Thanks to Harrison Blackman ’17 for his informative profile of Kurt Weitzmann (1904-1993) in the March issue. I knew very little about the man, and hardly exchanged a word with him, but he and his department played a pivotal role in my own scholarly development.
I came to Princeton in the fall of 1963 intending to major in chemistry, but in my sophomore year I registered for Medieval Art, thinking that maybe I would learn something about the stained-glass windows of Chartres. I did in time learn about those windows; but the entire first half of the spring semester was devoted to Byzantine art, about which I had never even heard, and the course was taught by Professor Weitzmann, probably the greatest Byzantine art historian of the 20th century. What a stroke of good fortune for me! He was thoroughly Teutonic, with a rather thick accent and a formal manner, but his lectures were clear and lusciously illustrated with color slides — of the Rabbula Gospels, icons, cloisonne enamels, carved ivories, and above all, glorious Byzantine mosaics. I fell in love with it and it helped nudge me toward study of the Near East, which became the focus on my own academic career. His course was one of the best I ever took, at Princeton or anywhere else, and I have remained ever since grateful to have experienced it.
Thanks to Harrison Blackman ’17 for his informative profile of Kurt Weitzmann (1904-1993) in the March issue. I knew very little about the man, and hardly exchanged a word with him, but he and his department played a pivotal role in my own scholarly development.
I came to Princeton in the fall of 1963 intending to major in chemistry, but in my sophomore year I registered for Medieval Art, thinking that maybe I would learn something about the stained-glass windows of Chartres. I did in time learn about those windows; but the entire first half of the spring semester was devoted to Byzantine art, about which I had never even heard, and the course was taught by Professor Weitzmann, probably the greatest Byzantine art historian of the 20th century. What a stroke of good fortune for me! He was thoroughly Teutonic, with a rather thick accent and a formal manner, but his lectures were clear and lusciously illustrated with color slides — of the Rabbula Gospels, icons, cloisonne enamels, carved ivories, and above all, glorious Byzantine mosaics. I fell in love with it and it helped nudge me toward study of the Near East, which became the focus on my own academic career. His course was one of the best I ever took, at Princeton or anywhere else, and I have remained ever since grateful to have experienced it.