Inside, the eye is caught by the light flooding in from an array of windows in the south wall and by the magnificent interior structure of the roof. The latter, along with the stark geometry of the pews and the commanding mahogany pulpit, are the result of renovation in 1889 by the noted Dundee architect T S Robertson. The real treasures of this church, however, are much, much older.

Records show that a church has existed on this site from at least the 12th century, when it was granted to the cathedral of St. Andrews. The present building, however, dates from 1453 and was founded by Andrew, Lord Gray and his wife Elizabeth Wemyss on his return from a pilgrimage to Rome; we know this from an inscription, painstakingly deciphered from the abbreviated medieval Latin.  The new foundation was a collegiate church, with a Provost and up to seven Prebendaries, who were supported by the revenue of outlying churches and chapels (prebends). These clergy probably appointed vicars to minister in the ‘provinces’ on their behalf. Their own activities would have centred on St. Marnock’s itself, conducting masses at the various altars and praying for the souls of the founder and his family.  Because so many of the fixtures and fittings relevant to these liturgical practices have survived, it’s possible to imagine and to reconstruct the original interior of the church.  This is the real beauty of the church - that and the paintings, of course.

St Marnock’s Church, Characters from a Crucifixion Scene (picture: Bruce Pert)

Let me take you inside.

By the entrances are two holy water stoups (stone basins), where the devout would dip their hands prior to crossing themselves and entering the sanctuary. Also in the vestibule stands a magnificent font, battered but triumphant and bearing scenes from the seven stages of the Cross – the last days of Christ’s life. Because the font is octagonal, the sculptor has filled the last panel with his vision of the Harrowing of Hell. Christ reaches out his hand to the dead as they emerge from a gaping dragon’s mouth, complete with a fearsome set of teeth.

Next, you pass through a pair of finely carved wooden doors. Though not in their original place, these are the doors of the 15th century rood screen (of which more later), and they bear comparison with the slightly later King’s College Chapel in Aberdeen. The founder of St Marnock’s, as you’ll probably already have gathered, did not hold back as far as quality of workmanship is concerned. Even the precision of the exterior stonework is astonishing; each block bears a mason’s identifying mark, and one hopes their skills were recognised and well rewarded.

Nowadays the view from the rood screen doors is unimpeded all the way to the circular window in the east gable, resplendent in red, gold and blue glass and with the lion rampant of the Grays taking centre stage. Back in the 15th century your eye might have been caught by a ceremony taking place before the high altar, or by the splendid altarpiece itself, sparkling in the light of the large Gothic window near the south-east corner. Maybe someone would be tending to the communion vessels in the sacrament house set into the east gable. This is a remarkable feature: a beautifully carved stone recess where the consecrated bread – the body of Christ - could be kept secure. In honour of its precious contents the exterior is adorned with a portrait of Christ as Salvator Mundi supported by angels, framed with elaborate pilasters and topped with an annunciation scene. This is one of the three earliest datable examples of a sacrament house in Scotland. It keeps good company: the others are St. Salvator’s College, St. Andrews, and Rosslyn Chapel.

If you were a lay person however - not a member of the laird’s class or clergy and therefore confined to the nave - your view would not extend this far; for between you and the chancel, where the choir-song emanated and these activities took place, stretched the rood screen (‘rood’ means a cross). The evidence for this lies in two sets of corbels which jut out from the side walls, just over head-height about half-way down the church. Clearly these had supported a rood loft or balcony, running across the width of the building and lit by the first-floor window to the south. Beneath this, at ground level, would have stood the screen itself with its aforementioned doors. Apart from tantalising glimpses through the tracery and occasional sightings as the doors swung to and fro, your view of the mysteries that lay beyond would have been completely blocked.

St. Marnock’s Church, Saints and apostles ( picture: Bruce Pert)

But there were compensations. Like other churches of the time, most of whose interiors have sadly perished, St. Marnock’s must have been filled with colour. Every surface was covered – including the walls, which even in the late 18th century bore traces of the life of Christ – in order both to inform and to give the congregation a foretaste of heaven (Fawcett). The artwork in Fowlis Church hasn’t completely escaped the ravages of time or the reformers, but what has survived makes it virtually unique in Scotland.

Today three large and astonishing 15th century paintings (and several detached fragments mounted together) leap out at you from the walls. They are painted directly onto oak boards, and though they are now independently framed and hung on the side walls it’s clear that they originally formed part of the fabric of the church. They consist of:

-          A set of full length portraits, 60cms high, of ten saints and apostles flanking the central figure of Christ. The figures are individually portrayed, most looking slightly to left or right, and each holds some identifying mark: St. Catherine has her wheel, St. Peter an impressive key, St. Anthony is dressed as a hermit and is accompanied by his pet pig. St Ninian appears as a bishop and sports the lion of Gray on the hem of his robe (he is the only Scottish saint in the church; St Marnock fails to appear at all, though he may of course have succumbed to time or fate). In the centre is Christ, Saviour of the World, one bare foot standing on a tiled floor, the other placed on the orb, his right hand raised in blessing, his left holding an open book. Several other saints hold books, and, rather endearingly, they exactly resemble a small, ancient text in the National Library of Scotland. This is known, from the evidence of a name inscribed within, as the Fowlis Breviary.

From their shape and dimensions it’s thought that the saints were originally arrayed along the balcony of the rood loft. As they stand, the row is a bit on the short side: there must have been more at one time.    

St Marnock’s Church, The Altar Piece (picture: Bruce Pert)

-          A composite painting, roughly two metres square, displaying at the top a large head and shoulders of Christ. His body is lost, the paint worn or scrubbed down to the wood, but he is assumed to have been seated and to have held the orb of the world in his hand – another instance of this popular motif. St Catherine appears again, on the left. To the right are John the Baptist and the Virgin Mary, who, in a very rare depiction, is tenderly feeding her child. Along the foot of the painting runs a further group of figures on a much smaller scale. This feature, known as a predella, would have been separated from the main image by a painted or moulded border. Not only has this gone but sadly their heads have gone with it! The seated Mother though, holding the dead Christ in her lap, identifies the theme as the Deposition. Mary Magdalene is there, holding a pot of unguent, and another of the supporting figures holds what may be a pair of pliers, one of the instruments of the Passion. These were used to remove the nails from the Cross and are depicted, for example, on the Fetternear Banner. Intriguingly, it has been suggested that their holder may be St Apollonia, patron saint of dentistry. If this sounds bizarre, it is not entirely unique, nor is it out of keeping with this artist’s individual way of thinking. We’ll come upon other examples of this in his setting of the Crucifixion. 

This complicated painting has been convincingly reconstructed on analogy with the description of a similar piece at Arbroath Abbey. Since Christ, who is off-set, would undoubtedly have been in the centre, it’s clear that a section is missing from the left-hand side. Where the Arbroath piece contained a portrait of William the Lion, founder of the Abbey, our altarpiece more than likely depicted Sir Andrew Gray and his wife. It’s possible that, being a family portrait, this had been removed for safe keeping. Ironically the portrait is lost, while the centre portion – which was the frequent focus of the reformers’ zeal – has survived. Consequently this is a very rare piece indeed.  Originally it would have stood behind the altar, illuminated by the large Gothic window to the right. 

St. Marnock’s Church, The Crucifixion (picture: Bruce Pert)

-          The Crucifixion. This magnificent piece, some four metres long, is St Marnock’s greatest claim to fame and by any standards it is stunning. The clue to its original position lies in the absence of paint in the top corners: the curved edge of the painted surface clearly shows the ‘ghost’ outline of a barrel-vaulted ceiling. Where many churches had an actual cross or crucifix gracing their rood-lofts, St Marnock’s had this full-scale crucifixion scene, filling the whole space between the balcony and the roof. The impact on the congregation (it’s assumed that it faced down the nave, not into the chancel) must have been astounding.  Some of the figures are now truncated, but everyone of importance features in this busy scene, from Christ on the Cross to the two thieves on either side and the Mother and friends at his feet. There are soldiers on foot and on horse-back, and all the presiding officers are present: the centurion, his ‘speech scroll’ proclaiming ‘Truly this was the son of God’, the high priest (with a smug expression and a red nose) clutching the arrest warrant, and even a pensive-looking Herod, though the Bible doesn’t actually say he was present. Nor does the Gospel mention blind Longinus, who pierces Christ with his spear and, having received a drop of blood in his eye, sees the light in both senses; but his role is crucial in terms of both interpretation and composition, as we’ll see.

Nothing like this survives in Scotland today; the nearest comparison is with a Rood in Elgin Cathedral which was recorded just prior to its destruction in the 17th century.

St. Marnock’s Church, Characters from a Crucifixion Scene (picture: Bruce Pert)

-          The detached panels: these are assumed to be random survivors but they form an interesting group. The central figure, who wears a tall black hat with a feather and is in an attitude of prayer, may well be the patron himself. To the left, a soldier in arms seems to droop heavily on his lance; it has been suggested that he is one of the sleeping tomb guards from a lost Resurrection scene. The two figures on the right have a distinctly eastern look. They’re found not uncommonly in crucifixion scenes: onlookers from another realm.

Who was the artist of these wonderful works? What cultural influences lie behind them? And how, given the religious earthquakes of the following century, did they manage to survive at all?

The answer to the last question is probably two pieces of luck. Firstly, the Laird at the time of the Reformation was not an enthusiastic Protestant (he had his knuckles rapped for failing to turn up for Communion). In 1612 the Synod of St Andrews, to which Fowlis was attached, woke up to the fact that these ‘monumentes of idolatrie’ were still in full view and demanded that the ‘paintrie……..be obliterate be laying it over with green colour’. Nothing happened. Over the next few years more furious letters followed, and then – silence. If the paintings were indeed finally covered, it was with a substance that, thankfully, was removable and had no adverse effect on the surface, for the colours are still vibrant today.  

Secondly, the Lairds of Gray used the east end of the church as their burial place, and the rood screen conveniently shielded this sanctuary from the common folk in the nave. At some point in the 18th or early 19th centuries it seems that the screen was partly reconstructed; this might account for the cutting down and re-shaping of some of the panels, as well as for the undoubted losses (there is mention of a ‘quantity of old wood’ being burned or sold off; one shudders to think…). The burial of the last Lord Gray in 1867, commemorated in the fine stained glass in the South East window, may have paved the way for the complete dismantling of the rood screen and the opening up of the interior, but by this time the paintings were recognised for what they were and their future was secured.

The hey-day of Fowlis Church, the second half of the 15th century, saw an unprecedented flowering of the arts in Scotland. Both James III and IV were steeped in European culture. Their interests influenced art and architecture and encouraged patronage in religious as well as secular contexts.

Overseas contacts introduced the Scots to the masterful quality of European art, especially that of North Germany and the Low Countries. These artists were particularly sought after for their precision and fine detail, and, besides supplying altarpieces and illuminated prayer books from their own studios, were known to have been employed in Scottish courtly circles.

The Fowlis paintings undoubtedly belong in this tradition. The formal portraits of saints and martyrs include many who enjoyed Europe-wide popularity. The identities of the figures in the crucifixion, the layout and even the lettering in the centurion’s speech scroll (the medieval equivalent of a speech bubble) closely resemble well known masterpieces of Flemish and North Germanic religious art such as the Berswordt Altarpiece in Dortmund of 1397. If the artist was not himself Flemish (as has been suggested, e.g. by Brydall), he must either have seen such paintings in the original or at least had access to the woodcuts and engravings which were being increasingly imported to Britain.

Despite the North European links, however, other influences are at play in the Fowlis paintings, not least the art of Italy.

The predella, at the foot of the altarpiece, is a feature more commonly found in Italian art; also Italian is the form of the thieves’ crosses in the Crucifixion, which are not tooled but are formed from natural branches. More generally, the great Crucifixion scene shows an artist well aware of the emerging trends of the Renaissance. This is evident in his awareness of the rules of composition, in the rounded forms of the figures and horses and in the interest in ‘historicity’ attested by the rich clothing and armour and extravagant horse trappings assigned to the Romans (and which form such a contrast to the near-naked figure on the cross). If the artist has been criticised for being a bit rough and ready and lacking the precision of North European art – well, perhaps he was Scottish, not Flemish, and that was simply not his intention.

Sadly, we’ve no idea who he was. Apted and Hannabuss, however, uncovered some 23 named artists and nine anonymous who are known to have been working in Scotland before 1520, and while some of these may be Flemish, and one is English and another French, the rest are definitely or probably ‘home grown’. Despite the losses, as Macmillan puts it: enough survives that is demonstrably local in origin to prove that there was in Scotland a group of artists capable of producing work to a professional standard.

So there is no reason per se why the Fowlis paintings could not be a local product. Other, more objective, evidence stems from the circumstances of their execution. That the artist definitely worked on site there is no doubt: we’ve already seen how the Crucifixion, at least, must have been painted in situ. And intriguingly, less than twenty miles away, the same artist seems to have been active again. This time he tackled a wooden ceiling in the burial aisle of the lairds of Guthrie, now preserved in the National Museum of Scotland. Only the under-drawing survives but the style is very similar.

Close study of the three main Fowlis paintings suggests they were all by one hand, even though their techniques seem dissimilar: patterns on costumes are repeated, while some faces and hands show a distinct ‘family resemblance’. Scottish artists, relatively few in number, must have been prepared to be versatile, and the Fowlis artist would be no exception. While happy to follow accepted practice in the more formal parts of the repertoire – Christ the Saviour and the saints and martyrs are conventionally portrayed and accomplished with considerable control - the much bigger and less closely scrutinised Crucifixion, high on the rood loft and viewed from floor level, offered him the chance both to be freer with his characters and to apply his paint with big broad strokes and earthy vigour, as Macmillan so graphically puts it.

At the same time, however, this painting is very carefully constructed.  The artist’s awareness of Renaissance trends was noted above, and this shows up in his use of perspective (cf. the horse facing into the picture, bottom right) and in his awareness of the theory of composition. The elements of the painting are laid out in a series of groupings which help to focus both eye and mind on the cross. The penitent and impenitent thieves form the apex of triangles on Christ’s right and left. The five faithful friends form a compact group at his feet, culminating in John with his upward gaze. Herod’s downcast look is counterbalanced by that of the upward staring horseman on the extreme right. Most strikingly of all, and extending the full width of the painting, are the two diagonals formed by the line of that same figure’s malevolent glare and by Longinus’s unmissable spear, painted red and surely one of the longest spears in Christian art (Bath). Both lead the eye inexorably to the figure of Christ himself.   

The individuality of the artist shows up in other ways, such as the range of emotions. Herod’s contrite look has already been mentioned. The centurion, at the moment of his revelation - ‘Truly this is the Son of God’ – could have proclaimed it to the world, but instead looks down and away from the scene as if lost in the wonderment of it all. The distraught mother at the cross, and her comforting friends, are portrayed with great tenderness. But the artist can also shock – cf. the terrifying ‘bat-dragon’ which is dragging the impenitent thief’s soul to hell.

For sheer originality, however, the most striking feature is the jester. This unmistakable figure in his red cap and bells forms an unlikely participant in the Crucifixion scene. He pops up behind Herod and is looking out at us, the viewers, in what Macmillan calls a sardonic touch of startling directness which is quite unexpected in the iconography of the crucifixion. What is he doing here?

He could, of course, simply be a jester in the king’s employ. But given the thought that has gone into this painting, it seems appropriate to look for something more. There is only one reference to a fool in scripture (in Psalm 14), but it is a telling one:  ‘The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God’. This has led to the interpretation of the scene by Bath as a conversion narrative. Narrative paintings like the Fowlis crucifixion were not simply for decoration: they demanded a conscious effort to ‘read’ them, and in this case Bath argues that we, the viewers, are being asked to contemplate the painting in terms of unbelievers coming to ‘belong’. The penitent thief, the centurion seeing the truth and no-longer-blind Longinus have all crossed the line; now the jester, the ‘fool’, is challenging us: do we believe, or are we content to be a fool like him? 

Incidentally, as Bath points out, the conceit of having a character looking out of a picture is not unprecedented, although it is unusual. In the Berswordt altarpiece it is the centurion who addresses us directly. In a master stroke, the Fowlis painter picks up an established convention but uses it in a wholly original way.

I would argue that we have here a Scottish painter of originality and intelligence. He may be anonymous, but he is worthy of our sincere admiration.

Gillian Zealand

Sources and references

Apted MR and Hannabuss S 1978 Painters in Scotland 1301-1700: a biographical dictionary Edinburgh (Scottish Record Society)

Apted MR and Robertson WN  Late Fifteenth century Paintings from Guthrie and Foulis Easter PSAS 95: 212-75

Bath, Michael 2003 Renaissance Decorative Painting in Scotland NMS Publishing

   “         “        2008 A Jester at the Crucifixion? The Fool at Fowlis History Scotland Vol.8 No.4: 14-18

Brydall, Robert 1889 Art in Scotland Edinburgh

Cowan, IB 1967 The Parishes of Medieval Scotland Edinburgh (Scottish Record Society, Vol.93) Edinburgh

Dalgetty, Arthur B 1933 History of the Church of Foulis Easter Dundee

Fawcett, Richard 2002 Scottish Medieval Churches – Architecture and Furnishings Stroud (Tempus)

McMillan, Duncan 2000 Scottish Art 1460-2000 Edinburgh (Mainstream)

McRoberts, David 1983 The Fifteenth Century Altarpiece of Fowlis Easter Church (Ed.) O’Connor A and Clarke D From the Stone Age to the ‘Forty-Five’ – Studies presented to RBK Stevenson: 384-98 Edinburgh

Stuart, James 1865 Historical Sketches of the Church and Parish of Fowlis Easter Dundee

Swarbrick, Dr Elizabeth pers. comm.

Fowlis Church Going Forward

Fowlis Church Going Forward is the group charged with finding a new role for St. Marnock’s while aiming to preserve its integrity. Current thinking tends towards art exhibitions and workshops, musical events and/or a heritage centre but there are other possibilities. A series of Doors Open Days has helped to raise public awareness and the group are currently ‘information gathering’, consulting with art experts and conservation architects as well as those with practical experience of setting up similar venues. They are still very much open to suggestions and offers of practical help. Please contact Gillian at: gillianzealand@gmail.com