The English parish church is the precursor of the laptop computer. It regulated the 15th century users' hours, delivered the important news and kept family and friends in touch with each other. The wall paintings and stained glass windows were no mere adornments - they were pre-literate PowerPoint presentations, enervating or enthralling according to the skills of the artist, whose job it was to relate the awesome story of the New Testament.
Writing in the Guardian recently, Jonathan Jones pointed out that an important purpose of stained glass was to shield the congregation from its noisome environs. He's right, of course, but the attraction of stained glass persisted long after the views had improved. In 1862, the stained glass windows of St Michael and All Angels in Brighton hid nothing more obnoxious than the fine stuccoed houses of the Montpelier district. The area is much the same today and the windows - masterpieces of Pre-Raphaelite art, encapsulating the Brotherhood's exquisite detail and love of overpowering colours - have lost none of their astonishing loveliness. They are well worth the pilgrimage to the south coast.
GF Bodley, the Victorian architect of the "old church" (St Michael's is actually two churches in one) hit upon the idea of using glazing to illustrate the angelic theme of the church following a serendipitous meeting with William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones in 1858. The West Window of the original nave, which is now the South Aisle, features Ford Madox Brown's depiction of the armour-plated St Michael next to a winged St Raphael by William Morris. Above these panels is an invigorating depiction of St Michael and the Dragon by Peter Paul Marshall. The angels stand as a counterblast to the encroaching materialism of the age and the windows are perhaps the high-water mark of Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co, the decorative arts and furnishings company founded by William Morris.
But the reason why a visit to the church is mandatory for any serious art lover lies at the other end of the aisle in the Lady Chapel. Below a marvelously detailed chancel roof are four magnificent stained-glass windows which, for me, are the most superlative examples of their type in the country. The left light is William Morris's depiction of the Angel of the Resurrection, somewhat obscured by the leading. The right light, also by Morris, shows the three Marys at the tomb carrying jars of myrrh and is an unusual example of a congested composition by that artist. The church's crowning glory is the right light of the south window, The Flight Into Egypt by Edward Burne-Jones. It fairly crackles with energy as a determined St Joseph shoves aside the branches and trees to make way for his miraculous infant in the arms of his radiant mother. Mary's expression, actually a flawless representation of the artist's wife, is one of the most enchanting depictions of mother-love that I have seen, and provides a sublime contrast to the ardent medievalism of the West Window.
The view of the English Channel from nearby Clifton Terrace is always salubrious. After time spent in the celestial company of St Michael's, the visitor is apt to feel positively unblemished.
