Christ Crowned with Thorns (Ecce Homo), and the Mourning Virgin (Mater Dolorosa)

The Artist: For a biography of Adriaen Isenbrant, see the Catalogue Entry for Man Weighing Gold (32.100.36).

The Painting: This deeply affecting image from the Passion of Christ is based on various biblical accounts in Matthew 27:21–23; Mark 15:1–16; Luke 23:1–25; and John 19:1–6. Therein, Christ was taken by Herod’s soldiers to the praetorium where he was beaten and thrashed by the implements that are tied around the column between Christ and the Virgin Mary in The Met’s painting. The soldiers then dressed Jesus in a regal cloak and crown of thorns, and, placing a reed for a scepter in his bound hands, mocked him as “King of the Jews.” Subsequently, in an episode known as the Ecce Homo (Behold the Man), Christ was presented by Pontius Pilate to the assembled chief priests and Jews who were asked to decide whether he should be saved or crucified (see also Jan Mostaert,The Met, 1982.60.25).

As the Mater Dolorosa (Sorrowful Mother), the Virgin Mary, dressed in a white headdress and deep blue robe and mantle, crosses her hands over her heart in a sign of compassion with her son. Her slightly bowed head and somber expression convey a meditative mood. Christ and the Virgin Mary are isolated and separated by the column between them. Above the capitol of the column is a sculpture of Samson and the Lion.[1] Recounted in Judges 14:5–6,[2] the story relates the divine intervention of God to empower Samson to triumph over the sudden attack of the lion, a parallel for God’s support of Christ in his endurance through the ordeal of his Crucifixion and his ultimate glory in the Resurrection. A tiny background scene at the doorway of a palace may represent Christ being brought before Pilate. The narrative is otherwise suppressed in favor of an iconic presentation in which the viewer is directly confronted by Christ and the Virgin. Mary is an exemplar for the appropriate meditative demeanor that the worshiper is encouraged to adopt in the contemplation of and empathy with her son’s agony.

The dramatic close-up image of the Salvator Coronatus and Mater Dolorosa evolved from narrative scenes of the Passion of Christ. The pairing became particularly popular in the late fifteenth-and early-sixteenth centuries when bust-length versions were abundantly produced especially in the workshop of Dieric Bouts and his followers (see The Met, 71.156–57).[3] A few other examples exist where Christ and the Virgin share the same space, as in The Met’s painting. In a very damaged tüchlein attributed to Hugo van der Goes, the figures face each other, separated by a double-arched window and a column between them (Museo de Santa Cruz, Toledo; Ringbom 1983, p. 143).[4] Print sources also offer parallel imagery to The Met’s painting. A woodcut by an anonymous Netherlandish artist, labeled “Ecce Homo” (but in fact a Man of Sorrows, as Christ’s hands reveal the stigmata of his Crucifixion) shows Christ and the Virgin turned toward each other, apparently engaged in conversation (see fig. 1 above). The accompanying Dutch text below the image emphasizes the Virgin’s intercessory role for the supplicant with Christ. It reads: “Dear child, that I the Virgin have borne / I ask that you save the sinners / Wisest Mother, I promise you always / That I shall be merciful to the sinner.”

As this text makes clear, the Virgin serves a role as intercessor for humankind. Technical examination of The Met painting through x-radiography (see Technical Notes) has revealed that in the initial stages of the composition Christ turned toward his mother as in the woodcut. This plan was changed in the paint layers to a Christ who gazes in the direction of the viewer, soliciting more directly his or her empathy with the Lord in his agony.[5]

There are no details within the painting that provide any clues concerning its commission. Given the substantial size of the painting and its subject matter, it most likely adorned a church chapel, serving there as an enhancement for worship.

The Attribution and Date: Early on, this painting was attributed to Jan Mostaert (Mather 1905, Fitz Gerald 1905). Since Conway (1921) identified it among Isenbrant’s works, there has been consensus (see Friedländer 1933, Weale and Salinger 1947, and other References). Nevertheless, this attribution comes with the caveat that no paintings can be assigned to this artist with any certainty (see The Artist). Despite some alternative suggestions for the artist’s name, however, the group that Friedländer formed on the basis of stylistic relationships and called Isenbrant has remained in use.[6]

The centerpiece of the Isenbrant group is the Joris Van de Velde Diptych of about 1528, commissioned by a local family for the Church of Our Lady (Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk) in Bruges (figs. 2–4 ).[7] The right wing of the diptych, representing the Seven Sorrows of the Virgin, remains in the Church of Our Lady, while the left wing, showing the Van de Velde family and their patron saints, and its reverse with the Seven Sorrows of the Virgin is in the Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique, Brussels. The seated Virgin of the right wing, with her downcast eyes and sweet countenance, and the finely articulated fingers of her expressive hands, is strongly reminiscent of the Virgin types in the paintings of Gerard David about 1510–15 (see The Met, 49.20a–c and 49.7.21), Bruges’s other noted painter of the time who was highly influential on the Isenbrant workshop production. As Jean Wilson has pointed out, the Seven Sorrows Virgin also shares other stylistic traits, among them drapery patterns, with the models of Gerard David’s workshop.[8]

The Met’s Christ Crowned with Thorns and the Mourning Virgin recalls Isenbrant’s right wing Seven Sorrows of the Virgin particularly with the use of architecture to organize the composition clearly. The x-radiograph and infrared reflectography of The Met painting show that Isenbrant initially planned a simpler scheme of archways but then proceeded to make considerable changes to the setting to reach a solution (see Technical Notes). However, the final painted surface shows that he followed through with the same interest—as found in the Van de Velde Diptych—in the embellishment of architectural features with Italianate motifs such as putti, ram’s heads, scrolls, and cavorting dolphins that had filtered into northern paintings through decorative prints in the second quarter of the sixteenth century. Infrared reflectography also reveals the loose and free underdrawn sketch for the figures as well as a number of adjustments to the covering of Christ’s body with the loincloth and cloak to achieve the desired result (see Technical Notes). The Virgin of The Met’s painting is certainly akin to the one of the Seven Sorrows, especially in the solemn demeanor of the two with their inclined heads and worshipful mode. But in The Met’s painting, the head of the Virgin and her features appear elongated, and her complexion wan and ashen, as would be appropriate given her extreme but silent grief at her son’s suffering. This style moves away from the Davidian model that Isenbrant followed earlier on, and, as such, The Met painting probably dates around 1530–40.

Maryan W. Ainsworth 2023

[1] This has also been identified erroneously as Daniel and the Lion (Weale and Salinger 1947, Gottlieb 1971, Ainsworth and Sintobin 1998). However, the man is clearly dressed as the famous Israelite warrior in armor, who battled the Philistines, not the usually scantily clad Daniel in the lion’s den. See Held 1949.
[2] Judges 14:5–6: Samson went down to Timnah with his father and mother. As they were entering the vineyards of Timnah, a young lion suddenly came roaring at him. The Spirit of the Lord rushed upon him in power, and he tore the lion apart with his bare hands as he might have torn a young goat.
[3] For this theme and its variation of the Mater Dolorosa and Man of Sorrows, see Prayers and Portraits, Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, exh. cat., John Oliver Hand, Catherine A. Metzger, Ron Spronk, eds., National Gallery of Art, Washington; Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Antwerp, 2006, New Haven, no. 3, pp. 40–49, no. 3; pp. 50–55, no. 4. See also Valentine Henderiks, Albrecht Bouts (1451/55–1459), Brussels, 2011, pp. 207–90.
[4] See also, Diane Wolfthal, The Beginnings of Netherlandish Canvas Paintings, 1400–1530, Cambridge, 1989, pp. 45–46, no. 11. Another version attributed to Dieric Bouts and mentioned by Sixten Ringbom (1983, p. 143), is now thought to be composed of an original part representing the Sorrowing Virgin with a later twentieth-century addition of the Christ Crowned with Thorns (see https://rkd.nl/en/explore/images/record?query=Dieric+Bouts&start=124.
[5] Ainsworth and Sintobin 1998, p. 376 also mention an arrow or sword piercing the heart of the Virgin, seen in the x-radiograph and the infrared reflectogram. The current technical investigation could not substantiate this earlier observation.
[6] “The Master of the Van de Velde Portraits” suggested by Jean Wilson (“Adriaen Isenbrant and the Problem of his Oeuvre, Thoughts on Authorship, Style, and the Methodology of Connoisseurship,” Oud Holland 109 (1995), p. 14; and Albert Cornelis indicated by Lorne Campbell (National Gallery Catalogues: The Sixteenth Century Netherlandish Paintings with French Paintings Before 1600, London, 2014, vol. 1, pp. 276–77.
[7] See Till-Holger Borchert in Bruges et la Renaissance, De Memling à Pourbus, Notices, exh. cat., Maximiliaan P. J. Martrens, ed., Memlingmuseum, Bruges, 1998, pp. 68–71, no. 40. For the dating of the diptych, see Hugo van der Velden, “Diptych Altarpieces and the Principle of Dexterity,” in Essays in Context, Unfolding the Netherlandish Diptych, John Oliver Hand and Ron Spronk, eds., Cambridge, 2006, pp. 139–42.
[8] Jean Wilson, Painting in Bruges at the Close of the Middle Ages, Studies in Society and Visual Culture, University Park, Pa., 1998, pp. 93–103.

Support: At some point before entering The Met’s collection, the painting was transferred from its original panel support to canvas. At a later moment, the transfer canvas was lined to a secondary canvas support. The original painted surface is smaller than the canvas support, leaving 2-2.5 cm of canvas exposed at the perimeters, which is now painted black and hidden by the current modern frame. Apparent remnants of an original barbe at the top and the right edges of the painting, and possibly the bottom and the left, suggest that the full dimensions of the composition are preserved and that the original panel was prepared in an engaged frame.

Preparation: The original panel was prepared with a whitish ground, likely containing chalk. Examination with infrared reflectography revealed the presence of an underdrawing, but the preponderance of black paint in much of the painted composition is seemingly blocking a good deal of the drawing.[1] However, the appearance of those lines that are visible in the reflectogram sheds some light on the character of the underdrawing, as well as the evolution of the composition.

The readily apparent underdrawing in the Virgin’s left hand and Christ’s arms and hands suggests that the artist sketched out the contours in a very rough way, to the point that it is sometimes difficult to decipher the intended forms. A similar sketchiness is also evident in the background, where the looping lines in the sky could be suggesting clouds or perhaps trees. A few rough lines mark out buildings in the distance; surely the closer buildings were also underdrawn but are not visible in the reflectogram. Curving lines above the Virgin’s head may have been an early indication of her headdress. All the underdrawing appears to have been made using the same dry material. Notably, no underdrawing is apparent in the faces of the two figures nor in the Virgin’s right hand.

In addition to contour lines, there are also several instances of hatchmarks, such as in the Virgin’s drapery. A more extensive example is present in the architecture, with hatching and occasional cross-hatching in the pilasters on the left and right sides, the central column, and the rear column located behind and to the left of Christ. There is also some hatching in the upper right corner of the architecture, which does not entirely accord with the painted forms; it describes a dark shape that runs upward from the rear column that is behind and to the right of the Virgin. A similar shape, augmented with hatching, is also apparent to the left of Christ. These vertical shapes are seemingly evidence of a preliminary idea to continue the rear columns to the top of the composition. Their appearance in the reflectogram demonstrates that they were at least partly painted with black paint in an earlier stage of the painting process, and the fact that they were underdrawn and hatched suggests that they were part of the original design.

Also apparent in the architecture are a few incisions made in the ground. At the top left and right corners are vertical score marks located about 9.5 cm from the edges, which line up with the rear columns, and the dark shapes noted in the infrared reflectogram (see fig. 5 above). There are two curved incised lines near the very top of the composition, which loosely accord with the painted curves on either side of the central column (fig. 6). Inside these curved incisions are two diagonal lines, which do not relate to any painted lines in the final composition. The point at which these lines were incised is not clear. The architecture was altered several times during the course of painting, much of which is best understood by comparing the infrared reflectogram and the x-radiograph (fig. 7) with the paint surface, along with microscopic examination, as will be discussed below (see Paint Layers).

Paint Layers: The sculptural and haunting appearance of Christ and the Virgin, positioned in the partial shade of the archway, was achieved in part by the artist’s technical choices. On the one hand, he created the extremely smooth paint surface by well-blended transitions in the paint, while his subtle use of grey paint in his flesh tones imparted the faint coolness. In microscopic examination a brighter, almost peach-colored paint layer is apparent under much of the flesh; this was attenuated by the greyish-toned paint that constitutes the final paint layer. Whether this layering of greyish fleshtones over top of brighter, more saturated paint was part of the artist’s strategy from the outset or added to tone down an initial layer deemed overly bright is unclear.

Close examination of the fleshtones revealed a slight but, once observed, peculiar difference in the two hands of the Virgin: her right hand is somewhat greyer in tonality. In the infrared reflectogram, the right appears markedly darker, indicating a greater presence of black pigments, while in the x-radiograph this same hand is relatively more radio-opaque, indicating more white paint. The paint handling appears identical to that seen in her other hand, seemingly ruling out a later reworking of this hand. The increased proportion of grey paint in this hand also explains the absence of underdrawing visible in the reflectogram, and perhaps the lack of apparent underdrawing in the two faces can also be attributed to proportionally more grey paint in the faces as well. A plausible explanation for the increased presence of opaque paint in some parts of the two figures may be found in the x-radiograph.

The x-radiograph reveals that Christ was first positioned gazing to his left and downwards, then painted en face, and finally the head was shifted upwards by a small amount but in the same frontal orientation. It is not clear just how fully the head was painted in each of the two earlier positions, but it was worked up with a good deal of modeling, as the x-radiograph demonstrates. Thus, it is not surprising that a rather opaque paint layer would be required to fully obscure the earlier forms. The x-radiograph does not reveal drastic changes in the Virgin’s head, although it is possible that it too was re-worked by the artist, or that the Virgin’s face was simply brought to a similar tonality and opacity to accord with Christ. Several minor shifts in the position of her fingers are also apparent in the x-radiograph. Seemingly a need to paint over changes also explains the increased presence of opaque paint in her right hand.

The artist made a few other changes to his figures, most notably lowering the height of Christ’s loincloth, as can be seen in the infrared reflectogram and the x-radiograph. The wooden scourge was initially painted more fully but was ultimately hidden by Christ’s drapery. In addition, the artist made several substantial changes to the architectural setting in which it seemingly evolved from an airier setting where more of the sky was included. As noted earlier, it seems that the rear columns initially extended to the top of the composition, as they were planned out in the underdrawing, incised, and painted to some degree (fig. 5). This would not have accorded with the two archways in the final composition, either the ogee arch in front or the simpler curved arch in back. Indeed, microscopic examination revealed the presence of pale blue paint underneath the two archways, located in the space between those two columns, demonstrating that the artist initially planned to include the sky to the top edge (see light blue hatchmarks in fig. 6 for location of the blue paint) The central column seems to have been present from the outset; there is no sky underneath that column, nor is there a conflicting design in the underdrawing.

From this point, the evolution of the architecture to the final appearance is difficult to trace with certainty, but it appears that the artist rendered subsequent forms in paint directly on his composition. The x-radiograph reveals the presence of a few other architectural features, but the dense concentration of overlapping alterations makes the image difficult to parse (fig. 7). These features include a simple arch, like the rear arch in the final painting but positioned higher (see red dashed line in fig. 6); a two-lobed archway (see blue dashed lines in fig. 6); and inverted curved lines that could possibly represent garlands (see green dashed lines in fig. 6). While it is not possible to discern the exact appearance and order of the earlier iterations of the architecture, it does seem that the side pilasters and the central column were always present in some form, fulfilling the important compositional role of framing Christ and the Virgin.

The paint is somewhat wrinkled and pressed because of the transfer process. There is some minor abrasion as well as small, scattered paint losses.

Sophie Scully 2023

[1] Infrared reflectography was acquired with an OSIRIS InGaAs near-infrared camera fitted with a 6-element, 150 mm focal length f/5.6–f/45 lens; 900-1700 nm spectral response. Captured March 2023 by Evan Read.

Friedrich Lippmann, Berlin (until 1903); Dowdeswell & Dowdeswell, London (1903–4; sold to The Met)

Leningrad [St. Petersburg]. State Hermitage Museum. "100 Paintings from the Metropolitan Museum," May 22–July 27, 1975, no. 18.

Moscow. State Pushkin Museum. "100 Paintings from the Metropolitan Museum," August 28–November 2, 1975, no. 18.

New York. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. "From Van Eyck to Bruegel: Early Netherlandish Painting in The Metropolitan Museum of Art," September 22, 1998–February 21, 1999, no. 101.

F[rank] J[ewett] M[ather] J[r.]. "Sir C. Purdon Clarke in America." Art in America 7 (1905), p. 485, ascribes it to Jan Mostaert and notes that it has been transferred from wood.

C. M. Fitz Gerald. "Accessions: How They will be Treated in the Bulletin." Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 1 (November 1905), p. 9, as by Mostaert.

Martin Conway. The Van Eycks and Their Followers. London, 1921, p. 304, as the work of Isenbrant, painted shortly after 1530, "in his most pretentious and least charming mood"; calls the figures "theatrical, artificial, and unconvincing".

John Cowper Powys. "A Masterpiece and a Controversy." Arts & Decoration 19, no. 6 (October 1923), pp. 38–39, ill., as by Isenbrant; defends this picture against Conway's criticism (see Ref. 1921).

Max J. Friedländer. Die altniederländische Malerei. Vol. 11, Die Antwerpener Manieristen; Adriaen Ysenbrant. Berlin, 1933, p. 138, no. 198, catalogues it with the works of Isenbrant.

Harry B. Wehle and Margaretta Salinger. The Metropolitan Museum of Art: A Catalogue of Early Flemish, Dutch and German Paintings. New York, 1947, pp. 101–2, ill., as by Isenbrant; identifies the scene above the central column as Daniel and the Lion, a symbol of the Resurrection.

Julius S. Held. "Book Reviews: Harry B. Wehle and Margaretta M. Salinger . . ., 1947." Art Bulletin 31 (June 1949), p. 140, identifies the scene on the column as Samson, not Daniel, with the lion.

Josephine L. Allen and Elizabeth E. Gardner. A Concise Catalogue of the European Paintings in The Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York, 1954, p. 50.

Erwin Panofsky. "Jean Hey's "Ecce Homo": Speculation about its Author, its Donor, and its Iconography." Bulletin Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts 5 (1956), pp. 116, 134 n. 64, p. 136 n. 73, fig. 22, discusses in depth the iconographic development of the subject of Christ as Ecce Homo; compares with our composition a woodcut of the Ecce Homo and Mater Dolorosa (fig. 29) which he ascribes to a French artist, 1st quarter of the 16th century.

Erik Larsen. Les primitifs flamands au Musée Metropolitain de New York. Utrecht, 1960, p. 82.

Carla Gottlieb. "The Living Host." Konsthistorisk Tidskrift 40 (May 1971), pp. 39–40, fig. 11, discusses and illustrates iconographically similar works; identifies the building in the background as Christ's tomb and the figure with the lion on the column's capital as Daniel.

Max J. Friedländer et al. Early Netherlandish Painting. Vol. 11, The Antwerp Mannerists, Adriaen Ysenbrant. New York, 1974, p. 90, no. 198, pl. 144.

Sixten Ringbom. Icon to Narrative: The Rise of the Dramatic Close-up in Fifteenth-century Devotional Painting. rev. ed. Doornspijk, The Netherlands, 1984, p. 143 n. 6 [first published in Acta Academiae Aboensis, ser. A, Humaniora, 1965, vol. 31, no. 2, same page nos.], cites other examples of the fusion of the "Salvator coronatus" and "Virgo doloris" into a single composition, noting that here "the symbolic meaning of the column has been made explicit by the whip tied to it".

Susan Urbach. "Research Report on Examinations of Underdrawings in Some Early Netherlandish and German Panels in the Budapest Museum of Fine Arts II." Le dessin sous-jacent dans la peinture. Ed. Hélène Verougstraete-Marcq and Roger van Schoute. Colloque 8, Louvain-la-Neuve, 1991, p. 80.

Katharine Baetjer. European Paintings in The Metropolitan Museum of Art by Artists Born Before 1865: A Summary Catalogue. New York, 1995, p. 270, ill.

Maryan W. Ainsworth and Véronique Sintobin in From Van Eyck to Bruegel: Early Netherlandish Painting in The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Ed. Maryan W. Ainsworth and Keith Christiansen. Exh. cat., The Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York, 1998, pp. 242, 321, 350, 374–77, no. 101, ill. (color, overall and detail), note that this panel reflects compositions of the subject by Dieric Bouts (such as MMA 71.156–57) as well as some that appear in illustrated Netherlandish prayer books of the sixteenth century; reproduce an example of the latter (fig. 112), a woodcut with a Dutch text emhasizing the Virgin's role as intercessor; observe that infrared-reflectography and x-radiography reveal that Christ was initially turned toward his mother as in the print, while an arrow or sword pierced her heart from the left—a motif, popularized after 1492, that refers to Mary as the Virgin of the Seven Sorrows; suggest that the MMA panel was originally conceived as one element in a continuous narrative program including each of the Seven Sorrows, but this was abandoned after the first stages in favor of a single Andachtsbild; date the panel about 1530–40 .

Susan Urbach. "An Unknown Netherlandish Diptych Attributed to the Master of the Holy Blood: A Hypothetical Reconstruction." Arte cristiana 95 (November/December 2007), pp. 432, 437 n. 28, fig. 6, mentions it in a discussion of panels with the same iconography, mostly in diptych format.

Caroline Elam. Roger Fry and Italian Art. London, 2019, p. 54.