Psalm XXXVII 

Editor: We’re looking at a page from what’s thought to be an illuminated manuscript, titled "Psalm XXXVII," attributed to the Limbourg Brothers. It appears to be watercolor and ink on parchment. The imagery of war and biblical verse feel somewhat contradictory; there’s something so delicate and precious about the materials, yet the scene depicted is quite intense. What strikes you most when you look at this? Curator: What resonates is the inherent tension—almost a visual paradox. The Limbourg brothers, masters of light and color, give us this incredible detail of a siege, but embedded within sacred text! It feels dreamlike, doesn’t it? The stylized tents, the rigid lines of soldiers, it’s war, but… softened. Perhaps that's what the psalm offers: solace amid conflict. Notice, though, the figures are somewhat dwarfed by the script. Does that suggest anything to you about the relative power, perhaps, of the Word? Editor: That's interesting - the scale does feel deliberate. I hadn’t considered the text having dominance over the visual narrative, but now I see it. It really emphasizes how integrated text and image were. It also makes me wonder who the audience was meant to be; they must have been extremely literate, both visually and linguistically. Curator: Indeed! These Books of Hours were objects of immense prestige. Imagine holding this, feeling the weight of the vellum, deciphering both the image and the Latin… a sensory experience. And remember, literacy wasn't widespread. To own such a book signified power, education, and wealth. This page, even in its depiction of war, would have been a potent symbol. What does pondering that make you feel? Editor: I suppose a deeper appreciation for the craft itself! It feels like holding a tiny piece of history. It's making me rethink what art from this period communicates about those who commissioned it, too. Thanks for pointing that out! Curator: And thank you for reminding me how immediate the impact of art can be – even something created centuries ago.