GEORGIA & ARMENIA

As the winter arrived, few members of the Masaryk University Department of Art History accompanied by some exchange students, took off on a week-long excursion to Georgia and Armenia. Since the majority of the participants had no previous experience in the region, it was thus with almost palpable enthusiasm, excitement, but also tiredness (that could hardly be concealed after a long journey) that the group had their first Georgian experience in Kutaisi: the khinkhali for dinner. Just like the monuments we were about to discover, these delicious Georgian dumplings, which from the outside looked terribly similar, retained many surprising flavours and peculiarities on the inside.

After a restful and digestive night, we set off for the journey’s first monument: the Monastery of Gelati. Situated a few kilometres from Kutaisi, it is located on a mountainside and overlooks the town. The construction of the monastery dates back to the beginning of the twelfth century, at the request of King David IV of Georgia (also known as King David the Builder), whose tombstone can be found on the ground in one of the portals leading to the monastery. Gelati was the cultural and artistic centre for centuries: the monks were known for the production of manuscripts as well as glass and cloisonné enamels. Also, the monastery has long possessed the Khakhuli triptych, a symbol of pride to the Georgian medieval heritage. The monastic complex has two churches: the Church of Nativity of Virgin Mary and the Church of Saint George. The access of the first one is made by the intermittent use of a gawit or zhamatun, which has preserved part of its original decoration: the representation of seven ecumenical councils. Probably one of the oldest versions of this iconography, these representations place particular emphasis on the imperial figure – the monastery's patron, King David IV, who personally initiated two of these gatherings. When we entered the main church, everyone stood in silence. On the one hand, out of respect for the religious service that was in progress at that time, but also – and probably above all – we were all speechless thanks the magnificence of the spectacle unfolding before our eyes. The imposing mosaic of the Madonna Nicopeia surrounded by two archangels that occupies the apsidal conch took on a whole new dimension. As if emerging from the brown of essences, the figures appeared both surreal and alive when combined with the melody of the songs, the smell and fog from the incense, and the discreet dance made from the light of the candles. It was still under the emotion of such an outstanding experience that we went to the Monastery of Saint George in Ubisi. The main church is considerably smaller in size than the one in Gelati, but the quality of the frescoes in the church of the Monastery of St George are on par, or even exceeding those of Gelati. Although the ones depicting the life of St. George on the side walls of the single nave are in poor condition, mainly due to humidity and a lack of restoration works, those on the ceiling and the apsidal part are still perfectly visible.

We settled for the night in Gori, birthplace of Josef Stalin. While taking a walk into Stalin Park (where stand both the museum and statues dedicated to the Soviet politician), we took some time to reflect on the notion of cultural heritage and its preservation. That day, we had seen two buildings which quality and attention to maintenance were drastically different, and still incomparable to the care given to the Stalin memorial. So, we went to sleep with this very question in mind. For what reasons, how, and who designate artistic and architectural monuments or personalities as regional or even national symbols?

Two days later, we discovered a new land: Armenia. We began our journey by virtually travelling back to the seventh century, and we started it in the small village of Aruč with its church. The cathedral of Aruč, a single-nave domed basilica, was heavily restored during the second half of the twentieth century. Its dome, however, was intentionally left missing, thereby creating a central well of light inside the monument. The building is dated around 670 thanks to an inscription on the eastern façade of the monument attributed to Prince Grigor Mamikonean and his wife. On the south side of the building, although poorly maintained, there is an archaeological complex containing notably the remains of the palace of the aforementioned prince. Surprisingly enough, even though the site and the church seem to be in a pitiful state of preservation, the monument has nonetheless retained some of its original decoration: the apse has preserved fragments of mural painting. The original iconography represented a standing Christ holding in his hand a parchment containing a quotation from the Gospel of St. John, and in the lower part of the apse there must have been a representation of an apostolic procession.

Our discovery of the Armenian seventh century continued with a visit to another building, located a few kilometres from Aruč, probably too sponsored by a member of an Armenian noble family: the cathedral of Talin. Like Aruč, the building is very badly preserved and is still only partially standing. Once again, the dome has collapsed. However, it was the occasion for us to discover a new architectural form: an oblong building with an inscribed cross, and unlike Aruč, the dome did not rest on massive engaged pillars but on four free-standing pillars in the middle of the nave. Despite its deplorable state of preservation, Talin also kept fragments of a mural painting in the apse. This time it is an empty throne that is depicted: playing on the lack of representation of the central figure of this iconography – Christ – the image echoes the second coming of the son of God.

The next day we jumped through time to the thirteenth century and visited two monasteries, both commissioned by the Prince Vache Vachutyan: Hovhannavank and Sagmosavank. These two majestic monuments are as close geographically – some five kilometres apart, as they are chronologically – built in 1215 and between 1216 and 1221 respectively. Both are situated at the top of the Kasagh river gorges, thus regaining the idea of sacralising the landscape.

Later that day, we went to another monastery, famously known for being directly carved into the rock of the mountain, the one of Geghard. While some myths date back the creation of the monastery as far as the fourth century, we know for sure that the main church was built in 1215 by the two famous brother Zakare and Ivane Zakarians, who were generals for the Georgian Queen and are acknowledged for taking back most of Armenia from the Turks. The monument is nonetheless outstanding. While entering the gawit, we suddenly discover a series of annexed rooms and chambers, most of them directly cut out from the rock. In this dark labyrinth where little light seemed to manage to squeeze through, we marvelled at the sublimely sculpted decors and the elaborate acoustics of these places.

As a conclusion, a general remark seems to be in order. The discovery, or rediscovery for some members of the group, of some of these thousand-year-old monuments was an extraordinary experience on several levels. Not only was it a crucial artistic and cultural experience for a student of medieval art history, but it was also a way of asking and considering more global questions. Through the study of these edifices, we were able to observe that land borders were not synonymous with cultural barriers. Moreover, our modern land borders are only rarely similar to those in force in the medieval period. This observation can only lead us to consider the question of the conservation and preservation of these buildings. Very (too) often in a very poor condition, sometimes located in a contemporary foreign country, these churches unfortunately have become the forgotten part of the Mediterranean cultural heritage. A few months after the tragic fire at the Cathedral of Notre-Dame in Paris and the millions of euros collected for its reconstruction; we might well ask ourselves what disaster should happen so that the international community can become aware of the beauty and richness of this region, which is in the process of disappearing.