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Skin is the parchment upon which identity is written; class, race, ethnicity, and gender are all legible upon the human surface. Removing skin tears away identity, and leaves a blank slate upon whichlaw, punishment, sanctity, or monstrosity can be inscribed; whether as an act of penal brutality, as a comic device, or as a sign of spiritual sacrifice, it leaves a lasting impression about the qualities and nature of humanity. Flaying often functioned as an imaginative resource for medieval and early modern artists and writers, even though it seems to have been rarely practiced in reality. From images of Saint Bartholomew holding his skin in his arms, to scenes of execution in Havelok the Dane, to laws that prescribed it as a punishment for treason, this volume explores the ideaand the reality of skin removal - flaying - in the Middle Ages. It interrogates the connection between reality and imagination in depictions of literal skin removal, rather than figurative or theoretical interpretations of flaying, and offers a multilayered view of medieval and early modern perceptions of flaying and its representations in European culture. Its two parts consider practice and representation, capturing the evolution of flaying as both an idea and a practice in the premodern world.
Larissa Tracy is Associate Professor, Longwood University.
Contributors: Frederika Bain, Peter Dent, Kelly DeVries, Valerie Gramling, Perry Neil Harrison, Jack Hartnell, Emily Leverett, Michael Livingston, Sherry C.M. Lindquist, Asa Mittman, Mary Rambaran-Olm, William Sayers, Christina Sciacca, Susan Small, Larissa Tracy, Renée Ward
A HAIRLESS figure stands at the centre of a manuscript illumination, his curved body delicately tinted pink and apparently naked (Fig. 1.1). He seems to be looking vacantly outwards, staring into the empty space immediately to his left. Yet, on closer inspection, this cannot be; he has no eyes or eyelids, only empty sockets. In fact, his body sports no outer layer at all: His skin is folded in two like a piece of stiff fabric, slung over a long stick he carries at his shoulder. Amongst the flaps and folds, his arms and legs are still distinguishable by their intact hands and feet, as is the body's once-full head of hair which spirals out in strange black weaves from a central corona-like scalp.
Despite the singular and static depiction in front of a traditional checker-work background, this is not a devotional image from a religious text. It certainly resembles depictions of St Bartholomew, rendered unflinching despite his absent skin through a sense of anaesthetizing spirituality, but this is not the saint inventively presenting his pelt on a pole. Neither is this a figure from more mythic or historical sources: the corrupt Persian judge Sisamnes, for example, whom Gerard David depicts so vividly in a 1498 diptych, flayed alive with his skin draped across his chair of judgement. Nor is this figure intended as a more playful marginal image, parodying or punning on the grotesque. Unlike the two miniature wide-eyed rabbits who flay a bound man in the bas-de-page of the Metz Pontifical, this skinned man is central to his manuscript context, spanning with bold prominence an entire column of text. Instead, this image stems from a sphere of visual culture that provides an important counterpoint to the punitive and saintly narratives of skin removal: the emergent medieval discipline of surgery. Rather than exclusively embodying flaying's violent aspects – an idea that chapters later in this collection will go on to explore – this skinless man was used instead for instruction in healing. This is a flayed figure of repair, rather than removal.