintings and obtain invaluable insights into the artist's techniques and materials. It can also assist in uncovering hidden layers or detecting alterations. For instance, it can reveal if an artist painted over an existing image or modified their composition.

With Macro XRF we can also identify non-original paint layers. Elements such as titanium, zinc, barium, and chromium were not present in pigments during Bouts' era. When we find these elements, they can indicate overpaintings by a 19th or 20th-century restorer.

The Martyrdom of Saint Hippolytus - Infrared reflectography

'The Martyrdom of Saint Hippolytus' is one of Bouts' last paintings. He died before he could finish it. Based on stylistic analysis, there is a hypothesis that the left panel, featuring the patrons' portraits, may have been painted by Hugo van der Goes. This hypothesis is reinforced by research conducted using infrared reflectography, abbreviated as IRR. Yet, what is IRR exactly, and what insights can it provide?

We are continuously surrounded by electric and magnetic waves, collectively referred to as electromagnetic radiation. We are quite familiar with some of it: we perceive the waves ranging from 380 to 750 nanometres in length as visible light. Wavelengths ranging from 750 to 300,000 nanometres are classified as infrared. Although we cannot see them directly, we can convert them into the visible spectrum using special cameras.

Infrared reflectography or IRR employs a specific spectrum of infrared waves, typically ranging from 950 to approximately 1700 nanometres. These waves penetrate the paint layers. To an IRR camera, the paint layer is as transparent as the varnish layer is to the human eye.

Below the paint layer lies the underdrawing. This initial outline of the composition is typically executed with charcoal, black chalk, or ink. These materials contain carbon, which absorbs infrared rays, whilst the white preparation layer reflects the rays. Due to these characteristics, images made with IRR can make the underdrawing visible.

The underdrawing gives us invaluable insights.  Frequently, the underdrawing is created by the master artist himself. As part of the design process, an artist makes compositional changes. These alterations offer us a glimpse into their quest for the ideal composition. The underdrawing thus provides insight into the painter's creative process even before he starts painting.

In the case of 'The Martyrdom of Saint Hippolytus’, this underdrawing has been hidden under the paint layer for 500 years. Thanks to IRR, we can once again see the underdrawing. This  furthers our understanding of the creative process. You can explore some of the key findings of the IRR study using the screen on the table.

The Last Supper - Stratigraphy

In this display, we can see three paint samples taken from the central panel of ‘The Last Supper’. They show us the glazing technique that was essential to Bouts and other Flemish Primitives.

This particular technique involves applying multiple semi-transparent layers of paint on top of each other. These layers are called 'glazes'. A glaze consists of a relatively large amount of oil with a little bit of   pigment. Each glaze has a slightly different composition. As light passes through the various layers, vibrant colours, deep shadows, and seamless transitions — characteristic features of the Flemish Primitives – are created.

In Bouts' workshop, his assistants would craft the paints themselves by rubbing pigment into oil. Each layer of paint had to dry for several days. So Bouts had to carefully plan the desired end result before putting down the first brushstroke.

We can find out how Bouts' applied his paints and their composition by studying paint samples. A scalpel is used to extract a miniscule paint sample, which is then cast in resin. This creates a cross-section in which the different layers are clearly discernible. 
When paint samples are taken, no matter how small, a piece of the painting is removed. Therefore, it is justified only when other research techniques fall short. Samples are taken from the edge of the painting or in a lacuna in the paint layer. Furthermore, they are not discarded but remain available for further study and new research methods.

The paint samples of the blue and green cloak, for example, were taken more than 70 years ago. At the time, they were studied under a microscope. This led to tentative conclusions about the materials used, which were written down — as can be seen here on the table. Today, chemists can identify pigments and binders with great certainty.

On two of the three samples we see a thick white layer of lead white on the bottom, dating back to the 19th century. At the time, a restorer performed a very invasive procedure, called a 'transposition'. This involves removing the paint layer from the original panel and transferring it onto a new support.

To remove the original support, the restorer sanded the panel all the way down to the back of the paint layers. On that back, he applied a thick flattening layer of lead white. He affixed a mesh to the lead white layer, before finally glueing it to a new panel.

In today’s world of artificial intelligence, fake news, and deepfake videos, distinguishing between reality and fiction has become more pressing than ever before. But instead of strictly delineating between illusion and facts, some artists allow both to coexist by embodying fictional alter egos. They craft artistic personas complete with their own biographies and present their fiction as if it were fact.

In ‘Alias,’ works of artists who operate under one or more alter egos are brought together. By adopting a different identity, artists can break free from gender or cultural issues, the rules of the art world, and the capitalist system that turns names into brands. Every fictional artist has a unique context that defines their work. This context plays a crucial role in determining the utilisation and rationale behind their fiction. What strategies lie behind fictional artists? Do they develop on the level of the artist themselves? Do they touch upon the art world or emerge as a reaction to society?

Please note: Some works in this exhibition may not be suitable for all ages.

Curator: Valerie Verhack

Imagining names

Artists operating under a fictional alias embrace a blank canvas: a fresh start where everything remains open, including the choice of a name. With fictional artists, this is seldom arbitrary. A new name implies escaping from all forms of predestination, such as a historical identity or psychologically inherited traits. Likewise, choosing a common generic name (John Doe Co., John Dogg) or a political name (Janez Janša Janez Janša Janez Janša) can disrupt the conventional naming system. What is the value of a signature (Ernest T.) or a name stamp (Herman Smit) as a visual sign of authenticity when conceived or placed by fictional artists? In this room, works are shown by fictional artists whose names play an essential role in our experience or interpretation of their work.

It’s worth noting that Western visual art production has traditionally been less inclined to utilise alternate personas, heteronyms, or pseudonyms compared to literature, for instance. From the early Renaissance, Western visual art production shifted from a system rooted in guild cooperatives to individual creativity. The introduction of the artist’s signature coincides with this change, and within this context, few artists deviated from their original names. Since then, artists are expected to create art under their own name and signature precisely because of the significant symbolic value and cultural capital associated with them.

Faces of fiction

Much like the names of fictional artists, the personas they embrace are typically not arbitrary designations. How do you create (self) portraits of artists who essentially do not exist?

The (self) portrait is synonymous with awareness and is also intrinsically linked to identity: it breathes ‘I exist/they exist’. Artists literally and metaphorically play out the complexity of what that self exactly entails through signifiers linked to gender, origin, or culture. A portrait can be a feminist critique of the restrictive societal image of what it means to be a woman (Roberta Breitmore). Or it can form a critique of ‘production’ within the capitalist system (Claire Fontaine). A group portrait can visualise within which domains of the art world you will profile yourself (Brian O’Doherty). Alternatively, it can serve as a means for the artist to disappear as an author in favour of the network of collectors surrounding them (Philippe Thomas).

Just like in what we consider reality, there is no singular truth. In that sense, fictional artists’ (self) portraits exhibit an affinity with institutional critique: both aim to reveal aspects of reality behind the representations that conceal it.

The Yoon-Ja Choi & Paul Devautour Collection

Art Keller, Richard Allibert, and Gladys Clover... They are just a few of the many fictional artists collected by the French artists Yoon-Ja Choi & Paul Devautour. Until 1985, both create art under their own names, only to then embrace the complexity and layered nature of various fictional alter egos and roles within the art world.

A portion of the Yoon-Ja Choi & Paul Devautour collection is exhibited in this room. Martin Tupper, who operates as an artist, critic and at the same time is a fictional alias of Yoon-Ja Choi & Paul Devautour, conceived the arrangement of the collection, which simultaneously evokes a showroom, an art fair booth, or the domestic setting of a private collection.

Martin Tupper’s ‘Show Room of the Yoon-Ja Choi & Paul Devautour Collection’ (1992) presents a selection of various artistic movements and tendencies. For example, artist Richard Allibert works exclusively with readymades: simple objects or everyday items left unchanged. Buchal & Clavel question the principle of the artist duo together. Artist J. Duplo, on the other hand, exclusively works with Lego bricks.

Rewrite the past

Creating a fictional art practice today can also impact the past. By supposedly bringing historically but entirely fictional artists to life with their own context and narrative, a piece of history is corrected. And, although the practices of Justine Frank, Darko Maver or Florence Hasard are figments of imagination, as spectators, we are eager to believe in these stories presented as proven facts.

Their history is brought together by the most diverse pieces of evidence, such as vintage photos and film fragments, press clippings, and documentaries with interviews of those involved, ... Not only the creation of this evidence but also how it is exhibited, and communicated to an audience, reinforces the authenticity of these practices that rewrite the past.

They demonstrate that historiography is not finished but is still in full development. Creating a new version of what the past could have been, often from the perspective of a marginalised social position, undermines the effect of historical distance: as if history is conveniently something from long-gone times that do not concern us.

Defying the art world

Fictional art frequently functions within a framework borrowed from reality; it may encompass historical contexts but just as easily follow the contemporary art world.

Various fictional artists take liberties with the (un)written rules of the so-called art system by portraying themselves as actors from within that art world. Thus, individuals like Leo Josefstein or Hubert Van Es claim to be artists even though they hold very different authoritative roles within the Belgian artistic scene. Alternatively, from a fictional artist like Emily Feather, a desire arises for anonymity and the abandonment of individual authorship.

The anonymous group of artists, Bernadette Corporation, adopts a quasi-corporate identity, to critique a global culture that constructs identity through consumption and branding. In 2005, Bernadette Corporation releases the jointly written novel ‘Reena Spaulings’, which would then serve as the foundation for new artist initiatives such as Henry Codax or the collective project Reena Spaulings, which functions as both an artist persona and an art gallery located in New York.

The necessity of an alias

Fictional art can address pressing societal issues such as culture, identity, gender, politics, and censorship. It’s always uncertain whether opting for fictional artistry is driven by the intention to offer a platform for conveying potentially contentious messages.

The works in this room testify to engagement and the relevance of fictional artistry within the societal debate. Does fictional artistry provide a safe position to create politically inspired (Oksana Pasaiko) or explicit work (NV Panneel)? Does fictional artistry imply a means to disappear as an attempt to be free without being judged or discriminated against (Puppies Puppies (Jade Guanaro Kuriki-Olivo))? Are we sufficiently aware that Western art history is often unnecessarily projected as a reference to artworks that don’t even subscribe to that tradition (Suha Traboulsi)? What form takes a fictional art production created within the context of a totalitarian regime (Charles Rosenthal)?