Markus Brunetti’s photographs depict the facades of Europe’s sacred architecture – synagogues, monasteries and cathedrals – which have all managed to survive, to paraphrase James Joyce, the nightmare of history. Brunetti’s images breathe new life into these majestic edifices of the past: just as it took decades of devotion to build these majestic marvels, Brunetti had to put in years and years of devotion to achieve his photographic masterpieces. . His work is inspired by the perseverance, patience, diligence and dedication of the ingenious architects who designed these heavenly buildings – and the craftsmen who built them – to last forever. The philosopher William Ernest Hocking argued that religion was the cradle of art; Brunetti’s works argue that art is the cradle of religion.
Brunetti takes thousands of photographs of his subjects, which he then digitally edits, layers and arranges to form composite images. The process is an obsessive form of construction that mimics the efforts of the workers who meticulously built these divine structures, brick by brick. (The artist lives in a fire truck that he has converted into a photo lab; he uses the vehicle to move from one sacred structure to another.) There is a manic compulsion in pursuing Brunetti, as s he was afraid that time would somehow catch up with him. to these places out of time. The artist traveled all over Europe to find his subjects, venerable pearls of a profane world, eternal in everyday society. If curiosity is the saving grace of conscience, then his knowledge of this type of architecture suggests he may be on a mission to save his soul, for dedicating his life to photographing reverent sites is, in my view, an act of worship. He is like a pilgrim visiting holy places in search of a blessing or even a miracle.
Cambridge, King’s College Chapel, 2014–23, Brunetti’s lovingly rendered image of the eponymous building, an example of late Perpendicular Gothic architecture designed by master mason Reginald Ely, is almost surreal in its immaculate accuracy. (England’s King Henry VI was just nineteen when he laid the foundation stone for the structure in 1441; it was completed in 1515.) Its two forward-facing towers rise high in the dull gray skies, like arms outstretched in holy surrender. The massive stained glass windows on the facade evoke a wide-open mouth, perhaps that of an unhappy God, ready to devour his unruly and disobedient creations. Although Brunetti’s image of the chapel is indeed imposing, it is not cold. His careful manipulations of the image do not dampen it, but bring it to life, as if the spirit of the place itself was somehow captured by the artist and stored within. So many of Brunetti’s works, such as Sigüenza, Cathedral of Santa Maria2018–23, and Cordoba, Mezquita-Catedral, 2013-23 (the latter depicting a former mosque that became Notre-Dame de l’Assomption Cathedral in the 14th century), possesses a strange sensibility. These prints go well beyond two dimensions, they act on the viewer in a surprising and subtle way.
All of the artist’s works are “good” insofar as they are formally and aesthetically convincing. Its preservationist instinct is a tribute to the living remains of “old” art in its most majestic forms. They also point to the revival of interest in traditional art, as these religious structures are startlingly grand examples of it – antitheses to the worn-out ironies and solipsism of contemporary culture, or what historian Suzi Gablik has called failure of modern art to save us from ourselves. Gablik called for “a return of the soul”, and this is largely true of Brunetti’s fascinating portraits of sacred facades. Indeed, it suggests that the soul has never left us, provided we know where to look. Just as artists of the classical past looked to the ruins of antiquity for inspiration, Brunetti approaches these buildings with a similar sense of wonder and wonder.
