Tilman Riemenschneider

Until David and I went to Germany, I never heard of Tilman Riemenschneider. Maybe he was mentioned in that History of Art class I took 20 years before, but I doubt it.

As David and I ventured out of Frankfurt, one of the first places we went was Wursburg. The old town sits at the base of a mountain, with an enormous castle brooding on top. I navigated the rental car up the steep, narrow streets lined with old houses, through numerous switchbacks right up to the base of the massive walls of the castle.

I parked the car outside the gate, and David and I walked into an enclosure with a church and a number of other buildings housing several museums. Naturally, I headed for the art museum. And that’s where I discovered Tilman Riemenschneider.

To say he was a wood-carver would be to denigrate his work. He was an artist, a sculptor who worked in wood.

The museum displayed a collection of his statues, some almost life-size. I remember a beautiful St. Ann, the folds of her drapery following the grain in the golden wood.

A few days later David and I saw his altarpiece in the cathedral in Rothenburg. That is a charming, walled town. David had a great time climbing the stairs and running around the walls which completely encircle the town. Coming down to the cobbled streets, we shouldered our way through tourists gawking at shop windows in every narrow street.

Most tourists seemed intent on buying Bavarian nicknacks. I wonder how many stepped inside the church to see Riemenschneider’s altarpiece, a typical German triptych with small panels telling Bible stories with dozens of little figures carved in high relief. Very intricate, very skillful carvings. But I preferred the large, individual statues I saw in the museum in Wurzburg.

Riemenschneider worked in Wurzburg from 1460 to 1528. How do I know? I looked in a big, heavy book I have in my bookcase: “A World History of Art” by Gina Pischel. “Painting, sculpture, architecture, decorative arts from prehistoric times to the present day.” That’s also where I found out how to spell that difficult German name, Riemenschneider.

Pischel dismisses the German’s work by writing, “The elaborate, pretentious sculpture of Tilman Riemenschneider . . . has little appeal.”

Well, maybe it does not appeal to Pischel, an Italian who saves her praises for the white marble statues of the Italian Renaissance. To me, the warm wood tones of Riemenschneider’s statues are appealing indeed.

When it comes to art – or music or books or movies – who says we all must like and admire the same things? Who says we must see the same things when we travel? Okay, I like museums. If you prefer to shop, that’s okay, too.