The Hourglass as a Symbol

Building design
“Vanitas Still Life” by Philippe de Champaigne, c. 1671. Oil on wood. Three objects, one message: a tulip, a skull, and an hourglass distill Baroque vanitas symbolism down to its purest form. Kunsthalle Bremen. Photo: Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
“Vanitas Still Life” Philippe de Champaigne, c. 1671. Oil on wood. Three objects, one message: a tulip, a skull, and an hourglass distill Baroque vanitas symbolism to its purest form. Kunsthalle Bremen. Photo: Public domain, via: Wikimedia Commons

The hourglass is one of the most powerful symbols in Western art history. Two glass chambers, connected by a narrow opening through which sand flows—slowly, inexorably, irreversibly. As an image of the passage of time, it stands at the heart of vanitas symbolism and was ubiquitous in the painting, printmaking, and emblematics of the 16th and 17th centuries. Anyone who recognizes an hourglass in a painting is confronted with one of the most radical statements in the European visual tradition: Time is running out.

As a timekeeping instrument, the hourglass first appeared in Europe in the 13th century, initially and primarily in seafaring, where a reliable, weatherproof clock was indispensable. The device’s spread into households and churches soon made it a familiar everyday object—and thus an ideal symbol. Unlike the mechanical clock, which ticks abstractly and invisibly, the hourglass makes the passage of time a sensory experience: the viewer sees the sand flowing, sees the upper chamber emptying and the lower one filling. This immediacy appealed to artists and theologians alike.
The hourglass thus became the memento mori par excellence—a reminder of death that does not lecture, but shows. In an era when the Church repeatedly reminded people of their mortality and the plague repeatedly ravaged Europe, this visual directness was a message that needed no words.

Vanitas Painting

The most important pictorial tradition associated with the hourglass is vanitas painting, which reached its peak in the 17th century, particularly in the Netherlands and France. Vanitas still lifes—named after the biblical phrase *Vanitas vanitatum, omnia vanitas* (Ecclesiastes 1:2: Vanity of vanities, all is vanity)—depict arrangements of objects that all point to the transience of life: wilting flowers, rotting fruit, extinguished candles, skulls, and the hourglass. A masterpiece of this genre is the vanitas still life by Philippe de Champaigne, painted around 1671. The painting depicts only three objects on a simple stone slab: a tulip in a glass vase, a skull, and an hourglass. This minimalism is intentional: no distractions, no opulence—just the three core messages of vanitas in their purest form. The tulip symbolizes the beauty and transience of life (and, in 17th-century Holland, was also a symbol of speculative transience in the wake of the Tulip Mania); the skull symbolizes death; and the hourglass symbolizes the inexorable passage of time. Champaigne, deeply rooted in the Jansenist faith, created with this work a meditation on mortality that renders all rhetoric superfluous.

Saturn, Chronos, and the Personification of Time

In addition to still lifes, the hourglass appears as an attribute of personified allegories. Most often, it is carried by Saturn or Chronos, the god of time, who is depicted in iconography as an old man with a scythe and an hourglass—a fusion of the ancient god with the medieval image of the Grim Reaper. Even Death himself is shown with an hourglass in some depictions: a reminder that the time remaining is not freely available.
In emblematics—that art form popular in the 16th century consisting of an image and an explanatory text—the hourglass was also ubiquitous. Andrea Alciato’s *Emblematum liber* (1531) set the standard for the allegorical use of everyday objects, and the hourglass found its way into numerous subsequent works as a symbol of transience.

From the Baroque to the Loading Screen

The symbolic power of the hourglass has survived the centuries unscathed. In Romantic and Symbolist literature, it serves as an image of the inexorably passing of time; in photography and film, it is a visual shorthand for urgency and the passage of time. The fact that the hourglass remains an icon on computer screens worldwide to this day, signifying waiting time, shows how deeply this image is anchored in the collective visual language—as a universal sign that time is a scarce and irretrievable resource.

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Co-creation instead of participation

Building design

Photo: Torben Eskerod

Participation versus co-creation: Would the Superkilen work better today if citizens had been integrated into the process from the outset?

Superkilen in Copenhagen has failed. The citizens as a whole use the square more as a place to pass through than to linger, even though they were integrated into the planning process through participation – according to a long-term analysis by students at the Danish Institute for Study Abroad. During the design and development process, the Superkilen planners asked citizens to suggest artifacts from their countries of origin for the new city square. Holistic planning with co-creation and prototypes would have been one way of increasing acceptance of the square.

Co-creation

Co-creation originally comes from the business world, which began to involve consumers in the product development process in the 1990s. The Leading Cities research group defines co-creation in urban development as “the active flow of ideas and information between five sectors: government, business, academia, non-profit organizations and citizens that promotes participation, engagement and development.”

What is the difference to citizen participation? Public participation is a means for planners to learn more about the attitudes and opinions of local residents and to develop new ideas. They increase acceptance for a project. Co-creation, on the other hand, involves the most important sectors of society on an equal footing from the outset.

It therefore offers citizens and citizens’ organizations a better opportunity to be truly heard and gain more influence in planning processes. Co-creation views users as proactive citizens rather than consumers, and focuses on long-term cultural change and the whole community rather than individual user groups. Where citizen participation seeks to integrate citizens’ opinions into an already prescribed program, co-creation helps future users to shape and enforce their own decisions. Co-creation is an endless process in the best sense of the word, with regular exchanges taking place between those involved.

Co-creation has a number of advantages. The public provides input and feels equal, citizens feel they are taken seriously. They become much more aware of their living environment. In return, the government has to be much more responsive and responsive to citizens and other sectors. In return, however, it saves costs because only what is actually needed and used is implemented and the risk of a new project is correspondingly low.

Prototypes

In large design projects such as Superkilen, it is extremely important to test ideas in advance before they become a permanent part of the landscape or city. It is a long way from the abstract idea, analysis and public participation to the concrete installation. The prototype should be seen as a learning tool that can be optimized and changed in the next step. Prototypes are a democratic way of dealing with public space, they also reduce the risk of a failed project and unnecessary expenditure.

The holistic approach

Combining co-creation with the prototyping approach makes it easier to explore the potential of a space. This holistic approach leads to more sustainable and vibrant places in the city. However, the Superkilen started with an assumption that co-creation and prototyping would have led to a different design. Users would accept the space better and make it more their own. Perhaps a more critical examination of the initial idea would also have been achieved.

You can read Bianca Hermannsen’s current analysis of the square here.
Robert Schäfer visited Superkilen in 2012, directly after the opening. You can read his review of the new city square in Copenhagen here.
Watch the video here to see how BIG travels with local residents to their countries of origin to select artifacts for Superkilen.

Heavyweight with a message

Building design

The Globo Uovo sculpture is an impressive work by stone sculptor Marc Reist and is currently on display at the Dürrenmatt Center in Neuchâtel, Switzerland. The artist made the 6.5-ton “global egg” out of white marble. In an interview with STEIN, the Swiss artist explains what message he wants to convey with his sculpture, why he only uses white marble and […]

The Globo Uovo sculpture is an impressive work bystone sculptorMarc Reist and is currently on display at the Dürrenmatt Center in Neuchâtel, Switzerland. The artist made the 6.5-ton “global egg” out of white marble. In an interview with STEIN, the Swiss artist explains the message hewants to conveywith hissculpture, why he only works with white stone and why he launched an appeal to collect eggshells before the opening.

Marc Reist: It’s a logical consequence of my artistic work and how I reflect on my surroundings by observing them. I notice how certain rules and mechanisms are similar on both a small and large scale. I never consciously came up with the topic, it just developed. I think it started in 2005.

The Globo Uovo symbolizes the world and the origin of life. Was there a specific reason for this idea?

Yes, that was in 2011. I was invited by a newspaper in Switzerland to write a few columns. I started to write about resources and food in these texts and about what bothers me: the way we deal with food, the way we deal with our environment. And during this phase, I designed the globe and then the egg. The eggs actually always resonate with me. Regularly for my wife – I only mention this in passing – for her birthday, for Mother’s Day, there are always drawings of chicken and egg. I either start with the chicken or the egg, but the egg always resonates.

Do the many openings in the sculpture also have a meaning?

The openings were created by the lines of longitude and latitude. And I found them very special as soon as I was able to work in the egg. There is a feeling of protection when you are in your human egg and you can see the outside world through these openings. At the same time, it could also be a prison. These feelings arose in me when I was working in the egg.

From a professional point of view – I trained as a stone sculptor and also took the master craftsman’s examination – I know almost all the materials. But even so, I used to only work with black stone for my shapes. And now, for years, I’ve only been working in white. For the small sculptures I make, I use a bright white marble. There is no other solution for me and for my forms. I have never used any materials with textures. They are beautiful, but not for my shapes.

But the marble for the egg has a certain texture. Was a block of 55 tons in pure white not available?

For the Globo Uovo, the stone is a little more marbled. Because this size in pure white – that would have been almost impossible and would have meant such a long wait. And the egg in this size in pure white would almost be a little too beautiful(laughs), almost baroque. That’s impossible. Visually too, it’s almost not rock anymore.

So the egg also looks much more “alive”.

Exactly, that’s what I mean. This methamorphosis of the rock, this mountain, that has to resonate.

How did the change from black to white rock come about?

That’s an interesting question. I have to go back to that. I wanted to make a really big sculpture in the 1990s. I chose a large block in Carrara without knowing what I was going to do with it. I wanted to be inspired by the material, by the block. I normally proceed differently. I have a drawing or a model and then work on the stone. But now I wanted to be influenced by the block. At the time, it was 20 tons in size. And that put an enormous strain on me(laughs). I suddenly realized that the further north the block was transported from Italy, the greater the strain in my head became. I was very blocked! And suddenly I found the solution. I then worked out a light cloth from this block. That was probably my solution, to release this heaviness in me in relation to the block. And since then I’ve only worked with white stone.

Are there purely visual reasons why you like to work with marble a lot, or is it also because of its properties?

Both, actually. My sculptures are also a matter of light. Not only with the large egg, but also with the other sculptures. The way the light passes through the opening and the edges is what makes it so good. And the properties for working are a pleasant side effect. It is easy to work with because it is so even, so homogeneous. But I mainly use marble because light and shadow are important for my sculptures.

You also want to send out a message with your art objects.

Yes, absolutely. I think that’s the greatest task of an artist. That his work is seen and heard, as the case may be. Communication is important. It makes no sense at all if I make an egg like this just to have another beautiful sculpture in a park somewhere. That wouldn’t be enough. It needs a message.

What message is that?

We have great difficulties with resources in general. This is most sensitive when it comes to food. And I really want to draw attention to the fact that people need to deal with the issue of food and resources. That a small train of thought changes.

Your sculpture is currently on display at the Dürrenmatt Center in Neuchâtel, Switzerland. Before the exhibition began, you launched an appeal to collect eggshells. What was the reason?

We had planned a performance with a dancer for the vernissage. I needed a lot of eggshells for that. Over the course of a year, people collected around 35,000 eggshells, washed them and brought them to me. Something you would normally throw away. For the exhibition opening, we laid them out on the floor of the museum and cleared paths, like a labyrinth. The dancer danced her way through it. But every now and then she made missteps on the eggshells, causing them to crack. And at the same time, with every misstep, a part of her body died. Because the shells represent our resources and if they are destroyed, the person dies too. And so she danced through the labyrinth and gradually died a dramatic death after three or four missteps.

Find out more about the project and the natural stone work in the February issue of STEIN. You can also find more information at www.stein-magazin.de/skulptur-des-monats-globo-uovo.