1. Introduction

Thou shalt not make vnto thee any grauen Image, or any likenesse of any thing that is in heauen aboue, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water vnder the earth.  Thou shalt not bow downe thy selfe to them, nor serue them: For I the Lord thy God am a iealous God . . . .(King James Bible, 1611,  Exodus, XX, vv. 4-5)[1]

In 1912 the Ashmolean acquired a small stone sculpture of a head.  It was found in East Oxford in drainage works on Hurst Street, close to the corner of Leopold Street.

The Museum's record describes it as:

Jim Harris, Teaching Curator in Western Art at the Ashmolean, and a scholar of Renaissance polychrome sculpture, has dated the piece to the 13th century. He believes that it is the head of an angel and at some time in the past was separated from the rest of the body (one can see the part of the neck that would have joined the head to the body). There are remnants of the original polychrome colouring in several places, and it is likely that the head was painted twice: first with an undercoat of red, and then covered with green paint.

2. The Materials and the Maker

The stone from which the head was carved most likely came from one of the local quarries near Oxford that produced several grades of limestone, and the Headington quarry is a likely candidate.  Headington quarry produced the extremely hard and durable 'coral rag' (formed from coral deposits at the time that much of Oxford was a shallow tropical sea), as well as Headington Hardstone and Headington Freestone (the latter being the softest of the stones and used for interior dressings).[3]  The angel's head is probably carved from Headington Hardstone, although without chemical analysis it is difficult to say.  A block would have been cut out at the quarry, and perhaps even roughly shaped there, and then it would have been transported by horse and cart out of the quarry, down what is now Old Road, to St. Clement's and then to its destination.

It is difficult to know where the angel would have originally been sited, but it almost certainly came from a church.  It might have been part of an elaborate tomb decoration, a corbel [4] or a column capital or carving.  When it arrived on site, it would probably have been a local mason who carved the sculpture (although skilled craftsmen did travel, looking for work), and he would have trained for many years as an apprentice to a master mason before becoming an 'imaginator', a sculptor of human images. [5] The head that we see today was almost certainly attached to a body, and the mason would have carved the angel, carefully creating the detail and then applying the paint.

The paint used on the angel would have consisted of a binder mixed with a pigment.  There were a number of red pigments used in the Middle Ages:  red earths (ochres), such as sinoper (a form of iron oxide), and richer reds sourced from red lead tetra-oxide (minium) and sulphide of mercury (vermillion).  Pigments made from lead and mercury are toxic, and the long-term effects of working with these pigments could have resulted in illness.  Green could be obtained from earth pigments (terre verte) or from minerals like malachite (copper carbonate, verdigris, and copper acetate).  Some shades of green were available from plant sap and berries, but the colour was mostly obtained by mixing blue and yellow pigments. [6]

3. The Medieval Experience and Iconography

We are not used to seeing sculptured stone figures painted in bright colours today, but in the Middle Ages the interiors of churches, including all of the religious sculptures in stone or wood, would have been brightly painted or coloured in some way, to enhance their power to transport worshippers from their often difficult daily lives to the glory of God's kingdom.  Entering even a modest rural church would have been an inspiring and awesome experience, and the Medieval church was undoubtedly the most powerful influence in the community. Upon entering the church one's senses would have been assaulted by the sight of works of art (paintings, carvings in wood and stone, stained glass, and walls all painted in vivid colours), as well as the heavy scent of the incense that would have been used to mask body odours.

To the Medieval mind the head of a person housed not only the brain and intellect – it was the home of the soul.  Faces gave identity to depictions of human beings, and the expression on a face was a key to the personality and character of the subject being depicted.  The expression on this angel's face is serious, almost stern or frowning.  There is a noticeable furrowing of the brow above one of the eyes, and what we can see of the mouth does not indicate joyfulness or smiling.

The architectural and decorative enhancements of the church, like this angel, were powerful symbols of the Church's influence and majesty.  The fact that the head of the angel at some point became separated from its body is not necessarily the consequence of historical wear and tear or an unfortunate accident.

4. Iconoclasm

In the 16th century the religious movement that became the Protestant Reformation split Christianity into warring factions of Roman Catholics and Protestants. [7] Cutting off the head of a statue was a gesture essential to destroying the purpose of the sculpture and depriving it of meaning.  Many of the most beautiful works of art that graced the churches of England were destroyed during the Reformation. [8]  Those that weren't physically destroyed often had their colours hidden under a thick layer of whitewash, and this is one of the reasons that very few polychrome figures have survived intact today.  Sculptured heads had their noses smashed and were otherwise defaced, and it is possible that this angel's head was separated from its body at that time.   Most of the nose and part of the mouth are missing from the head, and although it is interesting to note this –  and tempting to attribute it to Protestant wrath -- there is no conclusive evidence pointing to a cause (and we must remember that it was found in a drainage ditch and could well have suffered the damage there).

It is possible, however, that the statue was defaced during the Reformation, and there was certainly method and historical precedence behind what might seem like wanton destruction.  Iconoclasm – the deliberate destruction of the religious icons, monuments and other symbols within a culture for political or religious ends – is a long tradition, dating back to ancient Egypt, through the Roman Empire and up to modern times.  It includes such acts as the destruction of Solomon's temple, the Eastern Orthodox Church's Iconoclasm of the 8th and 9th centuries, through the French Revolution in the 18th century, the Russian Revolution in the early 20th century, the mid-20th century Cultural Revolution in China, and the 21st century destruction of the Buddhas of Bamiyan in Afghanistan by the Taliban. 

It is a testament to the power of art that its destruction should be so central to the progression of a religious or political movement.  One of the legacies of the Reformation was a generation who had grown up in the midst of a world of potent images embodied in the art that was part of the fabric of the church in which they worshipped, but who were now forced to adjust to a spiritual life devoid of these physical images that had been so central to their daily lives.

Cursed be the man that maketh any grauen or molten image, an abomination vnto the Lord, the worke of the handes of the craftsman, and putteth it in a secret place: and all the people shall answere and say, Amen . . . .
(King James Bible, 1611, Deuteronomy, XXVII, v. 15 1611) 9