Folklore and literary texts were not separate spheres in the Middle Ages, for both in their different ways reflected what were basically the same traditions and helped to reinforce the same beliefs. Nowhere was this more true than in saints' lives. Admittedly, the literary texts, probably first written in Latin and produced within ecclesiastical contexts, were intended to instruct. Translated or adapted into vernacular languages, such as Welsh, Breton, French or English, however, they were read aloud to the majority who could not read. But popular traditions about saints also fed into those written biographies with their details of miracles and martyrdoms. Local saints and saints associated with particular human experiences and activities held special significance for ordinary people who would pray to them for appropriate assistance when in need. In Brittany Buhez ar Sent, printed collections of the lives of saints, were regarded as essential books in even the poorest households in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Those narrative traditions, whether written or told aloud, were complemented and reinforced by visual images, for murals and stained glass windows in churches often illustrated the lives of saints. The painting of St Christopher at Llanilltud Fawr and the two stained glass portraits of St Apollonia, patron saint of toothache sufferers, in Gresford church are precious survivors from fifteenth-century Wales.

The paintings on the theme of Hervé and the Beast can be seen as modern successors to those earlier visual representations, except that their primary purpose is not didactic in the same way. Like their predecessors, however, these paintings evoke key moments in the saint's life. Thus in Blind Boy and Beast, the wolf, still perhaps digesting the saint's dog which it has so violently killed, is now tamed by the saint and submits willingly to him, apparently meditating on the implications of what has happened. The saint's face suggests sadness muted with forgiveness, his gesture one of control and of embrace, as both man and beast consider their new, unexpected relationship.

Although St George was adopted by the English as their patron, his origins lie in Anatolia, now part of modern Turkey, and his widespread popularity is reflected in the number of accounts of his life and miracles but also in many, varied iconographic traditions. Familiar elements are present in Green George: the saint mounted on his war-horse in the act of piercing the dragon, whilst the lady, the dragon's intended prey, waits serenely in the background, her stillness strongly contrasting with the dynamic movement in the foreground. That quiet serenity also infuses Flight of Swallows over Field of Gold, where the saint, trampling the dragon's body, pauses to meditate on his victory.

Contrasts between calm and violent action are tangible even in the most dramatic moments: the patterned, flowery fields which form backdrops to the narrative provide that stillness in Furious Embrace and Battle Ground; the flat planes intensify the sense of depth and space as well as movement. Although there is violence and death in these paintings, there is no cinematic horror: the bright red is not blood but the fiery colour of horse, raven or wolf. Instead the artist conveys the idea of struggle between forces of life and death, from which life must emerge triumphant. George and dragon, Hervé and wolf, caught in symbolic conflict, seem to be dancing their allotted, choreographed movements in a timeless ritual. Thrust into mid-air by the force of their fighting, they are lifted from earth into a higher dimension. The vulnerable smoothness of the human flesh contrasts with the beast's sharp teeth and rough fur or spiky skin, the latter's texture echoed in the holly trees in Flight of Swallows and Green George. Solidity is opposed with lightness not only through the airy movement of man and beast in Furious Embrace and Battle Ground, but also in the horse's mane and tail in Green George, or in the skimming swallows and the favour fluttering gently from the lance in Flight of Swallows, startlingly gentle, almost feminine touches in a masculine setting.

Forms and patterns thus echo each other from painting to painting and, indeed, within single works, such as the intricate curves of the maze and the furling dragon's tail in Green George. The colour palette, now strong and bright, now dark and sombre, forms a continuum through the series. The flower-strewn grounds underpin mood and symbolism, from darkly sinister hellebores in Green George, to lilies of the valley, at once deeply fragrant and deadly poisonous, in Battle Ground.

These depictions of Hervé and George constantly evoke earlier artistic traditions: the sea-strand and the dragon's rocky cave in Green George, as well as aspects of the composition, may refer back to the Italian painters of the later Middle Ages and Renaissance, as may the ubiquitous flowery fields, reminiscent also of the Dame à la Licorne (the Lady and the Unicorn) tapestries. But here this inherited vocabulary is translated into new contexts. As in his earlier series, The Temptations of Solitude, in most of these works Clive Hicks-Jenkins presents his saints in modern, urban dress, immediately alerting us to the fact that these are paintings of and for today. George's exotic embroidered jacket and flowing Turkish trousers in Flight of Swallows, reminders of his Middle-Eastern origins, are countered by the simple but fashionable dress and leggings of the young woman in Green George. The subject matter may be drawn from earlier tradition but the treatment is utterly modern. Just as David Jones's First World War soldier represents all British soldiers from past and present, so too is George, wearing the Tommy's selfsame tin-hat, of his own time and timeless.

These are striking, complex paintings, which make an immediate impact, but their power and depth emerge gradually under our quiet contemplation until their oppositions and harmonies settle into balance within each work and across the entire series.

Ceridwen Lloyd-Morgan was brought up in a village in Caernarfonshire, in north-west Wales, but has lived in Ceredigion since 1980. Her scientist mother began taking her to exhibitions from her early childhood; later an inspiring art teacher nurtured her budding interest in art history and criticism. She was Head of Manuscripts and Visual Images at the National Library of Wales at her early retirement in 2006, and has published widely on Welsh artists, including books on Gwen John and on Mary Lloyd Jones, as well as co-editing volumes with artists Ivor Davies (in 1999) and Christine Kinsey (in 2005). She is currently preparing a book on visual images in medieval Welsh manuscripts.