Philippe de Champaigne, Christ on the Cross, ca. 1655

In this deeply poignant painting, Philippe de Champaigne gives visual and persuasive form to one of the central mysteries of the Christian faith: the willingness of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, to suffer death for the sins of humanity. Champaigne depicts the crucified Christ alone on a rocky outcropping lined with dense vegetation, overlooking a panoramic view of the ancient city of Jerusalem. Dark, foreboding clouds crown the landscape, forming an almost impenetrable background that throws Christ’s torso into strong relief. Shown moments after his death, Christ’s figure appears upright, his bruised body presented for contemplation. Blood streams from the wounds on his side, hands, and feet, cascading down the crisp folds of his loincloth and the base of the cross to soak the ground beneath him. A network of fine lines on his chest—marks of the brutal flogging he received before his crucifixion—draw further attention to the physical torment he endured on behalf of humankind. Notwithstanding these visible signs of his agony, Christ remains an idealized figure. A beam of light bathes his body in a silvery radiance, illuminating not only his injuries but also the elegant proportions and musculature of his meticulously modeled body. His calm facial expression—head cast down, eyes closed—imparts a sense of dignity to the scene and, along with the faintly glowing halo, reveals his divine status as the Son of God.

Sober in its treatment yet deeply emotional in its impact, the painting exhibits a narrative clarity and pictorial restraint that has often been attributed to Champaigne’s close relationship with Jansenism. A controversial reform movement within the Catholic Church, Jansenism emphasized humankind’s inability to attain salvation without divine aid and insisted on pursuing a life devoid of worldly distractions.¹ Much has been written about the artist’s connections with this movement and whether his work reveals a specific “Jansenist” aesthetic. As early as 1837, literary critic Charles Augustin Saint-Beuve linked Champaigne’s “calm, sober, dense, and serious” paintings with Jansenist spirituality and piety.² The artist had close ties with the most important Jansenist center in France, the Cistercian abbey of Port-Royal-des-Champs. His two daughters entered the abbey’s school in 1648, and he earned numerous commissions to paint works for the Port Royal community.³ Leading scholars caution against interpreting Champaigne solely through the lens of his Jansenist affiliation, but they acknowledge that his work can be understood within the larger context of Catholic beliefs and practices as defined by the Council of Trent.⁴ As Marianne Cojannot-Le Blanc observes, Champaigne cannot be regarded simply as a Jansenist painter, since Jansenism did not exist as a homogenous movement, nor did it break away from Catholicism.⁵

Such an approach is appropriate for Champaigne’s depiction of the crucified Christ in the collection of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. The unflinching focus on the figure of Christ and his physical suffering was in line with traditional Catholic ideas, affected by the Reformation and the Council of Trent, regarding the use of images as aids to religious instruction and devotion. Spiritual manuals by mystics such as François de Sales espoused a method of prayer that encouraged imaginative participation in the events of Christ’s life, meant to lead to a deeper understanding of the self and of the divine.⁶ External images played a significant role within these meditative practices by activating the senses and stirring the hearts and minds of the faithful.⁷ Key figures of the Counter-Reformation, most notably Johannes Molanus and Gabriele Paleotti, published treatises that provided specific direction on how sacred images could fulfill this important function. They insisted that, for the benefit of the faithful, religious works of art should be simple, readily intelligible, and easy to grasp, with no superfluous details. To that end, they privileged scriptural accuracy and promoted naturalism as a means of opening a pathway toward spiritual contemplation.⁸

The Counter-Reformation’s preoccupation with truth and verisimilitude are qualities that characterize Philippe de Champaigne’s approach to religious art. Although the extent to which he followed these critical interpretations of religious texts is open to debate, Bernard Dorival’s analysis of the contents of Philippe de Champaigne’s library reveals a preponderance of diverse religious texts.⁹ This demonstrates not only Champaigne’s theological erudition, but also his receptiveness to various sources. Among these was Ezechielem Explanationes et Apparatus Urbis, ac Templi Hierosolymitani (Ezekiel’s Explanations and Apparatus of the City and Temple of Jerusalem, 1596–1604), a three-volume scriptural interpretation of the Book of Ezekiel by Jesuits Juan Baptista Villalpando and Jerónimo de Prado.¹⁰ Villalpando and Prado’s text describes the design and reconstruction of the ancient Temple of Jerusalem, and the accompanying illustration (Fig. 1) probably inspired Champaigne’s view, in the Nelson-Atkins painting, of the holy city and the pyramidal tomb of Isaiah.¹¹ Champaigne’s readiness to depict archeological details faithfully demonstrates an interest in rendering the sacred narrative with greater precision. Additional features of the painting similarly reveal Champaigne’s fidelity to scripture. The foreboding sky that isolates the figure of Christ refers explicitly to Gospel accounts of the darkness that fell over the land following his death (Matthew 27:45, Mark 25:33, and Luke 23:44).¹² Similarly, the paper titulus, a sign bearing the condemned person’s name and crime fixed to upper part of the cross, includes the inscription “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, as described in John 19:20.

Champaigne, however, was not uncompromising in his approach to sacred subject matter. As Lorenzo Pericolo astutely observes, Champaigne occasionally ignored iconographic conventions and omitted historical details when seeking to enhance the devotional impact of an image.¹³ A comparison with Champaigne’s other scenes of Christ’s Crucifixion underscores his flexibility. The Christ on the Cross in Kansas City is one of six autograph versions that portray Christ with his head hung down in death; an additional two depict Christ alive, with his eyes raised toward heaven in supplication. Despite general similarities in composition and overall effect, all versions vary in size and in detail. The smaller versions may have functioned as either preparatory sketches or finished reductions of the larger works.¹⁴ The Nelson-Atkins Crucifixion is most frequently identified as a replica of one of the two larger versions: one in a private collection in Toulouse¹⁵ and the other in the Musée de Peinture et de Sculpture in Grenoble (Fig. 2).¹⁶ The Toulouse painting, known mainly through an engraved reproduction by François de Poilly (1622/23–1693), shares many characteristics with the Kansas City version but differs in the placement of the wound on the far side of Christ’s torso (Fig. 3). The Grenoble painting, commissioned by the Carthusian monastery of La Grande Chartreuse, incorporates elements absent from the Nelson-Atkins version. Most notable is the use of three nails instead of four to fix Christ to the cross,¹⁷ the depiction of the eclipse described by Luke (23:44), and the presence of a skull that refers to Christ as the second Adam. The Grenoble painting is the only other version that depicts Christ’s wound fully exposed by the beam of light, although the wound emits significantly less blood.

These differences render it difficult to determine the precise sequence of the series and the relationship between the Nelson-Atkins Crucifixion and the other versions. Scholars Alfred and Ronald Cohen have suggested that Champaigne may have adopted ideas from both the Toulouse and Grenoble paintings to create a composite version intended for private, familial use.¹⁸ The early provenance of the Kansas City painting suggests that this might be the case. An inscription found on the verso of the original canvas indicates that the artist likely gave the painting to his sister Marie de Champaigne (1606–65)¹⁹ when he visited Brussels in 1655.²⁰ Little is known about her life except that she entered a beguinage (a home for lay religious women) in Brussels on September 3, 1641,²¹ and remained there until her death on December 11, 1665.²² Since scholars have not discovered a posthumous inventory of her possessions or other property-related documents, the subsequent history of the painting remains unclear. The painting only reappeared in 1968, for sale at the Palais Galliera in Paris.²³

Without sufficient documentary evidence, attempts to clarify the nature of Marie de Champaigne’s religious devotions are speculative at best. Recent studies of beguinages in the Low Countries, however, reveal general trends in their use of religious imagery that might provide some insight. Beguinages were semi-monastic communities where women took temporary vows of chastity and obedience but maintained financial independence and were able to retain property. A study of the art that adorned the homes of Beguines in Antwerp’s Beguinage of St. Catherine discloses a substantial number of scenes from Christ’s Passion, including several Crucifixions.²⁴ As Sarah Moran points out, the abundance of Passion imagery was not unusual and was wholly in keeping with the beliefs and devotional practices promoted by the Counter-Reformation.²⁵

Sober depictions of Christ alone on the cross, without the distraction of a crowd of onlookers and mourners, like Champaigne’s, were widespread during the Counter-Reformation. Examples by Jan Boeckhorst (Fig. 4), Peter Paul Rubens (Flemish, 1577–1640), and Francisco de Zurbarán (Spanish, 1598–1664) demonstrate how such compositions helped satisfy the contemplative needs of faithful Catholics throughout Europe. Isolated against a darkened sky or background, these Crucifixions grant the viewer privileged access to Christ’s suffering. In the case of Christ on the Cross at the Nelson-Atkins, Champaigne’s ability to capture the frigid hue of Christ’s lifeless body and the blood spilling from his wounds provides the scene with a sense of lifelike immediacy that invites meditation. So does its restrained emotional power, the cool color palette, and the overall atmosphere of stillness that pervades the scene. Naturalistic in detail yet stylized in effect, Champaigne’s Christ on the Cross resembles a crucifix, a timeless and easily recognizable symbol of sacrifice and redemption. We can only speculate about the religious beliefs and practices of Champaigne and his Beguine sister, but a recent treatment report of the painting provides insight into the painting’s lasting spiritual impact: modern fingerprints were found along Christ’s body, serving as a testament to the power and persuasiveness of Champaigne’s presentation.²⁶

Notes

1. For an overview on Jansenism and its role in seventeenth-century French cultural and political life, see Henry Phillips, Church and Culture in Seventeenth-Century France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 16; and F. Ellen Weaver-Laporte, “Jansenism,” in Grove Art Online, 2003, accessed August 6, 2020, https://doi.org/10.1093/gao/9781884446054.article.T043395.

2. “Sa peinture calme, sobre, serrée, sérieuse.” Charles-Augustin Sainte-Beuve, Port Royal, 4th ed. (Paris: Librairie Hachette, 1876), 1:26; quoted in Anne Bertrand, Art and Politics in Counter-Reformation Paris: The Case of Philippe de Champaigne and his Patrons (1621–1674) (PhD diss., University of Pittsburgh, 2001), 79.

3. Bernard Dorival, Philippe de Champaigne, 1602–1676: La vie, l’œuvre, et le catalogue raisonné de l’œuvre (Paris: Léonce Laget Libraire, 1976), 1:160. Indeed, one of the most well-known stories about Champaigne is that his daughter Catherine de Sainte Suzanne was miraculously healed from a paralysis that had lasted for two years when, in 1662, the Abbess at Port-Royal prayed for Catherine’s healing. Champaigne was inspired to commemorate this event by painting Mère Catherine Agnes Arnauld and Soeur Catherine de Sainte Suzanne (1662; Musée du Louvre, Paris).

4. Dorival, Philippe de Champaigne, 1:161; Lorenzo Pericolo, Philippe de Champaigne: “Philippe, homme sage et vertueux”: Essai sur l’art et l’œuvre de Philippe de Champaigne (1602–1674) (Tournai: La Renaissance du Livre, 2002), 228; Alain Tapié, “L’art de l’âme,” in Alain Tapié and Pierre-Nicolas Sainte-Fare-Garnot, eds., Philippe de Champaigne (1602–1674): Entre politique et dévotion, exh. cat. (Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 2007), 37–47.

5. Marianne Cojannot-Le Blanc, “Le jansénisme et les arts” in Cojannot-Le Blanc, ed., Philippe de Champaigne ou la figure du peintre janséniste: Lecture critique des rapports entre Port-Royal et les arts (Paris: Nolin, 2011), 9.

6. Richard Viladesau, The Pathos of the Cross: The Passion of Christ in Theology and the Arts—The Baroque Era (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 20, 24–25, 36–39.

7. Wietse de Boer and Christine Göttler, “Introduction: The Sacred and the Senses in an Age of Reform,” in Boer and Göttler, eds., Religion and the Senses in Early Modern Europe (Leiden: Brill, 2015), 1–13; Jeffrey Chipps Smith, Sensuous Worship: Jesuits and the Art of the Early Catholic Reformation in Germany (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2002).

8. The body of research on the Council of Trent’s decrees on art and their interpretation by Paleotti and Molanus is vast. Christian Hecht provides a good overview in Katholische Bildertheologie im Zeitalter von Gegenreformation und Barock: Studien zu Traktaten von Johannes Molanus, Gabriele Paleotti und Anderen Autoren (Berlin: Mann, 1997). See also the English edition of Gabrielle Paleotti’s text, which features an introduction by Paoli Prodi: Gabrielle Paleotti, Discourse on Sacred and Profane Images, trans. William McCuaig (Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2012). On Molanus, see David Freedberg, “Johannes Molanus on Provocative Paintings,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 34 (1971): 115–50.

9. Dorival, Philippe de Champaigne, 1:80–81. For a more extended analysis, see Bernard Dorival, “La bibliothèque de Philippe et de Jean-Baptiste de Champaigne,” Chroniques de Port-Royal 19 (1971): 26, 34. In their reviews of Dorival’s 1976 catalogue raisonné, Ann Sutherland Harris and Anthony Blunt question the plausibility of some of Dorival’s arguments regarding Champaigne’s use of literary sources. Ann Sutherland Harris, review of Philippe de Champaigne, 1602–1676: La vie, l’œuvre, et le catalogue raisonné de l’œuvre, by Bernard Dorival, Art Bulletin 61, no. 2 (June 1979): 320; Anthony Blunt, “A New Book on Philippe de Champaigne,” review of Philippe de Champaigne, 1602–1676: La vie, l’œuvre, et le catalogue raisonné de l’œuvre, by Bernard Dorival,” Burlington Magazine 119, no. 893 (August 1977): 575.

10. Olan A. Rand, “Philippe de Champaigne and the Concept of Archeological Accuracy in Painting,” in Actas del XXIII Congreso Internacional de Historia del Arte (Granada: University of Granada, 1978), 3:213–21.

11. Dorival, Philippe de Champaigne, 1:76–78

12. Dorival, Philippe de Champaigne, 1:74.

13. Pericolo, Philippe de Champaigne, 265–66.

14. Pierre Rosenberg, France in the Golden Age: Seventeenth-Century French Paintings in American Collections, exh. cat. (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1982), 236.

15. Dorival, Philippe de Champaigne, 2:385–86; Alain Tapié and Nicolas Sainte Fare Garno, Entre politique et dévotion, 244–45.

16. Pericolo, Philippe de Champaigne, 311n20; Gilles Chomer, Peintures françaises avant 1815: La collection du Musée de Grenoble (Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 2000), 64.

17. According to Émile Mâle, it was common to see three and four nails in Crucifixion scenes. Émile Mâle, L’Art religieux après le Concile de Trente: étude iconographique de la fin du XVIe siècle, du XVIIe, du XVIIIe; Italie, France, Espagne, Flandres (Paris: A. Colin, 1932), 270–71.

18. Alfred Cohen and Ronald Cohen, Trafalgar Galleries XII (London: Trafalgar Fine Art Publications, 1993), 34.

19. The inscription was discovered on June 5, 1969, when the original canvas was relined by Francis Moro, a painting restorer employed by the dealer Frederick Mont, who at the time was in possession of the painting. Although no photograph of the original inscription was found, the conservator transcribed the dedication, which is in both Flemish and French and reads: “Voor myne beminde suster / Marie de Champaigne–Religieuse / Brussel[s?]” (For my beloved sister / Marie de Champaigne–Nun / Brussels).

20. The date of Philippe de Champaigne’s visit is contested. According to his contemporary André Félibien, the Brussels visit took place in 1654. See André Félibien, Entretiens sur les vies et sur les ouvrages des plus excellents peintres anciens et modernes (Paris, 1685), 5:175–76. Pericolo, however, argues that Félibien may have mistaken the date and it should be 1655; see Pericolo, Philippe de Champaigne, 273.

21. “Marie/a Jampaine.” List of Beguines, 1628–1798, no. 21806, church archives of Brabant, Royal Archives, Brussels.

22. The birth and death dates are provided by Anne-Marie Bonenfant-Feytmans, “Un tableau inconnu de Philippe de Champaigne: Proposition d’identification,” Bulletin (Musées Royaux des Beaux-Arts, Brussels) 34–37, nos. 1–3 (1985–1988): 147.

23. Aquarelles et Tableaux Modernes; Dessins et Tableaux Anciens; Objets d’Art et d’Ameublement Principalement du XVIIIe Siècle; Sièges et Meubles des époques Régence—Louis XV–Louis XVI; Tapisseries Anciennes (Paris: Palais Galliera, 1968), unpaginated, as attributed to Philippe de Champaigne, Le Christ sur la croix.

24. Sarah Moran, “Bringing the Counter-Reformation Home: The Domestic Use of Artworks at the Antwerp Beguinage in the Seventeenth Century,” Simiolus 38, no. 3 (2015–2016): 148–51. These range in material from two-dimensional crucifixes to works on paper and a painting by Flemish artist Jan Boeckhorst (ca. 1604–68).

25. Moran, “Bringing the Counter-Reformation Home,” 151–52. Moran is questioning the argument made by other scholars that Beguines showed a marked preference for works of art and devotional texts that linger on the physical details of Christ’s suffering as a human being. See Xander van Eck, “Between Restraint and Excess: The Decoration of the Church of the Great Beguinage at Mechelen in the Seventeenth Century,” Simiolus 28 (2000–2001): 129–62; Hans Geybels, Vulgaritiner Beghinae: Eight Centuries of Beguine History in the Low Countries (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2004), 82–85, 125–27.

26. See treatment report by Mary Schafer, Nelson-Atkins paintings conservator, November 12, 2012, NAMA conservation files. Schafer removed the modern fingerprints from the varnish layer of the composition.

Close examination and various imaging techniques yielded insight into Philippe de Champaigne’s execution of the version of Christ on the Cross housed in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. Surviving preparatory sketches and finished paintings offer context to better understand his working methods, while twentieth-century records answer questions about the painting’s conservation history.

Although the verso of the painting lacks historical information due to the relatively modern lining and stretcher, conservation reports from 1969 offered critical findings that ultimately solidified the painting as an authentic Champaigne. Gertrud Blumel¹ likely performed the aesthetic work and outsourced the structural work to Moro Studios.² Blumel and the Moro family worked in tandem on at least two other documented projects.³ Investigation by Meghan Gray (curatorial associate of European Paintings and Sculpture at the Nelson-Atkins) and Frank Zuccari (former executive director of conservation, Art Institute of Chicago and the Moro brothers’ nephew) led to the rediscovery of Francis Moro’s treatment notes for the Kansas City painting. Moro wrote that the painting was “relined by our studio on June 5, 1969,” meaning it had already been lined in the past. While Blumel’s notes have not been located, reflected and transmitted infrared imaging clarified an inscription: “BLUMEL” is written along the proper right side of the work (Fig. 5). According to Zuccari, the “inscription in chalk or pencil … would have been written on the lining canvas as it was being prepared, in this case identifying the client. … ([Frederick] Mont was the owner of the painting but the commission to line it came from Blumel).”⁴ Despite the fact that Blumel’s notes are missing, she was surely integral to the treatment.

When Moro removed the old lining, in what must have been a spectacular moment, he uncovered a dedication written by Champaigne himself. Because of this finding, the painting graduated from “attributed to Philippe de Champaigne” to an autograph work.⁵ Moro copied the inscription in his notes: “Voor myne beminde suster / Marie de Champaigne–Religieuse / Brussel[s?],” meaning “For my beloved sister / Marie de Champaigne–Nun / Brussels.” He also had the inscription photographed and printed in triplicate by Brenwasser Laboratories. The photos have not been recovered,⁶ and at present, no imaging technique can clarify the text.

Moro Studios likely replaced the stretcher at the time of the lining. The treatment notes include, “Matt 5/18/69,” and, according to Zuccari, Matt was the woodworker who made stretchers for Moro.⁷ Unlike the detailed notes Moro kept about the back of the painting, he recorded no information about the support he replaced. It is possible that this discarded support was not original since the painting had already undergone a lining in the past.

The tacking margins have been removed, and the canvas has been cropped slightly. These adjustments likely occurred during one or both of the lining campaigns. Cusping is still visible at each edge, but it is less pronounced along the bottom. Based on the cusping pattern, at least 2.5 to 5 centimeters of canvas were probably removed from the bottom edge. Paper tape covers the new tacking margins and extends about 6 millimeters into the picture plane.

The canvas was initially prepared with a red earth pigmented ground layer. A subsequent gray layer was likely applied across the entire surface, suggesting a double ground. However, there is an occasional tan color seen below the paint layers. Either the tan sits above the gray and serves as selective underpainting, or both the tan and gray colors comprise a tonal preparatory sketch above a single red ground layer.⁸ The tan is primarily visible beneath Christ (Fig. 6), the cross, and parts of the buildings, while gray is apparent beneath the rest of the composition (Fig. 7). It is well documented that Champaigne was methodical and careful in his preparatory process. He was known to make separate preparatory drawings or cartoons, prior to putting paint to canvas.⁹ In at least two cases, Champaigne painted a rudimentary underpainting on the canvas to block in the major shapes and model some of the drapery.¹⁰ In the Kansas City painting, neither underdrawing nor underpainting is visible with infrared reflectography (IRR), suggesting Champaigne used red chalk or non-carbon-containing paint for these preparatory layers.

There appear to be pinholes in Christ’s hands that are likely associated with a tool used for planning perspective (Fig. 8).¹¹ A central pinhole denoting the vanishing point was not observed, but it may have been covered by subsequent paint.

The Nelson-Atkins painting is regarded as a replica or later iteration of an existing motif that Champaigne had already painted numerous times.¹² Because of Champaigne’s extensive preparatory work and the probability that he had painted this composition previously, major artist-made changes were not expected. Yet the x-radiograph shows quite a few unexplainable shapes and angles in the background, possibly indicating an unusual moment of experimentation for the artist or reuse of the canvas (Fig. 9). These potential changes or secondary composition have not been interpreted as legible imagery. In a less likely scenario, the lining fabric could have been adhered or treated with some radio-opaque material such as lead white, creating forms in the x-radiograph that are unrelated to the actual composition.

The imagery was built up in careful layers. After presumably mapping the large shapes or value shifts in tonal blocks, Champaigne began modeling Christ’s flesh. He mixed blue, green, and black pigments into the flesh color to achieve a cool, stony skin tone that steals warmth from the tan underlayer. Blue and lavender highlights intermingle with red slashes across his body. The play between the warm and cool colors gives the impression that Christ is actively dying, the color draining from his skin.

Using somewhat fluid and thick paint, Champaigne laid in the sandy ground beneath the cross and began forming the buildings along the horizon. Once dry, he applied a second layer of light yellow in the foreground and added the rocks and landscape. He let the paint dry again before making slight adjustments to the contours of the pyramid and rocks in the middleground (Fig. 10). The greenery in front of the buildings was painted wet-over-dry, and the vertical brushstrokes of the facades are clearly visible beneath the trees. The sky was added after the rest of the imagery was finished. The vigorous black and blue brushstrokes overlap and refine the contours of Christ’s arms, thighs, and loincloth (Fig. 11), and the sky covers some buildings to the right of the cross that seem to have been painted out. White paint was scumbled over the black sky and radiates from behind Christ’s head. The reach of the light was reduced with more black sky on top. Further refinement of the contours is visible near the bottom of the cross, where the edges of the post overlap the fully rendered sky. Finally, a generous application of a deep red glaze was added wet-over-dry to render the blood dripping down Christ’s body and from his hands in front of the black sky.

The pigments have not been scientifically analyzed, but it is clear under high magnification that the artist used at least three types of reds: an earth pigment (probably iron oxide), a bright orangey red (probably vermilion), and an organic lake. The lake, used primarily for Christ’s blood, contains occasional tiny threads, suggesting it was made from a colorant extracted from dyed fabric (Fig. 12). From the fourteenth to the early seventeenth century, a process of recycling textiles was one of the main ways artists sourced red lakes made from insect-derived kermes, cochineal, and lac, and from plant-derived madder and brazilwood.¹³ Visual examination is not sufficient to identify exactly which type is found in Christ on the Cross.¹⁴

Retouching is associated with paint losses, the largest of which are present in the Titulus Crucis (the paper sign bearing the inscription “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew), Christ’s groin, and two vertical sections in the lower left corner. It is possible that the leaves of the rightmost small tree in front of the buildings are a later addition. They are handled in a less refined manner. They appear to be comprised of a mixture of yellow and blue, whereas the other leaves are painted with a true green pigment. Finally, they are painted atop the white blossoms rather than below them (Fig. 13). Compared to four other versions of Christ on the Cross that include the same tree (see Figs. 3-4; Dead Christ on the Cross, ca. 1654, Toledo Museum of Art; and Christ on the Cross, ca. 1655–60, National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa), the Kansas City version has far more leaves, suggesting they were added at a later date by a different hand.

Some of the thin glazes associated with the blood and greenery may have been slightly overcleaned during a previous treatment. Old, discolored varnish is still present in the interstices of the paint, but most of it was removed in 1969. During that treatment, the painting was re-varnished and retouched. Minor treatment was performed in 1988 when the painting was reframed in a frame contemporary to the work. The brown paper tape along the perimeter of the work was retouched so as not to be noticeable in the larger sight size of the new frame.¹⁵

Notes

1. While occasionally recorded as Gertrude Blumel, the correct spelling of her name is Gertrud Blümel (see her 1933 dissertation, “Die ritterliche Romanillustration in Nordfrankreich und Belgien, ihr Ablauf und ihre entwicklungsgeschichtliche Stellung,” http://biografia.sabiado.at/bluemel-gertrud/, accessed September 2025 [site inaccessible]). She eventually dropped the umlaut but never added a final “e” to her name (see her petition for naturalization in 1956, National Archives, New York, “New York, U.S., Index to Petitions for Naturalization filed in New York City, 1792–1989,” for Gertrud Blumel, digitized on Ancestry.com, 1956, B, no. 7614512, image 541, https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/7733/records/2651766). She and her husband Ernst came to the United States from Austria, seemingly as displaced persons, in 1949 (see Arolsen Archives, Bad Arolsen, Germany, “Lists of Passengers who emigrated from Europe, Africa, and Asia between 1946 and 1971,” digitized on Ancestry.com as “Free Access: Africa, Asia and Europe, Passenger Lists of Displaced Persons, 1946–1971,” France, Paris, 1949, image 143, https://www.ancestry.com/search/collections/61704/records/915561. She worked out of her apartment located at 134 W. 58th Street, New York (her address is included in her 1956 petition for naturalization; see that she worked from home in Frank Zuccari to Meghan L. Gray, December 13, 2013, NAMA curatorial file). Blumel died in 2006 at the age of 97 (but she was interred on January 19, 2008; see “Cemetery Records,” Interment.net, published November 24, 2016, https://www.interment.net/data/us/ny/westchester/ferncliff-cemetery/records-blo-bon.htm).

2. Sometimes seen as Paul Moro, Inc., this restoration firm was founded by artist-turned-restorer Paul Moro in or before 1931 and was later inherited by his sons, Francis and Thomas. See “Moro, Francis,” obituary in The Journal News (White Plains, New York), March 20, 2002, https://www.newspapers.com/image/915933120/.

3. Regarding a painting in the collection of the North Carolina Museum of Art, “Again the same New York firm of Paul Moro did the re-lining, whereas the restoration of the paint film was undertaken by Mrs. Gertrude [sic] Blumel. . . . The same two firms were also involved in the restoration of a smaller picture in our collection, Jaques Louis David’s Self Portrait.” “Restoration,” North Carolina Museum of Art Bulletin 6, no. 4 (1963–65): 16, https://archive.org/details/bulletinnorthcar47unse/page/n299/mode/2up.

4. Zuccari to Gray, December 16, 2013, NAMA curatorial file. The writing may actually be directly on the back of the original canvas; if it were written on the inner face of the lining as Zuccari implied, it would appear backwards when photographing the back of the work. Alternatively, Moro may have written “Blumel” on the back of the lining canvas and erased it so it was no longer apparent in visible light.

5. When the painting resurfaced on the market on October 22, 1968, the inscription was covered, and the painting was listed as “attributed to Philippe de Champaigne” rather than an autograph work. See Meghan L. Gray, “Philippe de Champaigne, Christ on the Cross, ca. 1655, working document,” May 22, 2014, NAMA curatorial files.

6. The negative has almost certainly been destroyed, and the whereabouts of the three prints are unknown, if they survive at all. See Gray, working document, May 22, 2014, NAMA curatorial file.

7. Zuccari to Gray, December 13, 2013, NAMA curatorial file.

8. Champaigne typically used a double ground of red and gray. Rare cases of single ground layers of pink or white have also been noted. See Claire Betelu, “Ground Layers in French Paintings from the Second Half of the 17th Century: Colour, Stratigraphy and Function,” in Ground Layers in European Painting 1550–1750, ed. Anne Hack Christensen, Angela Jager, and Joyce H. Townsend (London: Archetype Publications, 2020), 84–92; and Mary Allden and Richard Beresford, “Two Altar-Pieces by Phillippe de Champaigne: Their History and Technique,” Burlington Magazine 131, no. 1035 (June 1989): 395–406, https://www.jstor.org/stable/883905.

9. For an example of a chalk sketch on paper, see View of Jerusalem with the Temple of Solomon (17th century; Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/364540); for an example of a painted study, see Richelieu’s Immortal Glory (ca. 1635; Musée du Louvre, Paris, https://collections.louvre.fr/en/ark:/53355/cl010067327).

10. Allden and Beresford, “Two Altar-Pieces by Phillippe de Champaigne,” 402. As Champaigne collaborated with Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665) early in their careers, they may have influenced each other. Indeed, Poussin is known to have executed tonal underpaintings. Helen Glanville, “Nicolas Poussin: Creation and Perception,” Kermes 27, nos. 94–95 (April–September 2014): 16–29.

11. For further discussion of perspective planning in works by Nicolas Poussin, Champaigne’s contemporary and occasional collaborator, see Sheila McTighe, “Poussin’s Practice: A New Plea for Poussin as a Painter,” Kermes 27, nos. 94–95 (April–September 2014): 11–15.

12. See the accompanying catalogue entry by Rima M. Girnius.

13. It would have been feasible to extract lac and brazilwood from textiles, but it seems the raw materials were often directly used for artists’ materials. Only cochineal, kermes, and likely madder were sourced from the recycling of textile dyes. Jo Kirby, Marika Spring, and Catherine Higgitt, “The Technology of Red Lake Pigment Manufacture: Study of the Dyestuff Substrate,” National Gallery Technical Bulletin 26 (2005): 74–75, https://www.jstor.org/stable/42616314.

14. It is possible that a mixture of dyestuff can be found if the source textiles contained multiple dyes. For example, red threads found on a Titian (Venetian, ca. 1488–1576) painting were analyzed, and the dyestuff was confirmed to be a combination of madder and cochineal. Ulrich Birkmaier, Arie Wallert, and Andrea Rothe, “Technical Examinations of Titian’s Venus and Adonis: A Note on Early Italian Oil Painting Technique,” in Historical Painting Techniques, Materials, and Studio Practice, ed. Arie Wallert, Erma Hermens, and Marja Peek (Los Angeles: Getty Conservation Institute, 1995), 123.

15. Roger Ward to Forrest Bailey, June 14, 1988, NAMA conservation file, 70-1.